THE BIG FOUR.
As a fourth-class boy Jack fairly felt his oats, and with justice, if
one considers what a satisfactory status was meant by that term at
Utopia. A fourth-classer had nothing to learn, so to speak. He knew all
the ropes. He had at his fingers’ ends every thing connected with the
ways of the school, and was entitled to regard himself as untainted by
greenness of any description. Pride and some bumptiousness were the
result, but more particularly a rattling way of doing things as though
those engaged in whatever was in hand had unlimited confidence in
themselves, as indeed they had. To be a fourth-classer, if one were a
prominent fellow, was the same as being one of the cocks of the lower
school, and a person to be deferred to whenever any matter was mooted
concerning the more juvenile half of the body politic.
Taking the list by and large, there were no more prominent
fourth-classers in their year than the quartette who trained together
under the pseudonym of “The Big Four.” These were Jack, Haseltine,
Bill French, and Horton. In justice to Bill, his name should have been
written first, for it was he who had conceived the idea of welding
into one compact body the best material in the class, with a view to
coöperation in various directions. To his brain was due the origin of
the mysterious secret society, of which he and his three pals were the
units. At Utopia, where there had never been a secret society up to
this time, whoever referred to “The Big Four” spoke with bated breath,
as of an organization very little understood, and in awe of which it
was incumbent to stand.
Bill came back after vacation full of the scheme, and found little
difficulty in making its merits apparent to Jack. After some cogitation
the number was swelled by the election of Haseltine and Horton. The
constitution was a sort of cross between the Declaration of Rights
and such an instrument as a community of bandits might have drawn for
mutual protection. It began as follows:――
“ARTICLE I.
“This society is organized to secure to free-born American citizens the
enjoyment of their natural liberties.”
A sentiment distinctly praiseworthy, at least on the surface, and broad
in its scope. After this general definition of usefulness and certain
provisions as to name, membership, and grip, appeared a few by-laws,
embodying a most salient code of behavior, among which was the third,
to wit:――
“No member shall, on pain of expulsion, kiss any female except his
mother.”
To cap and clinch the whole, thus heading off treachery at the start,
it was laid down,――
“Whoever shall at any period of his existence divulge, or in any manner
make known, the secrets of this society, or shall with or without
malice-aforethought break its laws or abandon its principles, shall
suffer death with torture, to be inflicted by the members for the time
being, except as otherwise herein provided.”
This joint production, for each of the four had a hand in its
composition, was solemnly signed and sworn to at midnight in the
lavatory where the whole society assembled by concerted action. To
make the oath more binding, the pen was dipped in the blood of the
successive signers, at Haseltine’s prompting, who fully believed at the
time that whoever should violate it could not escape a lingering death.
He even went so far as to suggest that a burning-glass focused upon the
abdomen would probably produce as exquisite suffering as any of the
appliances known to inquisitorial or savage torturers. To Jack belonged
the credit of devising the already quoted clause relating to women,
the reception of which was unequivocally enthusiastic, and seemed to
them to stamp the organization at once as a manly body, proof against
Delilahs, or all feminine influence except that prescribed by early
piety.
“I hate girls; they’re silly little things,” continued the originator
of the by-law in question.
“I’d like to see one of them try to kiss me!” said Haseltine.
The latter idea did not seem so repulsive to Bill and Horton, though
they acquiesced in the provision as smacking of wisdom, on the whole.
Indeed, almost from the start, there was a difference of opinion,
scarcely perceptible at first, but constantly growing wider, as to the
real functions of “The Big Four.”
To Jack and Haseltine it stood for freedom, and defiance of authority
in any form, and especially defiance against the Doctor, to be
evidenced by disobedience, as the spirit might move, whether in the way
of marauding expeditions or midnight feasts. Caution, more than was
absolutely necessary, was disregarded by them, and concealment was a
policy which they despised. They were indifferent, not only as to what
authority might think, but even as to whether authority was aware of
what they were up to. War to the knife, without mercy or compromise on
either side, was what they craved, proudly confident of their ability
to trample authority in the dust.
But the other two were wiser in their generation, with the wisdom of
the serpent. They believed distinctly in lying low, and in masking the
countenance both metaphorically and literally. “Do _wrong_ by stealth
and blush to find it fame,” would have seemed to them an admirable
epitome of their views. And just as their methods savored of craft and
underhandedness, so their favorite acts of defiance――for in throwing
off authority all were united――were apt to be such as would not bear
the light of day. Vice is a parasite that flourishes best in the shade.
