WHO TOLD?
Jack Nelson was right about Barker; Berlin came back “with his head
up.” To the surprise of his teammates, he was on hand for football
practice that night, having caught the afternoon train from Clearport.
When some of the boys commented on the shortness of his visit to Merwin
and hinted broadly that he had made that visit for the purpose of
avoiding the height of a severe storm which had threatened to fall upon
the heads of all concerned in that piece of skylarking at which he was
the master mover, he made an indignant denial. Even Crane, who had
vowed he would give Barker a piece of his mind, was silenced by
Berlin’s resentment and anger over the insinuation that he had shown
the white feather.
Barker was not one of the few who betrayed a disposition to make the
best of the fact that Grant had turned the joke upon his tormentors; on
the contrary, this knowledge seemed to pierce his very soul with a
red-hot iron, and he became still more vindictive and vicious toward
the lad from Texas, declaring he would yet make the fellow laugh out of
the other side of his mouth. Nor was his bitterness softened in any
degree when he was told of Grant’s silence regarding the breaking of
the skeleton.
“He didn’t dare peach, that’s all,” said Berlin. “If he’d had the
nerve, he’d blown the whole business.”
A secret known by many persons may scarcely be called a secret, and
almost invariably it is sure to “leak.” For reasons, Roger Eliot had
not been taken into the confidence of the hazers, yet it was not long
ere he learned what had happened on that lively night, and in his quiet
way he took occasion to jest a trifle at the expense of the fellows
concerned. They wondered who had told him, and Rollins expressed the
belief that Grant must be “tattling and boasting.”
With the approach of the date for the Wyndham game, which was to
conclude the season, football almost wholly absorbed the attention of
the boys. Every effort was being made to strengthen the weak points on
the team, for Oakdale still hoped to defeat the former champions and
conclude a remarkable series of triumphs by winning the championship
for the first time in the history of the academy. Although he pretended
to be optimistic, the coach kept the players keyed to a fine point,
never once permitting them to get the impression that the game would be
anything but a stern battle from start to finish in which the failure
of a single fellow to do his level best might prove disastrous.
In secret consultation with Eliot, Winton owned up to apprehension
concerning two of the players, and repeated over and over that even one
more good man might strengthen the eleven enough to bring about the
desired victory. Although Grant’s name was not mentioned again, Roger
felt sure the coach had him in mind, but Eliot knew well enough there
was no prospect of altering the fellow’s decision about playing.
Furthermore, the time had already grown too short for the new boy to
put in the practice he would need to become at all efficient.
The game, to be played in Wyndham, was scheduled for a Saturday. On
Friday, at the beginning of the afternoon session, Prof. Richardson
startled the school by delivering a grim lecture on the evils of
hazing. Beneath his calm but scathing words some of the boys writhed
visibly, despite their efforts to maintain a semblance of indifference.
They knew, at the very start, the cause of this lecture, and concluded
at once that in some manner the principal had learned the particulars
of the hazing affair in which they had been concerned. As he went on
the master proceeded to cite special instances in which hazing had
resulted in the wrecking of the mental or physical health of the
victims. He denounced it as disgraceful, unmanly and brutal, adding
that he had been mortified and shocked to learn that various of his
most respected boys had been concerned in such a piece of work.
“A few days ago,” said the professor, “I had something to say to you
about the breaking of the skeleton in the laboratory, which at that
time I supposed to be an act of vandalism. I have since learned that
this skeleton was used by the hazers to frighten the unfortunate
subject of their pitiful sport, and that it was broken while being thus
used, and then returned to the academy. I declared, should I learn who
had been concerned, that I would be severe in my punishment; but that
declaration was made without a full understanding of the circumstances.
I am now in complete possession of the facts, and I know the name of
every boy who took part in that disgraceful frolic. The wisest men
often feel at liberty to change their minds, and, without any claim to
special wisdom, I have changed mine. I shall not inflict immediate
chastisement upon the offenders. However, I shall hereafter keep close
and constant watch upon them, and any further offense of theirs coming
to my notice shall not pass, I promise, without merited discipline. I
am not so old that I do not understand that boys will be boys, but
there are plenty of clean and manly sports in which you may indulge to
your heart’s content without danger of bringing to yourselves pangs of
regret, and without fear of inflicting shame upon your parents and
friends by your behavior. Although I have been exceedingly mild in my
denunciation of your conduct, I wish you to know that I feel highly
incensed and grieved and regretful over it.”
Without exception, they were intensely relieved when he had finished.
Few of them ventured to exchange glances, but behind his geography Hunk
Rollins grinned and winked at one or two of the guilty chaps who
chanced to look in his direction.
After school that night, ere proceeding to the football field for final
signal practice, half a dozen lads gathered behind the gymnasium.
