CLOUDS GATHER AGAIN.
Again Ben Stone found himself confronted by a problem that demanded
immediate solution. It disturbed his pillow long after Jerry, wearied
to the extreme, was sleeping soundly; and when at last he slept it gave
him troubled dreams.
He was first to waken in the morning, and, when he would have slept
still longer, the great question swooped upon him and tore away the
last shred of slumber. The little dog welcomed him with wagging tail as
he crept softly out of bed that he might not disturb his sleeping
brother. He was nearly dressed when Jerry awoke with a startled cry,
sitting up on the bed and thrusting out his thin arms, his hands spread
open as if to hold away some fearsome thing. In a twinkling Ben was at
the bed, speaking reassuringly to Jerry.
“Oh—oh, is it you, brother?” gasped the blind boy, as he felt himself
gathered into the embrace of Ben’s strong arms. “I thought they had
caught me. I thought they were going to take me back.”
“You were only dreaming, Jerry. You’re quite safe with me.” Tenderly he
caressed the little lad, who, trembling, clung to him.
“You won’t let them take me away, will you, Ben?”
“No, Jerry, they shall not take you away.”
Mrs. Jones would have had them down to breakfast, but when she came to
call them they had eaten from Ben’s small store of apples and
sandwiches, and they seemed quite happy and contented, so that she had
no glimpse of the threatening shadow which hovered near.
During the greater part of that Sunday the brothers remained in the
little room, having many things to talk about and being unwilling to
advertise for the general public the fact that Jerry was in Oakdale.
Late in the afternoon, however, they walked out together, turning
westward to avoid the main part of the village and passing the academy.
Before reaching Turkey Hill they left the road and set off across the
fields toward a grove of pines upon the shore of Lake Woodrim. Pilot,
unleashed, frisked before them. On the shore of Bear Cove they found a
seat beneath one of those pines where the ground was carpeted with soft
brown needles.
They were sitting there, talking, when a small, flat-bottomed punt
containing a single occupant rounded Pine Point in full view and was
paddled toward them. The person in the boat was Spotty Davis, who,
despite the fact that it was Sunday, had been fishing. He discovered
them almost immediately, and, recognizing Ben, called loudly:
“Hello, Stoney, old fel; what ju doin’? Thought mebbe I could ketch a
pick’rel or two here in the cove.”
Although Ben had not found Spotty’s friendship wholly unwelcome, he was
now far from pleased by the chap’s appearance. It was too late to get
away, however, and so he waited until Davis, paddling straight in,
grounded the punt upon a bit of gravelly beach and sprang out. Pilot
regarded the stranger doubtfully, growling a little.
“Say, who’s your friend, Stoney?” inquired Spotty, advancing
unhesitatingly. “Gee! what an ugly lookin’ dog!” he added, with a
derisive grin. “Don’t let him chaw me up, will ye?”
“Down, Pilot! Be still!” commanded Jerry. And, although he obeyed, the
dog continued to regard Davis with suspicious eyes.
“This is my brother Jerry,” explained Ben. “He arrived in Oakdale last
night. Jerry, this is one of my friends, Tim Davis.”
“Your brother, hey?” said Spotty, taking the thin hand Jerry held
forth. “Say, what’s the matter with his blinkers? They look awful
funny.”
“He’s blind,” explained Ben in a low tone.
“Sho! Can’t see nothin’? Jerusalem! that’s tough. Can’t he really see
nothin’ at all?”
“As far as sight is concerned, he can’t distinguish daylight from
darkness.”
“Whew!” breathed Spotty, sitting down and staring at Jerry. “I never
see nobody like that before. You never told me about him, Ben; you’ve
never said much of anything about your folks.”
“I thought possibly you had heard some stories from Bern Hayden.”
“Well, not much; he just sorter knocked you, and I s’posed that was
’cause he was sore on you. Say, I guess you proved that you could play
football yesterday. Bern didn’t have much on you in that game. Wasn’t
it tough I got knocked out? Them fellers kind of picked me out and
soaked me. They’ve always had a grudge against me, them Clearporters.
Last time I played baseball against them Harry Hutt spiked me, and that
put me out of the game, too. Eliot he was mad, ’cause he said I wasn’t
hurt so bad I couldn’t play; and I s’pose he was mad yesterday, too.
He’s awful stiff-necked sometimes; but you certainly got on his soft
side through what you done for his sister, and I guess he’d back you up
in anything. He brought Hayden to terms all right when Bern tried to
force you off the team by gettin’ the fellers to quit. I wish you’d
heard a few things Bern had to say yesterday ’cause Roger invited you
to ride home in the automobile.”
“I’m decidedly glad I didn’t hear them,” returned Ben. “All I ask is
that Bern Hayden keeps away from me and lets me alone.”
“He didn’t like it much when some of the fellers said we couldn’t ever
won that game only for you. That was a hard pill for him to swaller.
He’s always used me all right, in a way, though I know he thinks he’s
better’n I am ’cause his father’s got the dough. I don’t think it’s
right, either, for some folks to have so much money and other folks to
have so little. Now there’s lots of things I’d like if I only had the
chink to buy ’em. Look a’ the rotten old fishin’ tackle I’ve got in
that bo’t; if I had money I’d buy an elegant jointed rod, a triple
action reel, a silk line, and any amount of hooks and flies and baits.
How long is your brother goin’ to stay?” Spotty concluded suddenly with
that question.