There Bill French’s whisper sounded most seductively, and his “I say,
fellows, I know what let’s do,” was least easy to resist.
Such was the attraction of this new interest that Jack thought of but
little else. Not only did he begin to neglect Carlisle, but he ceased
to feel his old ambition to excel at games. At the spring athletic
meeting of the year before he had followed Carlisle’s advice to hold
off for another six months, but when the time came the following autumn
he failed to make as good a record as when he had first appeared on the
track. He was only seventh this time in a field of eight, being almost
distanced by Hopedale, whom he had pressed so close on the previous
occasion. Such were his disgust and mortification that he thereupon
had his name scratched from both the feather-weight wrestling and the
feather-weight sparring, in each of which events he had intended to be
a competitor. He felt thoroughly angry, and the secret cause of his
anger was the consciousness that it was all his own fault. He had not
taken the trouble to train, so certain was he in his self-conceit of
sweeping all before him. Now, like Achilles in his tent, he preferred
to sulk. He would cut sports altogether. The game was not worth the
candle. But in his heart was a sore spot. He had meant to win that
race. He could see Carlisle’s eyes fixed on him gravely as he slunk
away panting――and fairly blown――at the finish, and recalled his
friend’s subsequent reproof.
“The trouble with you is that you want the earth, Jack. You can’t
expect to win without buckling down to it beforehand.”
“I’m in first-rate condition,” Jack had growled.
“Over-trained, then, perhaps,” had been the sarcastic answer.
Even in rowing――his pet hobby――he could not boast of having made any
marked progress. Although in the two upper classes there was no aquatic
luminary at the moment, a very clever oarsman was developing in the
person of Tom Bonsall of the third, a clean-cut, well-shaped fellow,
some ten pounds more beefy than Jack, and at once his secret admiration
and despair. To watch Tom row, fairly goaded him into fury. He was
only a year ahead of Jack, and yet he was in the Mohicans, and, what is
more, was able to boast, after the autumn races, that he belonged to
the champion crew. The long victorious Atalantas, weakened by the loss
of Hazelhurst, were a poor second. Then and there Jack vowed, when he
realized what had taken place, that he would from this moment have but
one object in life: to transfer the laurel from his rival’s brow to his
own.
A very pretty sentiment, and quite at variance with the cynical
communings of a fortnight earlier, when he had resolved to renounce
sport utterly. But it is one thing to make vows, another to carry them
out. Jack had not overestimated, even in his inner consciousness, his
lack of condition, both physical and moral. When one is distinctly
flabby in body and soul alike, a good resolution is too apt to resemble
one of these rockets that flare up grandly and gaudily for a moment,
only to leave the night the darker through their inability to last.
To feel virtuous and heroic during a transcendent hour is not much to
boast of, unless one has the grit to stand firm when face to face once
more with the commonplace and the every-day, those disarming begetters
of temptation.
But one must not be too hard upon poor Jack because his vows proved
no more stable than do those of all of us at some time or other. For
at the worst he was not a very hopeless case. Even when sitting up in
the lavatory into the small hours of the morning, sipping beer and
playing “penny nap,”――the height of schoolboy dissipation,――one who
could have seen into his heart would not have despaired of him. It was
something that he did not smoke,――not because of the harm which Bill
French’s cheroots might have done him, but because he could not forget
that he had promised his mother not to smoke anything, be it rattan,
sweet-fern, or tobacco; and to break his word, and most of all to break
it to her, was synonymous in his mind, as it well should have been,
with a very abandoned moral condition. And yet curiosity in part, and
in part an unwillingness to be left behind in “knowledge of life” by
the other members of his illustrious society, induced him to follow
in whatsoever directions he was led, in spite of the fact that this
new and daily more troublesome factor in his general make-up, his
conscience, pricked him, and took away much of the satisfaction of his
discreditable doings.
What would his mother have said if she could have seen him at one of
these cunningly devised nocturnal parties? Her constant prayer has been
that her innocent boy may not become prematurely old in the so-called
ways of the world,――a knowing little gentleman, rotten before he is
ripe, without enthusiasm, without heart, and without hope. Is there a
parent who will not sympathize with this mother’s petition to heaven?
Civilization is regarding with increasing alarm the menaces of the
uneducated poor; but its invocation rather should be, “God save us
from the educated rich,”――educated and graduated in the sloth and vice
which eats into the soul as no other canker can. Rich men’s sons who do
nothing for humanity but sneer, are a harder burden for Atlas to bear
than all the host of the starving unemployed.
