A MIDNIGHT LARK
That winter proved to be a hard one, with frequent snows and violent
winds, which put an end to the skating within a few weeks after
Christmas, and left the majority of the boys with no very satisfactory
pastime in the free afternoons. There was sliding down Deal Hill a good
part of the time, and to Tony, who never before had experienced the
pleasures of a northern winter, this was great fun; but after a time it
palled upon his two cronies, Jimmie and Kit, and at their suggestion
surreptitious visits to the cave in Lovel’s Woods became more frequent.
Perhaps that this was a forbidden pleasure added a keener zest than
they otherwise would have taken in it, and that several boys had
recently been caught in the Woods and punished severely gave an element
of danger to their visits that made them even more fascinating. Aside
from the disobedience that these visits involved, they were innocent
enough. The boys, having reported at call-over for a walk, would skirt
the beaches and enter the Woods from the east, completely out of range
of the school and comparatively safe from detection unless they chanced
to encounter prefects or masters walking in the Woods themselves. The
indefatigable Mr. Gray often bent his steps in that direction, but to
the school’s intense delight, without noticeable result. The snows were
so heavy and the walking consequently so difficult that the vigilance
of masters and prefects at last completely relaxed. From that time
on the boys who cared for the trouble had a fairly clear field. Our
friends were fortunate in having a cave on the extreme eastern edge
of the woods, so that the approach from the beach was easy. Once this
was gained, they made a fire, cooked sausages, fried pan-cakes of an
extremely leathery quality, and made coffee that certainly they would
not have drunk in any other place.
Tony had told Carroll of their exploits, and had even invited him to
pay them a visit and partake of their “feed,” an invitation that was
decisively declined. “It is certainly not worth while,” he replied,
with a smile, “to run the risk of getting the Doctor quite sour on me
for the pleasure of partaking of the results of your culinary skill.”
“A great deal better for you,” Tony retorted, “than moping in doors
half the time over sickly French novels.”
“Possibly; but French novels are not the only alternative to the
Woods,” Reggie answered, “and as a matter of fact I have begun to go in
for tremendous tramps.”
“You must take ‘em mostly at night, then.”
“I do frequently,” was the somewhat tart reply, “the night air has
always had a fascination for me.”
In truth Tony was aware that Reggie had resumed his old custom of
disappearing from their rooms after lights, paying visits, he
incuriously supposed, upon some of his friends. The fact gave him
little thought.
One afternoon the three boys were in their cave. Tony was turning
pan-cakes in a skillet, while Jimmie was laboring with a dark mixture
that they euphemistically called coffee. Kit sat on the branch of a
tree, with his head over the ledge, on the look-out for any wandering
prefects.
“Hurry up, you frabjous duffers,” he called down, midst a stream of
amiable chaffing; “it’s close upon four, and we’ll have to bolt the
grub in order to get back to Gumshoe’s five o’clock.”
“Why don’t you get down and work a bit, then? Nobody’s coming along
this late. Get the plates out, and pour some syrup out of the jug. No
work: no eat.”
“Too many cooks spoil the broth,” he laughed.... “Shish!” he exclaimed
suddenly, and ducked his head below the ledge.
The three kept a tense silence for a moment. They heard footsteps
crunching in the snow above and passing on. Kit cautiously peeped over
the ledge. “By Jove,” he whispered, “it’s Reggie Carroll and Arty
Chapin. I thought it was a couple of prefects.”
He slid down from the tree, and began to gobble up one of Tony’s
pan-cakes. “By the by, Tony, I thought the elegant Reginald Carter
Westover Carroll had severed his friendship with that specimen of
common Chapin clay.”
“So he had,” answered Tony, musingly. “I didn’t know they had taken up
with each other again.”
“What a queer duck Reggie is,” said Jimmie, as he poured out three cups
of coffee. “Have you ever made him out, Tony?”
“Not I. We hit it off well enough after the first few days—for a time.
But this term I have hardly seen anything of him. I am sorry he is in
with Chapin again.”
“And I. I’ve always liked Reggie despite his supercilious disdain, but
Arty’s a beast, and always was,” said Kit, drinking his coffee at a
gulp. “Here, let’s stow these things, and cut around to the north and
take a peep as to what that precious pair are up to. Evidently no five
o’clock for them.”
“What’s the difference where they are going?” said Tony. “I have no
mind to spy on them.”
“Well, I have a consuming curiosity,” Kit rejoined. “They’re up to
mischief, I’ll be bound.”
“Light out then,” said Tony, “for Jim and I are going back over the
ridges.”
“And leave your precious footprints in the snow,” protested Kit. “La!
la! stow the stuff, will you then? I’ll report if there’s anything
doing.”
And despite his companions’ adjurations Kit clambered off over the
rocks and started out in the direction indicated by Carroll’s and
Chapin’s footsteps in the snow.
The boys got safely back without being detected, but Kit was a quarter
of an hour late, and created a sad disturbance when he entered in the
midst of Mr. Roylston’s Third Latin recitation.
“The incorrigible Wilson,” remarked Mr. Roylston, without turning his
beady black eyes in his direction, “will kindly take a pensum of one
hundred lines for being late and disturbing the class.”
“Very well, sir,” said Kit.
