PROFFERED FRIENDSHIP.
That dinner was one never forgotten by Ben. The softly, yet brightly,
lighted table, with its spotless napery, shining silver, fine china and
vase of flowers, caused him to feel suddenly overcome as he thought of
his own poor, plain clothes and natural awkwardness. On the sideboard
facets of cut glass sparkled and gleamed with many diamond colors.
Above the wainscoting a few tasty pictures hung on the dark red walls.
Never before had the boy dined in such a room and at such a table, and
the fear that he might do some awkward thing to make him blush with
shame was painful upon him. By resolving to watch the others and follow
their example he got along very well, and by the time the second course
had disappeared their pleasant chatting and perfect freedom had
loosened the strain so that he was once more somewhat at ease.
If he was awkward with his fork, no one noticed it, and finally he
quite forgot his embarrassment in the realization of the, to him,
remarkable fact that he was among friends, none of whom were seeking to
discover his shortcomings that they might laugh over them and ridicule
him behind his back.
Without an apparent effort to induce him, Ben was led to join in the
conversation. He observed that Roger was very tender and considerate
toward his mother, and he did not fail to note the glances of love and
admiration which the invalid bestowed upon her stalwart son.
Little Amy was light-hearted and happy as she sat near the visitor and
talked to him in her artless way, while Urian Eliot appeared to be one
of those rare men who leave all their uncompromising grimness and stiff
business manners out of doors when they enter their own homes.
When the dinner was finished they lingered a little over the coffee,
all seeming keenly to enjoy this time of relaxation and pleasant
converse. Turning to his son, Mr. Eliot asked:
“How are you coming on with your subscription scheme to raise funds to
hire a football coach for your team, Roger?”
“Pretty well,” was the answer. “But I must have twenty-five dollars
more, at least. I think we have the material to make a good team this
year, but it takes a coach who knows his business to get the very best
result out of an eleven on which there is bound to be several
absolutely green players. Wyndham means to beat us again this year, and
we understand she has a Harvard man as a coach.”
“I suppose you’ve got your eye on a good man you can secure for that
business?”
“Yes; Dash Winton, of Dartmouth. He is one of the finest full-backs in
the country, and was chosen last year for the All-American Eleven,
picked from the leading colleges. Winton is the very man for us.”
“Are you sure you can get him?” inquired Mr. Eliot.
Roger nodded. “I’ve taken care of that. I have corresponded with him,
and I can have him here two days after I raise the money.”
“Well,” said Mr. Eliot, rising, “go ahead and raise all you can. When
you can’t get any more, come to me and I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Thank you, father!” exclaimed Roger.
When they had returned to the library Roger asked Ben to come to his
room, and Stone followed up the broad stairs.
Roger’s room, like the rest of the house, was a wonder to Ben. In its
alcove the white bed was partly hidden by portières. The rich carpet on
the floor was soft and yielding to the feet. On a table were more
magazines and books, part of a jointed fishing-rod, and a reel over
which Roger had been puttering, as it did not run with the noiseless
freedom that was necessary fully to please him. The pictures on the
walls were such as might be selected by an athletic, sport-loving boy.
Supported on hooks, there was also a rifle, while crossed foils adorned
the opposite wall. In a corner was a tennis racket, and Ben observed
dumb-bells in pairs of various sizes.
“Take the big chair, Stone,” urged Roger. “You’ll find it rather
comfortable, I think. I like it to lounge in when I’m reading or
studying.”
Ben found himself wondering that this fellow who had so many
things—apparently all a boy’s heart could desire—should be so
free-and-easy and should mingle every day without the least air of
priggishness or superiority with other lads in much humbler
circumstances.
This view of Roger’s domestic life, this glimpse of his home and its
seeming luxuries, together with a knowledge of his unassuming ways, led
Stone’s respect and admiration for him to increase boundlessly.
“Do you box, Stone?” asked Roger, as he removed from another chair a
set of boxing gloves and tossed them aside before sitting down. “I
suppose you do?”
