ACCUSATION.
Quiet and self-contained and little given to impulse as he was,
Seabrooke, when roused to anger or resentment, was a very lion in his
wrath, and there was one thing which he could never tolerate or
overlook, and that was any attempt to take an unfair advantage of
him. He had been exasperated to a great degree by Flagg's endeavor to
drug him on the night of the expedition to Rice's, and that with good
reason; and now his suspicions, nay, more than suspicions aroused
that he was trying to make it appear that he, Seabrooke, had
wrongfully kept Percy's money and then pretended that the latter had
taken it from him by stealth, enraged him beyond bounds.
Striding in among the group of boys who were still discussing the
very question of the disappearance of the money which had been the
main topic of interest ever since the loss was discovered, the
bank-note in his hand, he advanced directly to Flagg, who was taking
an active part in the conversation--that is, he had been doing so
within the last few moments, since he had returned after a short
absence from the school-room, looking, as more than one of the boys
observed, "flushed and rather flurried."
Indeed one boy had remarked:
"You seem to be short of breath, Flaggy; you're purring like a
steam-engine. What ails you?"
"Can't a fellow take a run around the house without anything being
the matter with him?" asked Lewis, sharply, but with a little nervous
trepidation in his tone and manner; but the subject was now dropped,
and he had more than recovered his composure and was taking an
apparently interested part in the renewed discussion over Percy's
loss, when the enraged Seabrooke entered the room.
"You scoundrel!" he ejaculated between his set teeth, and with his
eyes actually blazing, "you stole this, did you?"--flourishing the
note before the now terrified Lewis, who, taken thus by surprise, had
no time to collect his wits and assume an appearance of unconcern and
innocence. "You stole this, and to make it appear that I was the
thief--the thief!--you put it in my trunk. Don't deny it," as Lewis
endeavored to speak, "don't dare to deny it.--You were _seen_ to
do it!"
No other thought entered the head of the terrified Lewis than that
Seabrooke himself had seen him at his shameful work, and that he had
chosen to confront and convict him with it here in the presence of
the rest of the school. He would have denied it could he have found
words in which to do it, had he had time to frame a denial, but he
was so entirely off his guard, so confounded by Seabrooke's sudden
accusation and this evidence of the dastardly deed he had performed
that he was utterly overwhelmed, and stood speechless, and the
picture of detected guilt.
The doctor happened to be in one of the adjoining recitation rooms in
conference with some of the other teachers over this very matter, and
the raised tones--so very unusual--of Seabrooke's angry voice
arrested his attention and called him into the main schoolroom.
To him Seabrooke, without waiting to be questioned, made known his
complaint, and again displayed the note in proof thereof, accusing
Lewis Flagg of stealing it and then placing it in his trunk for the
purpose of criminating him, hoping that it might be found there
before school broke up.
In this he did Flagg some partial injustice. Lewis had searched for
and taken the money with the object of playing an annoying trick upon
Seabrooke and Percy, but proposing, after giving both "a good
fright," to put it back where he had found it, or in some other place
in Seabrooke's alcove where he might be supposed to have mislaid it.
But once in his possession, the note excited his cupidity and a
strong desire to keep it. If it were but his, he could easily clear
off sundry debts which he had contracted, especially the remainder of
that to Rice, which he had only partially satisfied. On his return to
school after the Easter holidays it might well appear that he had an
unusual amount of funds; a boy's relations were apt to be generous
at such times, and no one need ever know the extent of his riches.
So reasoned this unprincipled boy, and he had actually made up his
mind to make no attempt to restore the money to a place where it
might be found, but to retain it for himself, when the doctor's
address and a dread that his crime might after all be detected,
decided him to return to his first intentions.
There was little time to be lost now. Seizing the first opportunity
of slipping away from his schoolmates, he rushed upstairs to the
dormitory with the design of throwing the note under Seabrooke's bed
or bureau, where it might be supposed to have fallen; but seeing the
trunk standing there ready packed, the impulse had taken him to put
it in that, and without reflecting--perhaps hardly caring--that this
would place Seabrooke in a still more embarrassing position, he
thrust the note within, as Charlie Henderson saw, and fled from the
room. He was rid of it in any event, and he cared little what the
consequences might be to any one else, especially Seabrooke.
