THE GREAT BLOW
Notwithstanding the death of his little sister, Roy left home with a
lightened heart, owing to the more perfect and decidedly pleasanter
understanding with his father. Had he not full permission to play
ball, or do anything else he chose! If the reader thinks this was a
small reason for being light-hearted, then it is safe to say that same
reader never was a boy. Every real boy knows what that permission
meant. Roy, as we know, was conscientious. We know the struggle he
went through. We know some of the unpleasant consequences which
followed from conscientiously carrying out his father's wishes. Just
in proportion as the restriction had been bitter, this freedom now was
sweet. He was a strong, healthy, vigorous boy, all his life used to
outdoor exercise, delighting in all manly sports. Now he was free
again! Free to enjoy it all! The promised delights appeared all the
more entrancing from his long abstention from them. Would he not
surprise the boys! No, he would give the credit, all of it, to Harry
Gill. He would make it appear that the manager's diplomacy had been
irresistible. Gill should have an extra feather in his cap!
And Garrett! What a pity he was developing such undesirable traits of
character! Could he not be weaned in some way from those companions
with whom at present he seemed so infatuated? Roy was convinced that
he was not really a bad fellow at heart. How could he be with such a
mother as Aunt Helen? Was there ever a finer, more lovable woman,
except his own mother? Her gentle touch, her womanly way, her wise and
soothing words! What a treasure Andrew had, did he but realize it! No,
he could not be really bad with her influence, and the memory of her,
and her prayers for him!
These were some of the thoughts which passed through Roy's mind as the
train sped along in the darkness. Then he remembered Bracebridge's
telegram. He took it out of his pocket and read it again. He puzzled
again over those words "Come at once." What could they mean? Had the
thief been discovered?
His heart gave a great leap at the thought. But what if, after all,
his suspicions had been well founded! What if the thief should prove
to be Andrew Garrett! The thought made him sick at heart; and yet--and
yet! oh, he must be mistaken in that surmise! Ambrose would not have
wired him to come at once had the guilt been traced to Garrett. He
would certainly have been in no hurry to bring him back to so
unpleasant a state of affairs. In that supposition it would have been
"great news" indeed, but most disastrous news. No, it must be some one
else, if the message meant what he hoped it did mean.
"And so the first great match has come off victoriously," he said to
himself. "Good! good!"
He fell into a train of pleasant thoughts during which he looked so
bright and so happy that an old lady on the opposite seat, who had
watched him for some time, smiled kindly at him. Roy returned the
smile. She was quite advanced in years and evidently traveled but
rarely. She liked the look of the bright, handsome face before her,
whose youthful sparkling eyes spoke goodness and enthusiasm, and
whose clear skin at this moment showed a decided flush of joy.
"Are you going home?" she ventured timidly.
"No, ma'am. I'm leaving home."
She looked puzzled. It was contrary to her experience to see children
so happy on leaving home. Roy enjoyed her puzzled look for a minute,
and then explained:
"I am not going home, but I have just left the best father and mother
in the world, and am now going back to school to join the best and
truest friends a fellow could find anywhere on this round earth."
"Is that so! I am glad to hear it. If they are all like you they must
be good boys."
Roy actually blushed. Just then the conductor called the old lady's
station. As she arose and with the assistance of Roy gathered her
traveling impedimenta, she said:
"Keep that bright smile, my dear, and remember that no one can keep so
bright a face unless he keeps a bright soul within. I am an old woman,
and I know what I say."
Now while Roy retires to his sleeper to get as much rest as is
possible on the rail, we will hurry forward and learn why he was wired
to come at once, and find out what has been happening during the last
few days at St. Cuthbert's.
The Blandyke team arrived before noon on the day Ambrose had sent the
message to his friend. Their manager told Gill that the condition of
their coming was that they returned on the 3.50 train of that
afternoon. The game, consequently, began at one o'clock. It was over
by three, with the result already known.
The day had been extremely hot, with not a breath of air stirring. The
atmosphere was stifling. All nature seemed to be in a dead calm. Even
the dogs sought shady spots and lay still and panted. The afternoon
seemed more oppressive than an August day, because so early in the
summer every one was unaccustomed to the great heat.