But even in his present stage, when it seemed as though Bill French’s
wisdom carried all before it in the councils of the Big Four, Jack
much preferred the life of the border ruffian to that of the sly
voluptuary. Bill’s fun, though he had his part in it, appeared tame
as compared with the ecstasy which proceeds from more obvious peril.
To carry away a quart of lager under one’s waistband, to go in debt
to the amount of half a dollar if one’s luck was bad, and to show up
next morning sallow and watery-eyed, but very spruce and stylish as
to one’s collar and tie, proud as the distinction was, did not set
Jack’s veins a-throbbing as he delighted to have them throb. If Bill
had been consulted in the premises he would doubtless have maintained
that his friend was not yet educated up to the point where he could
appreciate at their proper value the advantages open to him. To this
juvenile Epicurean the plots which the two more boisterous spirits
were constantly unfolding involved a needless waste of vitality, from
which he shrank more and more in proportion as the serpent’s wisdom
became his own. It was not policy, however, even if it were possible,
to resist at all times the expressed desire of half the society. As a
consequence, vitality ran riot in minor manifestations, such as the
pilfering of neighboring hen-roosts, the sealing up of the lock of the
schoolroom door, the firing of a tar-barrel in front of the Doctor’s
very window, and panted for more. Every one――by which is meant school
opinion――was delighted, and with finger on lip whispered mysteriously,
“Big Four.”
As for Jack and Haseltine, they trod the earth with the demeanor of
gods, and after dark put their heads together. Presumptuous youth is
slow to be content with moderate glory. Had Phaeton escaped destruction
he would have wearied of driving his father’s horses in a fortnight,
and been thirsting for a fresh exploit. Our heroes, who had up to this
time escaped detection, were harassed by the feeling that authority
took too little heed of the cuffs they administered to it. The bonfire
had been put up with almost calmly. The next act of defiance should
be such as could not be passed over without exposing their enemies to
ridicule.
It was not altogether easy to hit upon a device worthy of their prowess
and yet within the pale of permissible barbarity. For undoubtedly
nihilistic as were Jack’s and Haseltine’s designs, there was a limit
which they were not prepared to overstep. Although it might be that
in the estimation of them both hanging was too good for the Doctor
and his assistants, any plot endangering human life was, perchance
regretfully, but none the less firmly, discarded. On the other hand,
to burn the head master in effigy, a proposal which emanated from the
seething brain of young Horton, struck the conclave as a superficial
bit of mischief, which, however showy from its impertinence, would
nevertheless inflict no real suffering on him at whom it was aimed.
Bill French, as was apt to be the case, even in matters outside of his
own department, so to speak, settled the question finally.
“I say, fellows, I know what let’s do,” he said one evening, after they
had been sitting silently racking their brains for a considerable
time, “let’s blow something up.”
“Blow what up?” queried Jack, somewhat scornfully, thus showing that
gunpowder and nitroglycerine had already entered into his day-dreams,
but had been renounced for lack of suitable material on which to
experiment.
“The tool-house.”
“Great Cæsar!” ejaculated our hero with enthusiasm, “the very thing!
Why have we never thought of it before?”
Whereupon Jack, by way of further ecstasy, began to execute a muffled
clog-dance to a low whistling accompaniment.
“Sh! You’ll have Sawyer down on us like a thousand of bricks if you
don’t let up,” objected Bill.
The quarters of “The Big Four” were no longer in the lavatory, where
their only light had been the proverbially capricious splendor of the
moon, and where no whisper was too low for safety. At the beginning of
this school year one of the studies occupied by the two upper classes,
which had become vacant owing to the illness of its proprietor, had
been boldly appropriated by the society. A piece of cloth over the
keyhole and other appliances along the floor-line prevented the rays of
the solitary candle which illumined their meetings from betraying them;
and there they sat like four young ghouls, with masks upon their faces,
or close at hand ready to be donned at the first signal of danger.
[Illustration]
The tool-house referred to was a modest structure behind the gymnasium,
which served Horace Hosmer for the use which its name suggests, and
was besides a general storehouse in which to stow odds and ends out of
place elsewhere. It stood in a position well adapted to shelter from
discovery the mooted scheme on the fulfillment of which the energies of
the Big Four were now resolutely bent. To obtain the needful ammunition
required time; but on returning to school at the close of the spring
recess the united accumulations of the conspirators’ pockets were found
to be two small cans of powder, a bunch of cannon-crackers, a piece of
slow-match, and several fuses. The last-named were especially valuable
for the reason that, to insure the safety of the society, a sufficient
period must elapse between the touching off the mine and the explosion
to allow those participating to cross the quadrangle and be hauled up
again in the basket which was to be let down from the study where their
meetings were held.