“Somebody pup-peached,” said Phil Springer.
“Well, whoever the pup is, he’s a peach, that’s all I have to say,”
observed Chipper Cooper.
“Who d’you s’pose it was, fellers?” questioned Sile Crane.
“My deduction is,” said Sleuth Piper, “that it was a certain party
named Grant.”
“Of course it was Grant,” agreed Berlin Barker. “No one else would do
it.”
“If it was him,” said Tuttle, “why didn’t he come right out with it
when the prof gave us that first game of talk about busting the
skeleton and offered to let off without punishment any one who would
own up?”
“Because he’s a sneak and a coward!” exclaimed Berlin. “He was afraid
to get up before the whole school and squeal, but he went to Prof.
Richardson privately and told the whole business. I’ll bet my life I’m
right.”
“Of course you are,” eagerly put in Rollins—“you’re dead right, Berlin.
You’ve got the cheap skate sized up correct.”
“If you _are_ right,” said Cooper, “we’d all better show Mr. Grant what
we think of a sneak. I’m in favor of sending him to Coventry. Let’s cut
him out, let him alone, have nothing to do with him; let’s not even
speak to him. If every fellow will do that, he’ll enjoy himself
hugely—I don’t think.”
“It’s a good idea,” nodded Barker.
“Maybe there’s one feller yeou can’t git to agree to it,” drawled
Crane. “Ben Stone’s ruther chummy with Rod Grant.”
“There was a time when Stone wasn’t very popular around here,” reminded
Barker.
“Oh, yes,” nodded Sile; “but yeou don’t want to forgit that he come out
on top, just the same.”
“Look here,” sneered Berlin, turning on the lanky fellow, “if you want
to take up with a sneak and a coward like this boasting Texan why don’t
you say so? If you want to be friendly with a skulking, white-livered
creature who peaches on you behind your back you can do so.”
“Naow yeou hold right on!” snapped Crane. “I ain’t said nothin’ about
bein’ friendly with him myself, have I? We all know haow we used Stone
and what come of it. Bern Hayden was at the head of that business, and
he’s got out of Oakdale and gone to school somewheres else. I just
mentioned the fact that Stone was ruther friendly with Grant. I s’pose
that’s natteral, too, seein’ as he recollects what happened to himself
when he first hit this taown. We don’t know yet for dead sartain that
’twas Grant who give us away, and so I’m in favor of goin’ slow, that’s
all.”
“We don’t have to have proof against him,” retorted Barker. “Nobody
else would tell. Besides that, he’s shown himself to be a quitter and a
cheap dub. A fellow who hasn’t the sand to play football when his team
needs him is a——”
“’Sh!” hissed Piper. “Here’s Eliot.”
“Come on, fellows,” called the captain of the team, looking round the
corner. “What are you doing here? The coach is waiting for us.”
They followed him to the field.
A slight spitting fall of snow, beginning early the following morning,
filled the boys with apprehension, but it did not result in a storm;
and at ten o’clock the members of the team and the coach set out on
their long ride over the frozen roads to Wyndham. A group of boys and
girls who could not make the trip to witness the game were assembled at
the square in front of the postoffice, and gave the buckboard load of
husky youngsters a rousing send-off. As the buckboard swung down the
main street Piper espied a sturdy, solitary figure in front of
Stickney’s store.
“There he is!” exclaimed Sleuth. “There’s Grant watching us!”
“The cheap, blabbing coward!” cried Barker.
Ben Stone, sitting in front of Berlin, twisted round in his heavy
overcoat.
“Look here, Barker,” he said indignantly, “if you’re referring to my
friend Grant, take my advice and use different language in my hearing.”
“Oh, ho!” sneered Berlin. “Your friend Grant, eh? Well, you must be
proud of your friend!”
Stone’s face was flushed, and he would have made a hot retort had not
Eliot promptly interfered.
“Drop it, both of you,” commanded Roger. “This is no time for a
quarrel. We’ve got a football game on our hands.”
“All right, captain,” said Ben, straightening round. “I’m mum.”
Barker laughed mirthlessly, and the buckboard rumbled across the bridge.
Little did those boys dream that while they were on their way to the
scene of the contest Rodney Grant made arrangements with the telephone
operator in Wyndham to secure the earliest possible report of the game.
And while they were fighting desperately on the field Grant sat within
instant call of the phone, waiting to bear of the result. When at last
the exultant Wyndham operator transmitted over the wire the
intelligence that Oakdale had been defeated by a score of 10 to 6, the
boy from Texas returned to the home of Priscilla Kent in a deeply
dejected frame of mind.
“I’m sorry,” he said to himself. “It’s too bad.”
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