THE CONSPIRACY.
"Well, Charley, my pipe is out," said Tim Bunker, as he joined his late
associate in the club.
"It was rather sudden," replied Charles, disconcerted by the meeting,
for he had actually made up his mind to keep out of Tim's way. "I didn't
expect any such thing."
"I did; I knew old Sedley meant to get rid of me."
Tim always knew everything after it was done. He was a very profound
prophet, but he had sense enough to keep his predictions to himself.
"You did not say so," added Charles, who gave the Bunker credit for all
the sagacity he claimed.
"It was no use; it would only have frightened you, and you are
chickenish enough without any help. But no matter, Charley; for my part,
I am glad he turned me out. He only saved me the trouble of getting out
myself."
"Did you really mean to leave?"
"To be sure I did."
"What for?"
"Because I didn't like the company, to say nothing of being nosed round
by Frank Sedley, Bill Bright, or whoever happened to be coxswain. If
you had been coxswain, Charley, I wouldn't minded it," replied Tim,
adroitly.
"But I wouldn't nose the fellows round," replied Charles, tickled with
Tim's compliment.
"I know you wouldn't; but they wouldn't make you the coxswain. They hate
you too much for that."
"It is strange they haven't elected me," said Charles, musing.
"That's a fact! You know more about a boat than three quarters of them."
"I ought to."
"And you do."
Charles had by this time forgotten the promise he had made to Captain
Sedley--forgotten the good resolution he had made to himself. Tim's
flattery had produced its desired effect, and all the ground which the
Bunker had lost was now regained.
"I am sorry they turned you out, Tim," said he.
"I am glad of it. They will turn you out next, Charley."
"Me!"
"Yes."
"Why should they?"
"Because they don't like you."
"They wouldn't do that."
"Don't you believe it," replied Tim, shaking his head, and putting on a
very wise look. "I'll bet they'll turn you out in less than a month."
"Do you know anything about it?"
"Not much."
They had now reached the end of the grove, and Tim suggested that they
should take seats and "talk over matters." Charles readily assented,
and they seated themselves by the margin of the lake.
"What do you know, Tim?" asked Charles, his curiosity very much excited.
"I only know that they don't like you, and they mean to turn you out."
"I don't believe it."
"Do you mean to tell me I lie?"
"No, no; only I can't think they would turn _me_ out."
"I heard Frank say as much," replied Tim, indifferently.
"Did you."
"To be sure I did."
Charles stopped to think how mean it was of Frank to try to get him out
of the club; how hypocritical he was, to treat him as a friend when he
meant to injure him. It did not occur to him that Tim had told a
falsehood, though it was generally believed that he had as lief tell a
lie as the truth.
"You are a fool if you let them kick you out, as they did me," continued
Tim.
"What can I do?"
"Leave yourself."
"Next week is vacation; and we have laid out some first-rate fun."
"There will be no fun, let me tell you."
"What do you mean, Tim?"
"If you want to be the coxswain of a boat as good as the Zephyr next
week, only say the word," replied Tim, slapping him on the back.
"How can that be?" asked Charles, looking with surprise at his
companion.
"And you shall have as good a crew as the Zephyr; better fellers than
they are, too."
"I don't understand you."
"You shall in due time."
"Tell me what you mean, Tim."
"Will you join us?"
"Tell me about it, first."
"And let you blow the whole thing?"
"I won't say a word."
"Will you promise not to say anything?"
"Yes."
"Will you swear it?"
Tim had read a great many "yellow-covered" books in his time, in which
tall buccaneers with long beards and bloodshot eyes required their
victims to "swear," and he seemed to attach some importance to the
ceremony. Charles "swore," though with considerable reluctance, not to
reveal the secret, when it should be imparted to him.
"You must join our society, now."
"Society?"
"Yes; we meet to-night at eight o'clock, in the woods back of my house."
"What sort of a society is it, Tim?" asked Charles, with a great many
misgivings.
"That you shall learn when we meet. Will you come?"
"My father won't let me go out in the evening."
"Run out, then."
Tim suggested various expedients for deceiving his parents, and finally
Charles promised to attend the meeting.
"You haven't told me the secret yet."
"The society is going to camp on Center Island next week, and we are
going to take the Zephyr and the Butterfly along with us."
"Take them? How are you going to get them?"
"Why, take them, you fool!"
"Do you mean to steal them?"
"Humph! We mean to _take_ them."
"But do you suppose Captain Sedley and George Weston will let you keep
them?"
"They can't help themselves. We shall take the Sylph, and every other
boat on the lake, with us, so that no one can reach us. Do you
understand it?"
"I do; but how long do you mean to stay there?"