This does not look much like reform, Master Jack. Seeing you in such a
guise at twelve o’clock at night――though no one would ever recognize
you in your ferocious mask with the flowing horsehair mustache and
your coat-collar muffled about your ears――makes one wonder whether
you were really in earnest when you made your vow not to rest until
you had defeated Tom Bonsall at the sculls. No use in our moralizing
now, however, for wild horses would not keep you from your part in
the tragedy. And indeed there is something rather winning, almost
exculpating as it were, in the proud though mistaken consciousness of
a righteous cause resplendent in your every movement and gesture. One
sighs to see such energy and ardor of spirit expended in so mean a
task. Even _you_ would admit, if squarely taxed on the point, that you
have no real grievance against the Doctor except that he is determined
to make you study and to make you obey. “Yes, but that is the point
at issue,” you would doubtless answer. “We prefer idleness and
insubordination. Why should we obey?”
On the night selected for the explosion, duly at the appointed hour
the four boys crept on tiptoe from their respective dens in the
large dormitory to the usual spot without disturbing anybody. Each
brought with him part of the necessary paraphernalia. They proceeded
immediately to draw lots to decide which two should perform the actual
deed. The other pair were to remain behind to lower the basket down and
pull it up again. It was solved by the process known as “freezing out.”
Each took a cent from his pocket and laid it on the table. There were
three heads and one tail. Bill French’s was the tail. He was therefore
by previous agreement to be one of the home-guard. With trembling hand
Jack deposited his coin for the second time. Not to be able to light
the fuse himself would rob the affair of half its sweetness for him.
His was a head.
“A head,” said Haseltine.
“So’s mine,” said Horton.
“No choice, then,” said Bill. “Toss again.”
This time Jack got a tail. He leaned forward feverishly and perceived
that Horton had one also.
“A head,” said Haseltine.
“You stay with me, then,” said Bill, who was quick-witted in
emergencies. “Let’s get to work. Sooner it’s over, the better.”
Jack’s heart gave a bound. It would have suited him to have had
Haseltine with him, and he whispered in the ear of his favorite pal
some words to that effect. It was everything, however, to be going
himself, and he was well aware that Horton was no slouch on such an
occasion.
It takes but a few moments to adjust the rope, and the two lads, after
stowing the combustibles in their pockets, are ready to descend.
Jack is the proud bearer of a small dark lantern, which gives him an
additionally burglarish air. He flashes it once or twice playfully in
Bill’s face, much to that worthy’s dissatisfaction, who is even more
nervous than usual, going now and again to the door to listen after
enjoining silence by an agonized “sh!”
But everything is as still as the grave. Being finally satisfied on
this score, Bill proceeds with an air of gravity to uncork a couple of
bottles of beer from which he fills four glasses, the property of the
society and kept in a cupboard in the corner.
Each of the Big Four having doffed his mask lifts one of these from the
table and surveys his fellow-members with dignity, waiting for the word
of command from the Pater Primus, as the presiding genius is styled,
before putting the beaded beverage to their lips.
“Brothers of the Big Four,” begins Bill. “Once again we are met
together to maintain justice and to resist tyranny. Here’s success, and
destruction to our foes.”
“Success, and destruction to our foes.”
As the voices echo his words the four glasses softly clink against one
another. Then the heroes drink. It is a solemn rite to Jack. His blood
is all on fire.
“We will die game,” he utters grandiloquently, as he drains the last
drops, and slips back his mask over his face much as a warrior would
have replaced a helmet.
He goes to the window and tries the rope. It is strong enough for six
times the necessary weight. He is putting one foot into the basket――a
large clothes-basket filched the day before from Mrs. Betty’s
department――when Bill again enjoins silence and bends his ear.
“It’s all right, Bill,” whispers Jack.
“I don’t half like it,” replies the Pater Primus. “If we’re caught, it
means expulsion cock sure.”
“Who’s going to catch us? It isn’t the time to squawk now.”
“Who wants to squawk?” protests Bill.
“Lower away.”
Down goes the basket slowly but surely with its living freight.
Practice in former exploits has made the descent seem less ticklish
than at first to the young aëronauts.