“No,” answered Ben, shaking his head; “I know nothing about it.”
“So? Why, it’s a good thing for a fellow to know how to handle the
mitts. I thought likely you did when they told me how you biffed Hunk
Rollins. Rollins is a scrapper, you know, although it is a fact that he
usually picks his fights with smaller chaps.”
“I hate fighting!” Stone exclaimed, with almost startling vehemence;
and Roger noted that, as he uttered the words, he lifted his hand with
a seemingly unconscious motion to his mutilated ear.
“But a fellow has to fight sometimes, old man. You gave Rollins what he
deserved, and it may teach him a lesson. By the way, Stone, I asked you
out for practice yesterday, and something happened that caused you to
leave the field. I am sorry now that I let you go, and I want you to
come out to-morrow with the rest of the fellows. You ought to make a
good man for the team, and we’re going to need every good man this
year.”
Ben managed to hide his emotions, but Roger fancied there was a set
expression on his face and a queer stare in his eyes. Thinking it
probable Stone resented the treatment he had met on the field and the
attitude of the boys on hearing Hayden’s accusation, the captain of the
eleven hastened to add:
“I hope you’re not holding anything against me. I didn’t know just how
to take it when Hayden came at you that way. He’s rather popular here,
you know, and there’s a chance that he’ll be captain of the team next
year. I’ll be out of the school then; I’m going to college. Don’t you
mind Hayden or anything he says; I’m captain of the team now, and I’ve
asked you to practice with us. You will, won’t you?”
There followed a few moments of silence, during which Ben was getting
full command of himself. The silence was finally broken when he quietly
said:
“I can’t do it, Eliot.”
“Can’t?” exclaimed Roger, sitting bolt upright in astonishment. “Why
not?”
“Because I shall not be at school to-morrow.” Then, before Roger could
ask another question, Ben hurried on, apparently anxious to have it
quickly over and done with. “I thank you for again inviting me out for
practice, and I want you to know that I appreciate it; but I can’t
come, because I have left the school for good.”
This astonished Roger more than ever.
“Left school for good?” he echoed. “You don’t mean that, Stone.”
“Yes I do,” declared Ben, almost doggedly.
“Left school? Why have you left school?”
“Because I am compelled to,” explained the questioned lad, still
resolutely keeping his emotion in check. “I can’t help it; I am forced
out of school.”
Eliot rose to his feet.
“What’s all this about?” he asked. “You didn’t come to school this
afternoon. Was it because Prof. Richardson caught you thumping Rollins
when the fellow was bullyragging that lame kid? Is that it, Stone?”
“That had something to do with it; but that’s only a small part of the
cause. That convinced the professor that I am all that’s low and mean
and vicious, just as Bernard Hayden’s father told him. Hayden is behind
it, Eliot; he is determined that I shall not attend school here, and
he’ll have his way. What can I do against Bern Hayden and his father? I
am alone and without influence or friends; they are set against me, and
Lemuel Hayden is powerful.”
Although the boy still spoke with a sort of grim calmness, Roger
fancied he detected in his forced repression the cry of a desperate,
despairing heart. With a stride, he placed his hands on Ben’s shoulders.
“Look here, Stone,” he said urgingly, with an air of sincere
friendliness, “take me into your confidence and tell me what is the
trouble between you and Bern Hayden. Perhaps I can help you some way,
and it won’t do any harm for you to trust me. You saved my little
sister from old Fletcher’s dogs, and I want to do something for you. I
want to be your friend.”
Ben could not doubt the honest candor of his companion, but he shrunk
from unbosoming himself, dreading to narrate the unpleasant story of
the events which had made both Bern Hayden and his father his
uncompromising enemies and had forced him to flee like a criminal from
his native village in order to escape being sent to the State
Reformatory.
“Trust me, Stone,” pleaded Roger. “I don’t believe you’ll ever regret
it.”
“All right!” exclaimed Ben suddenly; “I will—I’ll tell you everything.”
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