And now he was confronted with the evidence of his misdeeds, and even
when he began to recover himself a little, knew not what to say, what
excuse to make. And here was Dr. Leacraft awaiting his answer to
Seabrooke's accusations, and regarding him with stern and questioning
eyes.
The doctor was a just man, however, and would condemn no culprit
unheard, and he had no proof that Lewis Flagg was the culprit in the
present case, other than Seabrooke's asseverations and the boy's own
guilty appearance. As the latter stood hesitating for words which
would not plunge him deeper, Dr. Leacraft turned to Seabrooke.
"_Who_ saw Flagg do this thing?" he questioned. "Did you,
Seabrooke?"
"No, sir," answered Seabrooke, who was becoming more calm; "I did not
see him myself, but he was seen to do it."
"By whom?" persisted the doctor.
Seabrooke hesitated. He was beginning to realize that he was placing
Charlie Henderson in rather an unpleasant position: that young
involuntary detective might be scouted at by the boys for the part he
had taken in bringing Flagg to justice, for "telling." He knew that
there were those among the older scholars who would make the child's
school-life a misery to him if they heard that he had informed, and
he would not betray him to them.
"Could I see you a moment alone, sir?" he asked the doctor.
Dr. Leacraft assented, and retired with Seabrooke to one of the
adjoining class-rooms, bidding every boy remain where he was till
their return.
Alone with the doctor, Seabrooke told his story and besought him not
to let it be known that Charlie had been the unsuspected observer of
Flagg's actions.
"The boy is as honest as the day, doctor," said Seabrooke.
"I know it; above suspicion. A most honest and loyal little fellow,"
said the doctor. "His secret shall be kept, if possible."
Then he went up to see Charlie, and received from him the fullest
confirmation of all that Seabrooke had told; and he assured the boy
that his knowledge of the transaction should not be betrayed to the
others.
Charlie himself had taken such precautions against "being found out"
as he was able to do; he would not even drink his coffee until he had
persuaded Mrs. Moffat to let him go to his own dormitory, lest any of
the "big fellows" should find him in their quarters. He told Mrs.
Moffat enough to let her understand that he had unwittingly seen
something he was not intended to see, and she, knowing enough of boys
in general and of that senior class in particular, to be sure that
Charlie would not go scot free, if the truth were known, hastened to
comply with his request. Charlie had faith enough in Seabrooke to
believe that he would not betray him if it were possible not to do
so, and as no boy save he and Flagg had been into the dormitory, he
hoped that it would not be discovered that he had been there.
And it was so; when the boys came up to make the final preparations
for leaving, Charlie was in his own room, all tokens of his presence
in that of the senior class removed by Mrs. Moffat's willing hands,
and no one suspected that the boy had slept off his headache in any
other than his usual place.
During the doctor's absence, and when he had time to collect his
thoughts a little, Lewis had made up his mind as to the course he
would pursue. He was in a bad position, there was no doubt of that;
but he resolved to brave it out and to treat the whole affair as a
huge joke. He might be punished; there was little doubt but that he
would be, and probably his misconduct would be reported at home, but
he would make the best he could out of a bad business. As he did not
know who it was that had seen him in the dormitory, he did not dare
to deny having been there; his suspicions turned toward Mrs. Moffat,
and as she was an old and trusted member of the household, he knew
very well that her word would be taken at any time against his own,
which had not too much credit with either teacher or scholars.
He broke forth into a hoarse, forced laugh, looking around him with
defiance and an assured contempt upon the circle of his schoolmates,
who were, one and all, regarding him with suspicion and unconcealed
scorn. The most careless and reckless among them were shocked at the
enormity of the offence with which he stood charged, a theft of such
magnitude, and then the scoundrelly attempt to make it appear that
another had been guilty of it.