Jack and Horton having reached the earth in safety walk cautiously but
rapidly across the part of the quadrangle which lies between them and
the gymnasium, pass behind that building, and a moment later are in the
tool-house. So far as danger to other property is concerned there is no
reason why the tool-house should not be blown up: a reflection somewhat
comforting to Jack, who in spite of his elation is conscious of a qualm
or two as he realizes what he is about to do. No one can possibly be
injured, he argues, and the tool-house is really of no use.
By the light of the dark lantern they arrange the cans of powder in
such a manner as to be most effective, and lay the fuse. Then Jack, who
has lighted a bit of slow match, after taking a peep outside to make
sure that all is clear, sets fire to the train, which has been timed
to burn for ten minutes, so as to permit every one to get back to bed
before the shock comes. This done, the two imitators of Guy Fawkes slip
out into the darkness and make a bee-line for home.
Somehow or other there is very apt to be some little flaw capable of
ruining all, even in the most skillfully arranged plot, and, happily
or unhappily, as you choose to regard it, the one in question proved
no exception to the general rule. Moreover, it was through the
carelessness of our friend Jack that matters did not turn out wholly as
was expected. Although quite aware that Argus in the person of Horace
Hosmer slept in an L of the gymnasium, the window of which commanded a
view of the premises doomed to destruction, Guy Fawkes was rash enough
not to close his lantern until just after stepping into the open
air, so that a few rays managed to shoot themselves directly into the
watch-dog’s eyes with the effect of rousing the vigilant sleeper from
his couch and inducing him to take a peep outside. It was all dark now,
but suspicion once awakened is not easily allayed in a faithful soul,
and Horace’s was of the faithful kind. Hastily pulling on a pair of
boots and diving into an overcoat, he vaulted over the window-sill, and
put in an appearance on the other side of the gymnasium before the boys
were more than two thirds across the quadrangle.
Trepidation has eyes in the back of her head, as we well know.
Consequently this new presence on the field of night was spotted by
Horton even before Horace’s well-known stentorian voice broke in upon
the stillness with,――
“Come, now, what’s your business?”
There was no time for parley. Increased speed had forestalled the bark
of Argus, and increased speed answered it. The wings of fear vibrated
fiercely in the darkness. The pursued had this advantage that they knew
that unless they reached the basket in time to get clear of _terra
firma_ before the janitor was upon them they were “gone coons.” Not
a word was spoken by either of the terror-stricken incendiaries, but
their flight was that of those who have but one hope.
[Illustration: AN ESCAPE.]
Jack was the first to arrive. Happily for the hunted, their companions
had not been napping, but were keenly on the watch for them. The
basket was ready. Guy Fawkes leaped into it and squatted down, closely
followed by his mate.
“Pull for all you’re worth.”
Those above, quick to perceive that there was mischief in the wind,
set themselves to their task with such good will that the aërial car
fairly bounded from the ground in its ascending course. But none too
soon. Hardly was it beyond the reach of a tall man when the cause
of all this undignified haste came tearing round the angle of the
dormitory. Horace made one desperate leap in the air, only, however, to
scratch his nails against the bricks in falling back. By the time he
had regained his balance the basket was at the top, and he could only
catch a confused impression of grotesque faces surmounting youthful
bodies before the masqueraders were safe indoors, and fleeing like
stealthy deer to their respective quarters, where they lost no time
in slipping off their clothes and getting into bed. So precipitate was
their flight that they neglected to return the beer-bottles and glasses
to the cupboard in which they were ordinarily concealed, an oversight
which filled the nervous Bill with dismay when it occurred to him after
his head was on the pillow. As for the basket, it fell backward from
the window-sill the moment it was empty, almost on to the head of the
astonished Horace, who examined it curiously.
“Well, well,” he muttered, “these are fine doings. My eyes ain’t what
they used to be, but I’ve a pretty decided notion as to who you are, my
young masters, all the same. What in time were you up to, I wonder? Ha!
what’s this?”
Horace, from a constitutional habit of thoroughness, had been passing
his hand over the bottom of the basket, and his last exclamation was
due to the fact of its coming in contact with a small article which on
inspection proved to be a pocket-knife.
“H’m,” he chuckled, “Heaven sends biscuit to them as has no teeth, as
the minister used to say.” After which pertinent observation the honest
fellow slipped the treasure trove into his pocket and was taking up
the basket again with a view to appropriating it as evidence, when a
loud crash proceeding from the direction of the gymnasium awoke the
echoes of Utopia.
“Holy Moses!” ejaculated the janitor, as he turned just in season
to behold a column of smoke and rubbish rise in the near distance.