“I—I don’t know about that,” faltered Ben. “We haven’t quite decided.
Isn’t it pretty late in the season for fish to bite?” he asked, seeking
to turn the drift of conversation.
“Guess ’tis,” admitted Davis. “I ain’t had a bite. We can generally
ketch pick’rel pretty late, though.”
Ben rose and assisted Jerry to his feet. “I think we’ll go back,” he
said.
“What’s your hurry?” asked Davis. “It’s kinder comf’table here. The
wind don’t cut into this cove, and the sun’s warm.”
But they left him, and, after they had passed through the grove and
were recrossing the open field beyond, Jerry said: “Somehow, I don’t
like your friend, Ben. There’s something about his voice and the way he
talks that I don’t like.”
“Oh, I reckon he’s a harmless fellow, and he was one of the first in
Oakdale to be really friendly toward me; I can’t forget that.”
When they reached the house they learned that Roger Eliot had been
there asking for them.
“He seemed real disapp’inted,” said the widow. “P’raps y’u’d better
walk ’round to his house an’ see him.”
But it was late and growing dark, and Ben decided not to call on Roger
that night.
Stone appeared at school the following day wearing a gravely troubled
face, which led Eliot to question him, and he was on the point of
telling Roger everything and asking his advice when several other boys
came up and the opportunity was lost. All day long Ben’s mind dwelt on
the perplexing problem, and gradually he came to believe there was only
one solution; he must give up school, leave Oakdale, and find a job of
some sort by which he could support himself and Jerry. It meant the
shattering of all his plans, but he faced the alternative bravely, and
even became a bit more relieved and cheerful when he had decided to
accept it as the only thing that could be done.
When the boys came out for practice that afternoon neither Stone nor
Hayden was with them. Spotty Davis was on hand, however, and, after a
consultation with the coach, Roger called Spotty aside for the purpose
of telling him as kindly as possible that he would be no longer needed
upon the team.
Davis instantly showed his resentment and anger. Hayden, coming up,
heard him shrilly saying:
“That’s all right, Mr. Eliot, you can fire me. I’ve seen other fellers
knocked out in football games, and they wasn’t fired. Mebbe you’ll need
me yet, and mebbe you won’t get me if you do.” With which he walked
away and sat down alone on one of the lower rows of seats, his sly face
wearing a sour expression of resentment and anger.
Practice was begun without Stone. In the midst of it he appeared,
wearing his plain, homespun clothes, and called to the captain.
“Roger,” he said, “I can’t play football any more.”
Eliot uttered an exclamation of surprise. “Why not, Ben? What’s the
matter now?”
“I told you my story some time ago; you’re the only one who has ever
heard it from me. Uncle Asher, who took my blind brother to care for,
is dead, and now someone must look after Jerry. I haven’t money enough
to attend school and take care of him too, so I’m going to leave
school. I must find work; I’ve settled on that.”
“Oh, say, that’s too bad, Stone, old chap! Now don’t be hasty; let’s
think this matter over. Perhaps my father will do something for Jerry.”
Ben shook his head. “I couldn’t permit my brother to accept charity,
Roger; I thank you very much for the generous thought, but I’ve made up
my mind. I’ve left the suit you loaned me, and everything else, in the
gym. Perhaps I’ll see you again to-morrow before we leave Oakdale. I
couldn’t practice to-night if I wanted to, for Jerry is all alone. I
went to see him after school was over and tell him my decision; that’s
why I wasn’t here promptly. Don’t say anything to the rest of the
fellows now. I’d like to bid them all good-by, but I don’t want to do
so here at this time.”
Roger found it useless to advance argument, and finally Ben departed,
watched by the eyes of Hayden, who had sauntered past in time to catch
a few words of the conversation.
Five minutes later Hayden excused himself and left the field in the
wake of Spotty Davis, who was finally going away in a sullen and
resentful frame of mind.
Stone went down into the village to purchase a pair of shoes for Jerry,
whose footwear was almost wholly gone to the uppers. In his timidity
the blind boy had remained all day long in that room at Mrs. Jones’,
again beset by fear that the pursuers he dreaded might find him; and he
was even unwilling to be seen in the village with his brother.
Ben spent some time selecting the shoes, for he wished to get a stout
and serviceable pair at a moderate price, which was no easy matter.
Having made the purchase at last, he was on the point of leaving when
the shopkeeper said:
“There was a man here in town a while ago asking for a boy by your
name, only the front part of his name was Jerry instead of Ben, and the
man said he was blind.”
For a moment Ben’s heart ceased to beat. “How long ago was that?” he
asked huskily.
“Oh, less than an hour, I guess. He’d just struck town, and he’s gone
over to the hotel for supper.”
Ben ran all the way back to Mrs. Jones’ house. At the door he met
Spotty Davis, who had just come down the back stairs.
Davis seemed a trifle startled. “Hello, Ben!” he exclaimed. “I just
dropped round to see ye. Found your brother all alone. Saw you wasn’t
practicin’ to-night, and sorter wondered what the matter was. You know,
Eliot he’s fired me. What do you think of that? I didn’t believe he’d
do it.”
“I can’t stop to talk with you, Spotty,” said Ben; “I’m in a great
hurry. Excuse me, will you?”
“Sure,” said Davis, with great willingness, as he passed on.
At the gate Davis paused an instant to glance back; but Ben had
disappeared, and Spotty scudded away into the gathering twilight.
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