"What a row about a small matter!" he exclaimed. "The whole thing was
a joke; but I never thought it would be so successful as this,
putting the whole school in a fever. See here; I did take that
bank-note, of course. I wanted to see Seabrooke and Neville in a war
over it, and then I was going to put it in some place here it would
be found. I was going to throw it under Seabrooke's bed or somewhere;
but I saw his trunk standing there, and the chance was too good to be
lost. I knew he would find it there, and send it to Percy as soon as
he reached home. If it hadn't been for old Moffat it would all have
worked right."
Utter silence met this tissue of impudence, defiance, truth and
falsehood, and he saw plainly enough that he was believed to have
committed the theft of Percy's money for theft itself, pure and
simple, and that fear of detection only had induced him to make the
effort at restoration.
"I say, Neville," he continued, "you know I did not mean to keep the
money, don't you?"
But Percy only turned contemptuously away without any reply in words.
None were needed. Lewis was answered.
"I'm going to do my best not to be sent back here," said Lewis,
striving to continue his bravado, although his heart was sinking as
he began to realize more and more in what a predicament he had placed
himself. "Such a set of muffs, teachers and scholars, I never met. No
one can take a joke, or even see it."
"I think it likely your efforts will be crowned with success," said
Raymond Stewart, himself a boy of not too much principle, but who, in
common with the rest of the school, had been inexpressibly shocked
and revolted by Lewis' conduct.
"You are dismissed," said Mr. Merton, appearing at the door. "Lewis
Flagg, you are to go to the doctor in his study."
What sentence was meted out to Lewis in that interview with the
doctor the boys did not know until their return to school after the
holidays, when he did not appear among them, and they were told on
inquiry that he would not do so.
He endeavored to brazen it out with Dr. Leacraft as he had with the
boys, insisting that the whole affair, the abstraction of the money
and the placing it in Seabrooke's trunk, was "only a joke;" but the
doctor altogether refused to look upon it in any other light than
that of an unmitigated theft and an atrocious attempt to fasten it
upon another when he feared detection for himself.
No protestations to the contrary served Lewis' turn, and from this
day forth his evil influence was happily lost to the school.
And this was the story which Percy had to pour into the ears of his
innocent young sister on his return home.
On the first opportunity which presented itself the morning after his
arrival at his uncle's he told her all, extenuating nothing of his
own misconduct and weakness in the beginning, and acknowledging that
he had almost wilfully suffered himself to be led into disobedience
and wrong, and richly deserved all the shame and trouble which had
fallen upon him.
Lena was inexpressibly shocked by the account of this last wickedness
of Flagg's, for she, in common with Dr. Leacraft and every one else
who heard the tale, gave him credit only for the deliberate theft of
Percy's money and then of the effort to throw it upon Seabrooke,
either as an act of revenge or else because he feared that it would
be found in his possession.
He returned to her the hundred-dollar note which had such a story
attached to it, and in his turn had to hear from Lena her belief that
the second sum sent for his relief had come from Hannah, and that the
old nurse had sacrificed the gold which she had destined for her own
glorification to his rescue from his predicament.
She reproached him for having appealed to Hannah, a servant in his
father's house, for aid; and in her turn had to hear his reproaches
for believing that he would condescend to such a thing, and received
an emphatic and solemn denial that he had been guilty of this, or
that he had ever let Hannah know of the straits he was in. He had
never, he asseverated, spoken or written to any one concerning this,
save herself; if he had done so it would have been to his indulgent
uncle, Colonel Rush, to whom he would have applied.
How then had Hannah become possessed of his secret, was the question
which the brother and sister now asked of each other and of
themselves. Here was a mystery, indeed; for that it had been Hannah
who sent that second hundred dollars could not be doubted after Miss
Trevor's revelations. And why should she have sent the money unless
she had known that Percy was in sore need?
"Did you tell Hannah anything about it?" he asked.
"No!" answered Lena, indignantly. "How could I tell her such a thing?
And you know how you told me I must never, never tell."