Whereupon he started as fast as his legs could carry him to the new
scene of action.
Needless to say, the four conspirators heard with mingled sensations
of joy and anxiety the reverberation which informed them that their
efforts had not been in vain. To Jack at least the noise, though
clearly perceptible, was not so loud as he had hoped and anticipated.
It had been his ambition to have not only the whole dormitory awakened,
but authority itself startled from sweet slumber and forced to put
its head out of doors in search of cause and effect. He experienced,
therefore, some little disappointment from the fact that only two or
three boys within reach of his own observation were awakened, and
even they turned over to sleep again after listening for a moment
for further developments. He was much too wide awake himself to
sleep, but lay revolving in his mind the probable consequences of
Horace’s untoward interruption. Had Argus recognized them? That was the
all-important point, uncertainty as to which was far from pleasant to
Jack, despite his boasted indifference to authority. Visions of being
dismissed from Utopia floated with disagreeable persistency before his
mind’s eye. What would his mother say? He might well ask himself that
question.
Although the repose of authority was not disturbed, authority heard
with amazement on the following morning the news which Horace had to
tell it immediately after breakfast; and Jack could have no reason
this time to complain that authority was slow to take notice, if the
buzz of rumors floating about the school were any index of authority’s
state of mind. The impression produced on the youthful mind itself by
the announcement of what had taken place was profound. There was an
exodus at once to view the ruins, over which the faithful janitor was
presiding with a sphinx-like grin that to Jack, who had strolled down
with the rest to behold the result of his handiwork, did not seem
reassuring.
At the first opportunity the guilty parties held a hurried consultation
for mutual encouragement and the comparing of notes. Nothing was
forthcoming except that the Doctor, after visiting the scene of the
explosion, had granted an audience to Horace Hosmer, with whom he was
still closeted. Meanwhile the ordinary school programme was going on
as usual. Such suspense, though wellnigh unendurable, was relieved in
due time. Late in the afternoon a summons came that French, Horton, and
Hall were to go to the Doctor’s room at once, but separately, and in
the order named.
There was only time for a passing word between the trio.
“Mind we tell the same story and stick to it,” whispered Bill in Jack’s
ear before he followed the messenger. “We never knew anything until we
heard the explosion.”
Jack stood watching the receding figure of the Pater Primus with a
troubled air. The situation seemed decidedly perplexing. Authority,
for some reason or other of its own, saw fit that those coming after
should have no opportunity to hear what was in store for them from
friendly lips. Consequently the third conspirator on the list was
ushered into its injured presence without knowing what had been the
experience of his predecessors.
Doctor Meredith, who was alone, greeted the culprit gravely and said,
after a moment’s hesitation, in a composed but serious tone: “During
the last six months, Hall, there have been a number of very troublesome
bits of mischief perpetrated in the school. The property of people in
the neighborhood has been molested, fireworks have been discharged in
the yard without permission, and a general disposition to break rules
on the part of a certain number of individuals has been apparent. I
have been very slow to take notice of this, hoping that the matters
complained of were merely the result of the high spirits natural to
boys. But I have been very much annoyed by it, for up to this time I
have had to deal with nothing of the sort at Utopia.”
During the pause which elapsed before he continued, Jack was able to
congratulate himself that his previous endeavors had not been so much
ignored as he had at one time feared.
“Last night,” his inquisitor proceeded, still more gravely, “as you
must be already aware, the tool-house was blown up by some malicious
person or persons. Doubtless it was done as a practical joke, and I
am willing to believe that whoever was engaged in the affair did not
appreciate the serious character of the act committed. But all the same
it was an abominable piece of mischief, and one which it is my duty and
intention to investigate thoroughly, with a view to putting down, once
and for all, the spirit of reckless insubordination which it is now
evident to me has broken out here.”
Once more the Doctor paused, as though he expected some observation
from his auditor, who, having none to make, sought refuge from his own
discomfort and his master’s penetrating eye, by looking down at the
floor.
“I have sent for you, Hall, to ask if you were concerned in the affair.”
The room seemed painfully still to Jack, and the silence which followed
this inquiry oppressive. How should he answer the question? If the
Doctor knew all, why had he not taxed him directly with having blown up
the tool-house, instead of asking him if he was concerned in it? The
doctor evidently had suspicions merely, and was groping in the dark.
What was there to prove his guilt except his own admissions?
During the brief interval in which these thoughts were passing through
Jack’s mind, he was conscious of his interrogator’s eye bent on him
searchingly――yet beseechingly, as it were.
