INDEPENDENT ROD.
Despite those final words, the boy from Texas had spoken quietly and
without giving the impression that he was boasting; indeed, it seemed
as if this much had escaped his lips through a sudden impulse, which he
now more than half regretted.
“I could tell you something more, Ben,” he said; “but they are things I
do not care to talk about, and I’ve said enough already—too much,
perhaps.”
“Not too much,” protested the visitor hastily. “For I fancy that I
myself am beginning to understand you better than I did. If the fellows
knew——”
“I don’t want them to know. Don’t forget I’ve trusted you thus far in
strict confidence. I could give you reasons why I don’t play football
and why I hold in abhorrence the usual practice of hazing at school or
college; but, as I just remarked, I don’t care to talk about those
things. I’ve been sent here to attend school, and I reckon I’ll do so
for all of the narrow-minded, misguided peanut-heads in Oakdale.”
“That’s right,” encouraged Ben. “Sometime they’ll find out their
mistake.”
“It certainly is a matter of indifference to me whether they do or
not,” laughed Rod. “I’m some independent in my ways.”
“But there are some things no fellow can afford to do,” said Ben. “Now
I didn’t come here to knock anybody, but I think there are certain
facts you ought to know about those chaps you were with last night. I
want you to understand I haven’t any grudge against Davis, even though
he was concerned in a mean and despicable plot to make me out a cheap
sneak thief—a plot which, fortunately for me, fell through. Spotty
really wasn’t nearly so much to blame as the chap who put him up to it,
an old and bitter enemy of mine who is no longer attending school at
Oakdale. I think Davis is easily influenced, but his natural
inclinations seem to be crooked.”
Grant was listening seriously enough now, and Stone continued:
“Even Lander may have a streak of decency in him, but he’s always been
the black sheep among the boys of Oakdale, and anyone who chooses him
for a friend is almost certain to be estimated by the company he keeps.
To-day some of the fellows, skating up at Bass Cove, found there on the
shore a bottle containing a little frozen hard cider. Now they’re
saying you fellows were boozy last night, and that’s why you skated out
onto the dangerous ice and broke through.”
“So that’s what they’re saying!” cried Rod hotly. “It’s a lie, as far
as I’m concerned.”
The visitor nodded his head in satisfaction. “I’m glad to hear you say
that, and I believe it. I’ve already expressed my belief that it wasn’t
true; now I shall tell them I know it wasn’t.”
“Lots of good that will do!” scoffed Rod. “Don’t put yourself out to do
it, Ben; let the chumps think what they like.”
“But—but,” faltered Ben, “no fellow can afford to have such lies
circulated about him.”
“Second-hand contradiction of a lie seldom stops its progress.”
“Why don’t you deny it?”
“Bah! Would you have me pike around after those fellows who have given
me the cold shoulder and meachingly protest that I wasn’t boozy last
night? Why, that would rejoice certain members of the bunch who, I’m
sure, have taken prime joy in spreading the yarn.”
“You know, some fellows think you peached to the professor about that
hazing business, and you haven’t denied it.”
“If I started in denying the lies cooked up about me, it’s plain I’d be
kept plenty busy. By and by they may get tired of it and let up.”
“Perhaps you’ve never heard just why Lander happened to leave town so
suddenly two years ago?”
“No.”
“Shortly before he got out, a series of petty robberies were committed
in Oakdale, rousing the people here to a state of apprehension and
indignation. The worst of these was the breaking into Stickney’s store
one night and the pilfering of a whole lot of provisions, tinware,
cutlery, and a gun. A day or two later Bunk Lander was caught in an old
camp he had built out in the swamp back of Turkey Hill, and in that
camp they found the stolen goods. They were going to send him to the
reform school, but he was not taken into immediate custody, and ere he
could be sent away he disappeared. His father, who is a poor,
hard-working man, sent him off somewhere. Since then Mr. Lander has
settled with the people who were plundered, fixing it up some way so
that Bunk has ventured to return. I thought you ought to know all this,
Rod.”
Grant rose, walking to the door and back. Standing beside the table, he
looked at Ben.
“Right serious business,” he admitted. “But possibly Bunk didn’t
realize just how serious it was. When I first came to Oakdale I heard
some fellows who aren’t reckoned to be particularly bad chaps joking
with one another about robbing orchards and plundering somebody’s grape
arbors. I wonder if they realized that they were thieves.”
“Oh, but that’s different—in a way,” Ben hastily said.
“In a degree, perhaps,” nodded Grant. “But it was theft, just the same.
Those fellows were right proud of it, too.”
“Most fellows consider hooking apples or plundering grape vines as
permissible sport.”
“Oh, yes, I know that. And to Bunk Lander’s undeveloped sense of right
and wrong, stealing provisions and other stuffs he desired to furnish
his camp, may have seemed like permissible sport. I doubt not that the
fathers of some of these very fellows who plundered orchards and grape
arbors were plenty rank and severe against Lander when he was caught,
yet in a degree their own sons were no better than Bunk.”
Stone found himself somewhat staggered by the force of this argument.
“I’m not saying that even Bunk is irreclaimable,” he hastened to state.
“But it seems to me that under the circumstances you can’t afford to
let yourself be classed with him.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me any if Lander had as much honor in his makeup
as Hunk Rollins, or even Berlin Barker; yet those fellows are accepted
as the associates of the most respectable chaps in Oakdale. Stone, old
man, last night Rollins left me hanging precariously to the edge of the
broken ice while he skated off, yelling to his friends. On the other
hand, Bunk Lander took a chance and pulled me out. He saved my life,
Ben, for I wasn’t able to get out alone, with the current dragging at
me the way it did. If anybody reckons that a Grant is going to forget a
thing of that sort, he’s making a mighty big mistake.”
“Which means, I suppose,” said Ben, rising, “that you propose to stick
by Lander?”
“Which means that I propose to treat him white and do him a decent turn
if I ever get the chance. Everybody around here has thrown him down on
his past record, and that’s the best way to send a fellow who has made
a mistake straight to the dogs. We all make mistakes, and when we do we
need somebody to encourage us, not to kick us. No, Stone, I shan’t go
back on Lander.”
“Well?” cried Ben suddenly, “although I haven’t succeeded in the object
of my visit, I want to say that I rather admire you for your stand, and
here’s my hand on it.”
“Thanks,” laughed Rod Grant, as they shook hands.
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