TOM DECIDES
"Well?" asked Bruce questioningly, after a pause. "What do you think
of my experiment, Tom?"
"Is this it?"
"It is. Are you ready now to go on with your plan of reading Sam out
of the class, so to speak?"
Tom did not answer for a moment.
"Take time to think it over," advised his friend. "You have heard
Sam's version of the affair. And it's reasonable to suppose that many
will believe him--as many perhaps as would believe you and your chums."
"But he treated Jack and Bert miserably," declared Tom, "he and Nick."
"Of course he did," admitted Bruce. "He isn't denying that. But he
makes a joke of it, and it will be hard to convince the Sophomore class
that it wasn't done in fun. That's what you're up against, Tom. I
rather suspected it would be that way from the first, and that's why I
wanted you to hear for yourself just how Sam would tell his side of the
story. He makes himself out in rather a better light than you and the
others shine in, Tom. And you've got to consider that. I was waiting
for a chance to let you hear him talk to some of his friends, but I
didn't think I'd have the opportunity so soon. Now, what are you going
to do about it?"
Again Tom was silent, while from the next room there came the sound of
jolly laughter, mingling with the clatter of the dishes and cutlery.
"Here's to Sam Heller!" cried someone, toasting the bully.
"And Nick Johnson!" added another.
"The fellows who know how to play jokes!" put in a third voice, and the
toast was drunk amid laughter.
"You see how it is," went on Bruce. "There are a lot of Sophomores in
with him--probably some of your own intimate acquaintances, if not
friends. They'll side with Sam, after this, no matter how much of a
case you make out against him."
"I suppose so," admitted Tom ruefully. "Well, I guess I'll have to let
things go by default. There's no use splitting the class in twain."
"That's the way I look at it," said Bruce eagerly, "I'm glad you see it
in that light, Tom. Save the class. But if you feel that you are
entitled to revenge------"
"I sure do!" interrupted Tom.
"Then take it privately--some other time," went on Bruce. "Football is
coming on now, and you may play on the team--so may Sam. It wouldn't
do to have bad feeling------"
"I understand," said Tom. "I'll let the thing slide for the time
being."
"And Jack and Bert?" queried Bruce.
"I'll get them to do the same thing. But there'll be a day of
reckoning for that bully all right!" and Tom clenched his fists.
"I don't blame you a bit," admitted Bruce. "Now go ahead with the
meal. My experiment is over."
"Come on," suggested Bruce when he had paid the bill. "What do you say
to a walk back to the Hall? It's a fine night, and the tramp will do
you good."
"I'm for it," agreed Tom, and they set out.
"Hark!" exclaimed Bruce a little later, pausing in the middle of the
road, which was flooded with moonlight. "What's that noise?"
"Auto coming," replied Tom. "Let's pull over here where we won't get
so much dust."
As they shifted to the side of the highway they heard the sound of
singing from the rear, mingling with the exhaust from a car.
"Elmwood Hall fellows," spoke Tom briefly, as he recognized one of the
school songs. "I wonder who they are?"
"Don't know," answered Bruce. "Joy-riders, I guess. The fellows are
getting more and more sporty every year."
"Get out!" laughed Tom. "You were as bad as any of us!"
The car came nearer. Tom and Bruce were well over to one side of the
road, but in a spirit of mischief the lad at the wheel yelled:
"Get out the way! Give us room! We're the cheese!"
"They've got all the room they're entitled to," murmured Tom, for he
and Bruce were on the extreme left of the highway, and the auto should
have been on the right.
"Look out!" yelled a voice suddenly. "Pull that wheel over, Sam!"
But it was too late. A moment later Tom felt something strike him on
the hip, and he went down in the dust.
"Put on the brakes!"
"You've hit someone, Sam!"
"Pull up!"
These cries followed the striking of Tom. There was a screech from the
brake bands and the car came to a quick stop.
"You knocked him down," someone said.
"I don't care. Served him right. No business to get in my way!"
snapped Sam.
"Are you hurt, Tom?" asked Bruce anxiously, as he bent over his friend.
"Were you hit hard?"
Tom's head cleared. It had struck rather heavily as he went down, yet
it was but a passing faintness. He struggled to his feet, with the aid
of Bruce, and some of the lads who leaped from the auto.
"I--I guess I'm all right," Tom answered slowly. "What happened?"
"Sam Heller's car struck you," said Bruce quietly. "And it was on the
wrong side of the road. Where's Heller?" he asked of some of that
lad's friends.
"Here I am," blustered the bully. "What's the matter? I didn't mean
to hit him. The steering gear is stiff. I tried to turn out. Anyhow,
only the mud guard brushed him. Who is it?"
There was no need to answer for, as the group about our hero parted,
Sam Heller came face to face with Tom.