“You have not answered me, Hall.”
“Yes, sir; I was.”
Jack was too self-absorbed to notice the sigh of relief which the
Doctor gave vent to. One could have heard a pin drop.
“I am very sorry to hear it. You were not alone, I judge,” added his
master, after a moment.
“I lighted the fuse myself, sir,” was the diplomatic reply.
“I see that you do not choose to name your associates.”
“I have not said that I had any,” Jack answered stoutly.
“I respect your views on that point, and shall question you no
further in the matter. As for your own conduct, there is but one
word to characterize it,” continued Dr. Meredith,――“shameful. I do
not understand what motive you can have had to destroy the property
of the school. What _was_ your motive?” Jack looked sheepish. “I
suppose it was sheer love of mischief,” pursued the Doctor, as though
soliloquizing.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you not always been well treated here? Have you any cause of
complaint?”
“No, sir.”
“What in one sense is even a more serious matter, empty beer-bottles
and glasses were found this morning in the vacant study. They belong to
you, I take it?”
Jack bit his lip. This charge was harder to assume the entire
responsibility for. But he was in for it now and must face the music.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, rather dejectedly.
The Doctor was silent for a moment. “Hall, I am very much disappointed
in you,” he said, in a manner so unexpectedly genuine that somehow or
other the words cut like a knife into the sensibilities of poor Jack,
and in a sudden flash he saw his own conduct almost in its true light.
“This is not the first time, by any means, that I have had occasion to
be disturbed at your conduct. I cannot have at this school,” he added,
“boys who drink beer on the sly and blow up buildings. I have not quite
decided what action I shall take in your particular case. You may go
for the present. When I want you I will send for you.”
Jack stood hesitating. “May I ask a question?” he said.
“What is it?”
“How were we found out?――er――that is, how did you know it was I?”
“The janitor thought he recognized you; but he was not sure. If you had
seen fit to tell a falsehood you might have escaped. I thank God, my
dear boy, that you had courage enough to resist that far worse fault
than the faults you have been guilty of.”
There were tears in the Doctor’s eyes, and a strange tremor in his
voice, that brought drops to Jack’s own, of which he became conscious
when he was outside the study-door. He had never felt so miserable in
his life, and yet knew that he was proud of the course he had taken.
A few minutes later he was eagerly confronted by his associates.
“He doesn’t know anything, does he?” exclaimed Bill.
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t let on, of course? He asked me if I had anything to do with
blowing up the tool-house, and I told him no. So did Horton.”
“But you did,” said Jack.
“Do you mean to say you gave us all away?” shrieked Bill.
“Your names weren’t mentioned. I wasn’t going to lie about it. The
Doctor asked me if I wasn’t concerned in it, and I said I was.”
“Hang me if you aren’t the biggest flat I ever struck!”
“That’s so,” said Horton, who, as you must know by this time, was only
an echo of Bill, which is a pretty feeble kind of part to play in life,
as parts go.
“If you had only kept your mouth shut we’d have been all right. Horace
only guessed at us,” continued the irate Pater Primus. “I’d back you
for a flat against the world.”
“That’s so.”
“Shut your head!” growled Jack. “I don’t want to hear any more guff
from either of you. I wasn’t going to lie for you or any other fellow,
Bill French.”
“We’ll kick you out of the society, see if we don’t. You’ve broken
the oaths, and you’ll be mighty lucky if we don’t vote to make cat’s
meat of you,” persisted Bill, who, when his imagination got working,
had a nasty tongue, as the saying is. This last fling so enraged our
hero――who has become, I think, just a little bit of a hero in spite
of his shortcomings――that he made a dash at his chief insulter with a
view to slapping his face. But the prudent William had made sure of his
distance before venturing upon so exasperating a speech.
Jack was in no frame of mind to pursue his maligners. He felt very much
down in the mouth. Now that the prospect of being sent home in disgrace
was imminent, the advantages of remaining a Utopia boy seemed very
great. He could not bear the thought of being expelled, and yet he knew
that he could scarcely hope for any less serious sentence. The others
would get off, and he would have to bear the brunt of it all.
In his agitation he started off at a rapid pace without heeding where
he was going. Chance led him toward the lake, and a few moments later
he was in his wherry pulling fiercely from sheer desperation over the
tranquil water. There were not many scullers out this afternoon, but
he recognized in the distance the shapely figure of Tom Bonsall, whose
clean-cut, sweeping stroke it was not easy to mistake. Jack ground his
teeth as he reflected not only that he and Tom could not at present
be regarded as rivals, but that they now never could become so. Stung
by the bitterness of the thought, he plied the oars savagely with a
reckless expenditure of energy. When at last he gave in for a moment
from sheer exhaustion, his shell shot close past another, narrowly
escaping a collision.