As the game was finished by three o'clock on a recreation day, there
were three vacant hours before supper time. Owing to the unusual
sultriness few cared to tramp over the hills, or along the lower road of
the valley. A few, however, started out, either to walk, or hunt black
squirrels on the higher, wooded grounds in the rear of the college.
About four a slight breeze began to blow from the southwest, cooling
the atmosphere very considerably.
"Ah, that's fine!" said Jack Beecham, as he faced the breeze and
filled his lungs with the cooler air. "That's fine! My, but it was
hot! Never knew it so hot in May before in my life. Oh, look,
Ambrose," and he pointed to the direction from which the breeze was
coming, "look at that queer-shaped cloud!"
Bracebridge looked toward the southwest. Dark, coppery clouds were
forming and rapidly approaching. The temperature dropped suddenly many
degrees. The cooler breeze became stronger and soon it was a wind.
Before many minutes elapsed it was a very high wind in which it was
difficult to stand steadily.
Suddenly a brilliant flash of lightning leaped from the now leaden
sky. The boys could hear the electric discharge snap and crackle
against the sides of the buildings. It was followed almost instantly
by a deafening crash of thunder, tropical in its intensity. Down came
the rain, not in drops, but apparently in sheets of water. Flash
followed flash, peal succeeded peal, and the wind grew more furious
every moment.
Bracebridge, Shealey, Beecham, and Harry Gill watched the terrific war
from the Philosophy classroom window.
Ever and anon the downpour would cease, but the wind did not abate. At
intervals could be seen the havoc the wind was doing. The air was
thick with leaves and twigs and straw. In the lowlands the boys saw
the rail fences carried away like matches and deposited over the
fields. An old wooden windmill tower was toppled over. Boards and
shingles and slates were flying everywhere.
All knew that such violent warfare must be brief. Already in the west
there was a streak of light beneath the clouds. Before the storm had
spent its fury the watchers at the window were to witness a remarkable
sight.
Behind the college there was, as has often been remarked, thickly
wooded high ground. The boys at the window were watching the hillside
path, which every now and then was obscured by the rain. Suddenly a
forked bolt struck the largest tree on the hillside, and hurled to the
ground across the college walk at least one-third of it. The boys
looked at each other in a frightened way. In the mind of each was:
"What if the college had been struck!"
When the deafening thunder-crash had passed, Bracebridge, for the sake
of saying something, remarked:
"It's lucky that none of us were out in such a storm."
"We would have been nicely drenched, eh?" said Tom Shealey.
"No one of common-sense would be out," said Beecham; "all would run to
shelter somewhere."
"But some may have been too far away to reach it. You know how sudden
the storm was," observed Bracebridge.
"What on earth is that?" suddenly exclaimed Tom Shealey, as he pointed
to something or some one crossing the yard. After the last thunder-crash
the rain had ceased suddenly. The wind dropped, and the storm, furious
while it lasted, spent itself. The boys threw open the classroom window
to get a better view of the yard. Some one had entered from the field
gate nearest the woods. He was drenched; his hat was gone; his hair
dishevelled. He was white and frightened. Although his clothes clung to
his skin he was making violent, meaningless gestures as he ran, and
appeared to be gibbering or muttering something as if in that stage of
fright which borders on imbecility.
"It is Smithers," shouted Shealey. "Let's go and see what's up.
Hurry!"
"What's up, Smithers? What's happened?" asked Shealey, a moment later,
hatless and breathless.
The frightened boy had a scared, wild look. He muttered something
quite unintelligible. His lips were dry and white.
"Now be calm. Tell us quietly what has happened," said Bracebridge.
Smithers again gibbered something. The listeners could make nothing of
it. They began to think the boy had lost his reason.
"--prefect--dead--struck--innocent," were some of the words caught by
the listening boys.
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Beecham, "the prefect is dead, struck by
lightning, up on the hill walk. Is that it, Smithers?"
The one appealed to, not fully comprehending the question, and half
beside himself, nodded assent.
"Gill, quick, go at once to the President. Then take care of this
fellow. Send a priest as soon as you can up the hill. Jack and Tom,
you come with me."
Ambrose naturally assumed the leadership in the emergency. The three
ran along the walk and up the hillside path as fast as their legs
could carry them.