WHO?
"Have you your keys, Roy?" asked Bracebridge.
"Yes, here they are."
Henning moved to the end of the table where the drawer was, and picked
out the key which was to unlock the table drawer.
By this time all were engaged in a general discussion as to the kind
of pitcher's cage which should be procured.
"I can not make up my mind," said Roy, as he inserted the key into the
lock, "whether to recommend the committee to get a wire backstop, or a
canvas one." He had now opened the drawer and was feeling mechanically
for his subscription book.
"I think a canvas one will be better because it will not be so hard on
the balls, and be less noisy, too. Why! where is my book--Ah! here it
is."
He drew out from the drawer the book containing the list of donors. In
the back of the book Henning had made a rough sketch of what he
supposed was wanted as a pitcher's cage. He showed it to the boys.
"Who's the artist?" asked Jack.
"Your humble servant," replied Roy.
"H'm! Perspective all out. It looks two miles long. I guess the
grease-paint man of last night could do better than that."
"That's what you say, Jack," answered Roy good-naturedly; "I would
like to see you do as well, anyway."
Jack Beecham was not in earnest. Henning had caught him winking to the
others while decrying his work.
"Well," continued Roy, as he put his hand again into the drawer, "I
would not ask Mr. John Beauchamps--to draw--for me--a--a barn
door--Great heavens! Where's that money! I can't feel it anywhere in
the drawer!"
All this time Henning's forearm was in the drawer and his fingers were
nervously searching for the bag.
"Give yourself more room. Open the drawer wider, you goose," said
Beecham.
Henning pushed back his chair so suddenly that it fell. He pulled out
the drawer to its full length. Then taking out the contents of the
drawer he put them excitedly on the table. There was a large leather
blotter, with pouches, a pad of athletic club letterheads, a lot of
spoiled half sheets of foolscap, about a quire of clean paper, and a
few small miscellaneous articles.
"Did you have the money in a purse?" asked Bracebridge, who could not
keep his anxiety out of his voice.
"No; it was in one if those yellow bank canvas bags."
"Look again through the pile of papers and be sure it is not there."
They all searched. The money was gone.
Those who saw Henning at that moment pitied him from the bottom of
their hearts. For a few seconds he stood as one dazed. When he
realized the force of the catastrophe which had happened to him he
turned ghastly pale. His lips became livid. Around them were distinct
white lines.
For a moment the six boys stood in perfect silence. Ambrose
Bracebridge seemed afraid to look at his friend.
Henning stood as one dazed, not at present seeming to realize all of
the untoward thing that had happened to him. It seemed to him as if he
were under water and could not breathe. He panted for breath. A moment
or two later a reaction set in and the blood rushed to his head,
making his sight waver and his temples throb, and reddening his face
to crimson. He felt as if he were falling forward, yet he remained
motionless.
"Fetch Mr. Shalford, Ernest, but tell him nothing. Say we want him at
once," whispered Bracebridge to young Winters. The boy slipped out
noiselessly and it is doubtful if any one except the last speaker
noticed or knew of his departure. In half a minute Mr. Shalford came
in. As he pushed the door open he saw the standing group, and began to
laugh.
"High tragics, eh? Are you all posing for a tableau? Where's the
camera? What! What on earth is the matter with you boys? Speak some of
you; what has happened?"
They certainly did look a lot of frightened boys. Suddenly Roy
regained the power of speech. With a full realization of his own
predicament he threw up his hands in a despairing attitude.
"Oh, oh, oh! I shall be branded as a thief!"
Then he dropped on his knees and buried his face in his arms on the
table.
"That's quite dramat----" again began Mr. Shalford, but suddenly
checked himself. He now saw there was something woefully wrong.
A moment before Roy Henning had a strong inclination to burst out
laughing at his ridiculous position, but his self-control was too
great to permit him to give way to the nervous hilarity of misfortune.
Just as Mr. Shalford entered the room the thought flashed across his
mind of the consequences at home for him. What would his stern father
say! Then a momentary thought of his mother's grief--and he gave way.
Who can blame him? Roy was as yet only a boy, after all. At present he
lacked the stability and poise of later years. Fifteen or twenty years
later he would have borne the crash of a financial misfortune with a
certain kind of equanimity. But he was young yet, living in boy-world,
with all a boy's thoughts and feelings. And he wept. Do not blame him.
It is more than probable that under the same circumstances you and I,
and a hundred others, if we ever had a spark of boy nature, or boy
feeling about us, would have done the same, and not thought it
derogatory either.
Mr. Shalford, putting his hand on Roy's shoulder in a kindly way,
said:
"What is wrong, Roy? What has happened? Your friends do not want to
see you in this way."
The poor boy raised his head from his arm.
"It's gone. The money's gone. My character is ruined!"
"That is not so, my boy. Be sensible. No one in his senses will ever
accuse you. How much was taken?"
"All, sir, except seven dollars in my pocket."
"But how much?"
"Seventy-two dollars."
"Dear me! dear me! Seventy-two dollars! Why did you keep so large a
sum in a place like this, Roy?"
"If I had a particle of common-sense I would have taken Bracebridge's
advice long ago. He recommended putting it away safely two weeks ago,
but I forgot to do it. What a fool I was--fool! fool!"