"And you did not show her my letter?" asked the puzzled Percy, who
was by no means pleased, as may be imagined, by the knowledge that
one other, at least, must share the secret.
"No," repeated Lena, still more vexed that he should suppose her to
be capable of such an evasion, which to her sense of uprightness
would have been as bad as speaking a falsehood by word of mouth; "no,
of course I did not, that would have been telling her, would it not?
One can _do_ a falsehood as well as tell it," and although she
had intended no reflection upon her brother, no thrust at him, Percy
was ashamed as he remembered how often, during the last few months,
he had done this very thing; how he had shuffled and evaded, and
thought it no great harm as long as he did not put his falsehood into
actual words.
"Well, no one knows how thankful I am to you, Lena, dear," he said.
"What can I ever do for you?"
"Tell Uncle Horace. I wish, oh, I do _wish_ you would tell him,"
said his sister.
"Tell Uncle Horace; no, never!" exclaimed Percy. "I couldn't. Think
of that look in his eyes when he hears of anything he thinks shabby
or--well--dishonorable. He'd be ready to put me out of his house if
he heard about that letter, even though we didn't know what was in
it. I couldn't, Lena; I couldn't."
"I think it would be better for you," said his sister, "for Aunt May
knew about Hannah and Miss Trevor, and she is sure to have told him.
They have said nothing about it to me; but I know Uncle Horace will
ask you, and then you must confess. It will be best to tell him
without waiting till you must; he will not think so badly of you."
But Percy could not be persuaded to do this; he lacked the moral
courage to follow his sister's advice and to confess all to his uncle
before he should be obliged to do so, hoping that after all she might
be mistaken and that he should still escape that humiliation. Since
Colonel Rush had not spoken at once upon the subject, Percy believed
that he would not do so at all, either because he had no knowledge
of these money transactions or because he thought the matter of no
importance.
"Why should Uncle Horace worry himself about Hannah's money?" he said
to his sister. "She is nothing to him, and what she chooses to do
with it is no business of his. She is not his servant."
"No," said the sensible and more far-sighted Lena; "but she is in his
house. And you are his nephew and under his care, and he must think
it strange that a servant would send you so much money and in such a
secret way, and he must know that something is wrong; he must suspect
that you are in some very bad scrape."
But Percy was still immovable. Easily swayed as he was in general, he
was not to be influenced in the only right direction now, and all
Lena's arguments were thrown away.
"But I say, Lena," he said, with a sudden change of subject and with
his usual, easy-going facility for putting aside for the time being
anything which troubled him, "I say, isn't it queer that the girl you
are all trying to win this prize for should be the sister of
Seabrooke? How things do come around, to be sure. I can tell you he's
as uppish as the Grand Panjandrum himself about it, too; says his
sister is not an object of charity, and her father and brother are
able to look after her."
"Oh, did you tell him? How could you, Percy?" exclaimed Lena. "And
now he'll tell her, and we meant it to be a surprise to her if any
one gained it for her. What will the girls say, Maggie and Bessie,
and the others who are trying for her!"
"I let it out without intending to," said Percy. "I was so taken by
surprise myself when Seabrooke told me what he intended to do with
that money, that I just let it out without thinking. But afterwards I
told him it was a secret, and he said he wouldn't say anything about
it. But he was awfully high and mighty, I can tell you. You won't
make the thing go down with him. But who is likely to win it,--you
won't, of course, whatever your chances may have been in the
beginning--any one of your chums? Maggie Bradford or Bessie, or
those?"
"I don't know," answered Lena. "Maggie would, of course, if it were
for the best composition written by the class; but it is not for
that, you know, but for the greatest general improvement in
composition. But so many of the girls are interested about Gladys
Seabrooke that I think almost any of our class would give it to her.
But it somehow seems as if Maggie or Bessie _ought_ to have the
pleasure because we are the ones who found her out. The girls are all
going to Miss Ashton's on Saturday morning, when they will be told;
and if any one gains the prize who will give it to Gladys Seabrooke,
it will be sent to her as an Easter present."