"All the week."
"And sleep on the ground?"
"We can have a tent."
"How will you live?"
"We shall carry off enough to eat beforehand." Then you see, we can sail
as much as we please, and have a first-rate time on the island. I shall
be coxswain of one boat, and you shall of the other if you like."
"But we shall have to come home some time."
"In about a week."
"What would my father do to me then?"
"Nothing, if you manage right. If he offers to, just tell him you will
run away and go to sea. He won't do nothing then."
"I don't know about that."
"He won't kill you, anyhow. And you will have a week's fun, such as you
never had before in your life."
"The Zephyrs won't have anything to do with me after that."
"They hate you, Charley, and all they want is to get you out of the
club. You are a fool if you don't leave yourself!"
Charles paused to consider the precious scheme which had thus been
revealed to him. To spend a week on the island, and not only to be his
own master for that time, but command one of the boats, pleased him very
much. It was so romantic, and so grateful to his vanity, that he was
tempted to comply with the offer. But then the scheme was full of peril.
He would "lose caste" with the Zephyrs; though, if Tim's statement was
true, he was already sacrificed. His father would punish him severely;
but perhaps Tim's suggestion would be available, and he knew his mother
would be so glad to see him when he returned, that she would save him
from the effects of his father's anger. His conscience assured him, too,
that it would be wrong for him to engage in such a piece of treachery
towards his friends; but Tim declared they were not his friends--that
they meant to ruin him.
Thus he reasoned over the matter, and thus he got rid of the objections
as fast as they occurred to him. While he was thinking about it, Tim
continued to describe in glowing colors the fun they could have;
occasionally relating some adventure of "Mike Martin," "Dick Turpin," or
other villain, whose lives and exploits were the only literature he ever
read.
But Charles could not fall at once. There were some difficulties which
he could not get over. It was wrong to do as Tim proposed; it was so
written on his soul. The "still small voice" could not be silenced. As
fast as he reconciled one objection, another came up, and something in
his bosom kept saying, "You must not do it."
The more he thought, the more imperative was the command. "Run away as
fast as you can!" said the voice within him. "You are tempted; flee from
the temptation."
"I guess I won't join you, Tim," said he.
"You won't, eh?" replied Tim, with a sneer.
"I think not; I don't believe it is right. But I won't say anything
about it."
"I rather guess you won't. It wouldn't be safe for you to do so."
"I won't, upon my honor, Tim," replied Charles, rising from his seat,
and edging away from his dangerous companion.
"Look here, Charley Hardy; in one word, you've got to join the Rovers."
"The what?"
"That's the name of a society," answered Tim, who had mentioned it
without intending to do so.
It was certainly a piratical appellation, and Charles was not
prepossessed by it in favor of the society. It had a ring of bold and
daring deeds, and his studies had not prepared him to entertain a very
high opinion of Tim's heroes, Dick Turpin and Captain Kidd.
"You can't back out now, Master Hardy," continued Tim.
"I don't want to join you, but I won't say a word."
"Very well, my fine fellow!" and Tim rose and walked away towards home.
Charles did not like this. He was afraid of Tim; afraid that some
terrible thing would happen to him if he did not keep on the right side
of him.
Like thousands of others, he had not the courage to do his duty, and
leave the consequences to take care of themselves. He was more afraid of
the Bunker than of the frowns of an accusing conscience.
"I say, Tim!" he called.
"Well, what you want _now_?" replied Tim, stopping.
"Suppose I don't join?"
"Then you will be in Rippleton jail before to-morrow night; that's all."
"What for?"
"No matter; if you come to the meeting to-night, all right; if you
don't--Rippleton jail;" and Tim hastened away, heedless of Charles's
calls.
Rippleton jail! What could he mean by that? He felt guilty, and his
heart beat so violently that he could hardly breathe. The stolen purse,
which still lay buried on Center Island, seemed to haunt him, and with
that he immediately connected Tim's dreadful threat. His confederate
meant to charge him with stealing it. It was all very plain, and his
conscience told him how justly he would be accused. He could not go to
jail innocent, as Tony had, and be borne home in triumph from the court
by the boat club.
His frame trembled with emotion; and he knew not what to do. There was a
right way and wrong way for him to proceed--the path of duty and the
path of error.
"I will go to Captain Sedley and tell him all about it," said he to
himself, "and tell him that they mean to steal the boats."
This was the path of duty; but he had not the courage to walk in it. He
would be despised even then, and Tim Bunker would certainly be revenged
if he did.
"I _will_ go;" and he actually walked a short distance towards Captain
Sedley's house; but his courage failed him; he dared not do right, and
that evening he joined the "Rovers."
Poor Charles!