The club received such report as Sam felt free to make of his
investigation with interest rather than with regret for its share in
the misfortunes of Tom Orkney.
If Sam had told the whole story, including the affair in Marlow woods
and Lon’s suspicions of Peter Groche, the crowd, doubtless, would
have buzzed with excitement, and, incidentally, felt some sympathy
for Orkney; but, given merely new light on the matter of the cap and
a revised version of the incident at the pond, the boys, as a rule,
fell back upon the declaration that Tom was a “grouch,” anyway, and
declined to take to themselves any especial culpability. Somebody had
committed the depredations at the Parker place; somebody had smashed
the club-house window. Maybe Orkney hadn’t done these things, but
wasn’t he a chronic sorehead? Of course, it was hard luck for him to
be deemed Little Perrine’s persecutor instead of protector, but the
misunderstanding was general and not the particular error of the Safety
First Club.
Even the Shark, who might have spoken from the text of “I told you
so,” let the opportunity pass. His calculations of the flight of the
boulder had started him upon an agreeable inquiry into the subject of
projectiles, and, as Poke declared, he was as far in the clouds as if
he had been sent there by one of the big mortars about which he was
reading.
In the club’s opinion that there was nothing to be done, Sam was in a
way to coincide, though he would have phrased it that nothing could be
done at present. Yet something should be done. This was clear in his
mind, though he seemed to be unable to hit upon a practical suggestion.
No news came of the missing Orkney.
Lon Gates, playing detective at every opportunity, confessed that he
found nothing either to shake or to confirm his theory of the guilt of
Peter Groche. The man, after hanging about town as usual, had dropped
out of sight, leaving no word of the destination for which he was
bound.
Then came Christmas and a fortnight’s vacation, and Sam shared
cheerfully in the festivities of the season. He was in excellent
health; he liked fun; he indulged vigorously in winter sports; his
appetite remained admirable. But, for all that, there was a change
in the boy, quite unobserved by his father, who was held by business
cares; vaguely felt by his friends, and distinctly marked by his
mother. Mrs. Parker took occasion to have several long talks with
her son. She was sure that he had something on his mind, but all her
tact did not lead him to confidences. Sam understood her solicitude,
and was grateful, if reticent. A fellow who was trying to prove his
self-reliance, he reasoned, must work out his problems for himself.
Not that he would have declined counsel from older heads--probably he
would have welcomed a chance to accept his father’s advice, the affair
appearing to him to be peculiarly one for masculine consideration; but
he would not seek it.
Mr. Parker, as has been related, was very busy. For one thing, he was
arranging a trip into the woods with a capitalist from New York, and
plans for the expedition took up much of his time. For another, his
method of dealing with Sam on probation was to interfere as little as
possible with the boy’s affairs. Sam’s school reports were good; he
seemed to be avoiding scrapes; he had distinguished himself in the
rescue of Tom Orkney and Little Perrine. On the whole, the father was
well pleased with the situation as he observed it.
Sam himself was not pleased. It is not good to have a sense of
uncertainty, and of baffled intentions to do right. On the one hand was
his remembrance of his precautions in trying to follow out his motto of
“Safety First”; on the other, an uneasy conviction that Tom Orkney had
suffered unjustly. Sometimes one seemed to outweigh the other; again he
vacillated miserably between the two opinions. And one day, not long
after Christmas, when his doubts were assailing him sorely, he recalled
the Major’s invitation, and sought diversion in a visit to the veteran.
The Major received him with marked favor, cracked a joke or two
about his big game record, and began to make the round of what was
really a fine collection of arms. There were flint-lock muskets and
fowling-pieces; muzzle-loading and breech-loading rifles; cutlasses,
sabers and bayonets; huge, old-fashioned horse pistols, revolvers and
even a modern, compact, automatic weapon. Of these the Major spoke
briefly; but he lingered longer over a case in which lay a brace of
pistols, very old in pattern, but of exquisite workmanship.
“I wonder, Sam,” he said, “if you ever have seen such fellows as these?
What do you think they are?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” Sam answered.
“Well, what do you imagine they were used for?”
“I haven’t a notion.”
The Major wagged his head. “My boy, it’s a testimonial to the progress
of the world that you haven’t a notion. Time was, I’m sorry to say,
when a fine, upstanding lad like you would have known only too well
what these were and how they were used. These are dueling pistols, sir!”
“Oh!” cried Sam, and bent over the case with increased interest.
“And--and were they ever--ever----”
“They were,” said the Major drily. “Oh, yes--more than once. Genuine
article, I do assure you! But that sort of thing is over and done with,
fortunately.”
Sam straightened his back. “I’ve read about duels, of course. And some
of the books speak as if there must have been lots of them.”
“Too many!” snorted the Major. “That’s perfectly true, sir. Principle
was all wrong, but it took centuries to make the discovery. Honest men,
honorable men mistakenly believed that the way to do justice and to
accept justice was by killing each other or standing up to be killed.
All wrong; all wrong, sir! The law is the law, and to it we must look
for redress for injuries.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sam, a deal impressed by this testimony from
one commonly reputed to be a stubborn and unyielding antagonist.
“Only--only”--a curious thought had thrust itself upon him--“only, can
you always be sure of what the law is? I mean, that is, can you always
be sure of what you ought to do?”
“Eh?” The bushy eyebrows came together as if the Major were perplexed
by the question.
“Can you always find a law--or a rule--that applies?”
“Well, a law is general in its terms, of course. And you’ve some
special instance in mind, haven’t you?”
Sam hesitated. “I--I--well, I’m thinking of a case in which a fellow
acted on what he thought was full justification, and found, afterward,
that--well, that there had been a lot of mistakes.”
“Honest mistakes?”
“Yes, sir. Only----”
“Pardon me!” the Major interrupted. “Let me cite a case. Once a friend
of mine, who had to carry a great deal of money, was set upon by masked
and armed men. In what he fully believed was self-defense he shot and
killed one of them. It proved that the attack was the work of rash
practical jokers. My friend was acquitted, justly. Now, was his case
like that which you are considering?”
Again Sam hesitated. “Yes--and no, sir. My case isn’t quite so clear.”
“Little prejudice to begin with--biased judgment?” queried the Major
keenly.
“That’s the trouble, sir,” said Sam frankly. “The evidence looked all
right, but how can I be certain that it ought to have seemed so?”
“Difficult!” said the Major tersely.
“Well, sir, what would you do if you were in my--if you were in the
fix?”
The Major put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “My boy,” he said very
gravely, “you’re dealing with a problem which neither I nor anybody
else can solve for you. It is a problem to be settled by law, but
the law is that of your own conscience. Now, I submit, the court of
conscience is supplemental to the courts of the land, but it is severer
in its judgments. The other courts may give you the benefit of a doubt,
but hardly the court of conscience. And if there were prejudice----”
There he checked himself. “No; I’ll say no more; for I’ve no right to
seek to influence you unduly. You must reach your own decision for
yourself.”
“I understand, sir,” said Sam, with a gravity matching the Major’s.
The pressure on his shoulder increased. “If I’m a judge of human
nature, young man,” the Major declared, “you _will_ settle this thing
for yourself, and you’ll settle it right!”