“Whoa, there! Hold your horses!” cried a well-known voice.
It was Carlisle’s. At any other time Jack would have been only too
glad of his friend’s company; now his inclination was to get away from
everybody. Without remark he began rowing again with lightning speed,
evidently to the surprise of Carlisle, who, after watching him for a
moment, proceeded to follow in his wake, taking it quietly, but pulling
a long, steady stroke. Jack was determined to throw him off, but though
he struggled with all his might, his pursuer crept up on him inch by
inch without seeming to make any special exertion. So frantically did
he work to keep the lead that he soon began to splash, and finally,
to his utter disgust, caught a crab just as Carlisle was lapping him.
Before he could recover himself they were abreast.
“My dear youngster,” began his friend without observing Jack’s face,
“you will never learn to row if you spend yourself so soon. You can’t
keep that stroke up. It’s simply suicidal.”
“Why can’t you let me alone? What right have you to follow me?” was the
fierce reply.
Naturally Carlisle looked completely bewildered. “No right, if
you don’t want me to,” he said quietly. Then he added, with kind
solicitude, “What’s up, Jack? Are you ill, old fellow?”
Jack shook his head after a moment. He was looking the other way to
hide his welling tears.
“Tell me what’s the trouble. Perhaps I can help you,” said Carlisle
presently.
“It isn’t one thing: it’s everything,” sobbed Jack. “However, there’ll
be an end of it to-morrow,” he continued enigmatically.
“What do you mean by that?”
“It was I who blew up the tool-house last night.”
“You, Jack!” Carlisle exclaimed, aghast. “How could you!”
Then realizing instantly that this was not the occasion for reproof, he
hastened to ask, “Does the Doctor know?”
“Yes,” said Jack, who had turned his face to observe the effect on his
friend of the first announcement.
A few words made Carlisle familiar with the whole story. Jack did not
hesitate to inform him just how matters stood, knowing that his senior
would be in honor bound not to mention to others the conduct of Bill
and Horton.
“There can be only one end to it,” he said, in conclusion. “He’ll make
an example of me for the good of the school. Well, let him,” he added,
his voice again breaking, “_I_ don’t care.”
“Yes, you do care. The cowardly sneaks!” ejaculated Carlisle.
“If they had owned up, there would have been three instead of one,
that’s all. It wouldn’t have helped me any. I’m glad of one thing,
Louis: Horace didn’t spot Hasy.”
The other was silent a moment. “It’s all my fault,” he burst out at
last. “I ought to have protected you against that fellow. I marked him
as a low-lived beggar before he had been here a week. The trouble is, I
am so miserably selfish that I am taken up with my own affairs all the
time.”
“Indeed, that is not true, Louis. On the contrary, you’ve been at me
all the time trying to keep me straight. It’s no one’s fault but my
own. I see it plainly now. I’ve made an ass of myself, and the result
is I shall break my mother’s heart by being expelled.”
“Time enough to talk in that style, youngster, when it happens. I’ll
see the Doctor myself,” continued Carlisle. “Perhaps he’ll be willing
to give you another chance. There’s no harm in trying, at any rate. If
he can be made to believe that you’re ready to turn over a new leaf,
I know he’ll let you stay. But you must promise me, Jack, that if he
does, you will make a fresh deal all round,” he added, earnestly. “I’m
slack enough myself, Heaven knows, and not fitted to give advice to
any one, but I’ve lived two or three years longer than you; and have
learned at least that a fellow can’t do everything that he wants in
this world. One has to recognize it sooner or later. The trouble with
you, as I told you once before, is that you want the earth. You can’t
have it, and the sooner you make up your mind to the fact the better
for you.”
“I will do my best, Louis, I promise you. I wish though I thought that
there was ever a chance of my being half so good as you.”
“Nonsense, youngster. You’ve no idea,” he added, “of what a poor thing
I am.”
“You are looking in first-rate condition this term,” responded Jack,
with a just perception of how to please his friend. “I never saw a
fellow improve so in appearance as you have in a year.”
“It’s Dr. Bolles’ lectures,” said Carlisle, with a gratified smile. “I
owe it all to him.”
“And if I ever improve,” observed Jack quietly, “I shall owe it all to
you, Louis.”