"Don't say that, my boy. Come, cheer up. There is not a shadow of
moral wrong for you in the whole affair. It's a misfortune for you,
truly. You can bear that bravely. We may catch the thief yet."
"Yes; but, sir, I shall be suspected. Many fellows will point the
finger at me. Oh!--oh! I think I had better go home and give up all my
plans."
Give up all his plans! In the bitterness of his heart he thought that
all was ruined, that the secret hopes of a vocation were now
irretrievably lost, character gone, opportunities wasted. Well, Roy
Henning was not the first and will not be the last of those who, when
sudden misfortune comes, grow exceedingly pessimistic and want to give
up. This was the first great grief of Roy's life. All the petty
annoyances he had suffered from Garrett and his undesirable clique
sank into insignificance in the face of this overwhelming calamity.
Oh, why had he not followed Bracebridge's advice, and, days ago, put
the money out of his own keeping!
"Yes," he said again, "I think I had better leave----"
"No, no, no, no, Roy!" came the chorus from his friends.
"If you do so, now, Roy," said Mr. Shalford, who motioned silence to
the others, "you make the mistake of your life. You give your
enemies--I mean those ill-disposed toward you, if there are any--a
free field, and unlimited opportunities to vilify you. You can not,
you must not go."
"But I must."
"No, no, you must not, Roy."
"But I must, sir. Oh, I can't stand it!"
"Well, if you must, think over your friends' sorrow at such a
course."
"Sir?" asked the bewildered boy, not at all understanding.
"I say, think of our sorrow, your friend's sorrow at such a step. And,
Roy, think of your mother's sorrow! A son with a blighted name! Don't
you see that by running away now you make a tacit confession of some
guilt? No, you must not go!"
Long ago Mr. Shalford had surmised what were Henning's intentions and
aspirations for a future career. He saw this affair would be an
occasion of trying the very soul of the boy before him, and that it
would either make or break him. He thought, and correctly, that he
knew the character of the youth now in such deep trouble, and he was
anxious that he should make no false step. He looked Roy straight in
the eye, and said seriously:
"Definitely, you must not go," and then, as calmly as he had spoken
before, he made use of a somewhat enigmatic expression: "Eagles live
on mountain heights where storms are strongest."
A quick glance from Henning told the prefect that the boy understood
him, and the saying also told the boy that the prefect had divined his
intention accurately. Mr. Shalford had thought the words and the
glance would be understood by himself and Henning only. In this he was
mistaken. Two boys, who had overheard Roy's words to the chaplain at
the Little Sisters, understood perfectly.
"Very well, sir. I stay," said Roy.
"That is right; that is sensible," said Mr. Shalford, but in a moment
Henning burst out, with an agony in his voice that was piteous:
"Oh, the shame of being suspected! What shall I do! What shall I do!"
"Let me think what is best to do," said Mr. Shalford, who walked up
and down the room once or twice. He realized that it was a critical
moment in Henning's life, and he wanted to gain a little time. He
decided that it was wisest to get Henning away from the scene of his
misfortune at least for a few hours.
"What you will do now is this, all of you. You--Henning, Bracebridge,
Beecham, and Shealey, will go out at once for a long tramp, buy your
dinners somewhere, and do not come home till dark. Have you plenty of
money?"
"Yes, sir; yes, sir, lots of it," answered the delighted three who
were not in trouble.
"I don't think----" began the despondent Henning.
"That's right; just now do not think," said the energetic prefect. "It
will do no good. Walk and talk instead. Come home tired out, all of
you."
Three out of the group were enthusiastic over the plan. But there were
two other very long faces just then. George McLeod and Ernest Winters
were not included in the generous proposal.
"I say, Mr. Shalford, may not the kids come, too?" asked Tom Shealey.
"The kids! Whom do you mean?" and the prefect turned and saw two very
disconsolate faces. He thought for a moment.
"Let--me--see. Records clear, Ernest? George?"
"Yes, sir," answered the two, their hopes rising.
"How were your notes in the Christmas competitions?"
"Pretty good, sir, eighty-two," answered Ernest.
"Fine, sir, mine were eighty-nine," answered McLeod for himself.
In the meantime Mr. Shalford had caught Henning's eye. By a slight
raising of his eyelids he wordlessly inquired if the company of these
smaller boys would be acceptable. Roy answered by an almost
imperceptible affirmative movement of the head.
"Very well, then," the prefect said, "I suppose you both may go, too,
but it's only another weakness on my part, letting small boys out all
day. You big boys must take care of them."
"Whoop!" shouted Ernest vociferously, and even the disconsolate
Henning smiled at Ernest's resemblance in voice and manner to Claude,
his brother, especially under stress of any pleasurable excitement.
"Of course I will set about investigating this money matter at once,"
resumed Mr. Shalford, "and you six here had better keep the whole
matter a secret, at least for a time."
This injunction was useless. The prefect, this time, had reckoned
without his host. At his own exclamation of surprise at the discovery
of the theft, several boys who were in the large playroom, crowded
around the door, unobserved by the prefect, whose back was toward
them. Already the fact was known in the yard to some extent. Already
had little excited groups begun to discuss the startling event.