“Spare me your comments, pray. Continue your recitation, Turner; Book
Four, Chapter Fourteen, line twenty. Proceed. Cæsar—”
“Oh, yes, sir.... Qui omnibus rebus subito perterriti—” Tack spelled
it out painfully, and fell mercilessly upon it, “Who to all quickly
having been thoroughly terrified. Et celeritati nostri et discessu
suorum.... And with quickness to us both a descent....”
Mr. Roylston transfixed the floundering youth with a withering glance,
and there was a moment of awful silence. “With quickness to you, I may
suggest, Turner,” he said at last in scathing tones, “descent into your
seat and a zero in my mark-book.”
He turned to Kit. “Wilson, let us see if you can cast light upon the
darkness into which Turner has led us.”
“I am afraid I can’t, sir.”
“No?” murmured the master. “Well, I was not hopeful,” and he quietly
recorded a zero in his mark-book. “Now, Deering—”
Tony took up the passage, and got through it correctly enough, but not
without being harassed by Mr. Roylston’s interruptions and glances
of incredulity at his rendering of the Latin. The Latin recitations
at Deal under the famous Ebenezer Roylston—he was the editor of an
edition of Cicero that was classic in its day—were periods of agony
and boredom. But at last this particular recitation came to an end,
and immediately afterward, Kit threw his arms about the necks of his
two friends, and drew them into a vacant classroom.
“Well?”
“What’s up?”
“Oh, you frabjous kiddos! I tracked ‘em for a mile—’twas a mucker
trick, I’ll admit, but I’ve got it in for Chapin. And what do you
think, those two blooming jays are playing poker with their crowd in a
shanty back of the Third Ridge. If it weren’t for Reggie, I swear I’d
peach on Chapin.”
“I swear you’d do nothing of the sort,” said Tony.
“Well, perhaps not,” assented Kit, temporarily crestfallen. “But I must
say that’s a crummy thing of them to do. Fine school spirit, eh!”
“Well, we have been skipping bounds pretty regularly this fall, if I
remember correctly.”
“My dear child,” remarked Kit paternally, “when will you learn wisdom?
The Doctor carefully distinguishes between moral offenses and offenses
against school discipline. Now, bounds are obviously disciplinary and
not moral; hence we are mere wandering angels, while those poker fiends
are equally hence of the lower regions.”
“Rot!” was the courteous rejoinder. “It is obvious to any but a
bonehead like yourself that the Doctor imposed bounds this year for
moral reasons, because he had wind that just that sort of thing was
going on.”
“Ah!” resumed Kit sarcastically. “I perceive the glimmerings of a
conscience. You are getting the remorse for your own sins?”
“Not particularly. I am only objecting to the complacent way in which
you shove Carroll and Chapin outside the pale of decency.”
“Well, I’m easy, old boy; I certainly won’t be damned for making
pan-cakes in Lovel’s Woods; but I can readily see that Reggie might for
playing poker there. But it isn’t so much the poker I object to, as his
beastly taste in companions.”
“Thunder and blazes, Kit, what’s it to you who Reggie goes with?”
“Nothing much. But of a kindness warn your room-mate against Arty; he
is an awful bounder and always was.”
“Well,” answered Tony, “Reggie knows him better than we do; and it is
certainly not my business to give him advice. Come on; let’s quit this
jaw, and go in to supper.”
Disposed as Tony had been openly to defend Carroll against this
criticism, he condemned him yet the more severely in his heart. He knew
that Reggie realized the defects of Chapin’s character; that he was
spoiling his chances of a prefectship the next year by his association
with him, and that he was running the risk of public expulsion if it
should be discovered that he was playing poker. After a good deal of
hesitation he made up his mind to speak to Reggie on the subject.
Accordingly he waited that night until after lights, and then slipped
over to Reggie’s room, hoping to please him by this suggestion of
renewing their nightly talks. But to his disappointment Carroll was not
there. Tony turned back into the study, and stood for a moment at the
window looking out upon the white campus, flooded now with the light of
a full moon.
Suddenly he heard the latch of his door turn and some one slip into the
room.
“Hello, Reggie,” he whispered, “is that you?”
“Shish! no—it’s me—Kit,” came the soft reply. “Jimmie is
outside—we’re going to the Woods. Get into your clothes and come
along.”
“Oh, hang the Woods!” exclaimed Tony. “I am sleepy and want to go to
bed.”
“Don’t be a quitter. Jim’s got a box from home; we’ll have a bully
good time, and we can get back by midnight. Where’s your precious
room-mate—gone to the shanty?”
“I don’t know—I suppose so.”
“Well, perhaps we’ll meet him; come on.”
The lark proved too strong a temptation, and after a little more
persuasion, Tony yielded. He slipped on his trousers and a sweater,
his stockings and boots, and a coat, and was ready. The two boys crept
silently down the corridor, past the door of Mr. Morris’s room, over
the transom of which a bright light was shining, and down the stairs.
Once Kit tripped, and they sank down below the head of the stairs, just
as Mr. Morris opened his door and stood at it for a moment listening.
Then the master closed his door again, and the boys went out into the
cold frosty moonlight night, and joined Jimmie, who was waiting for
them at the fives-court.
Morris, however, was an old hand at his business, and not a clumsy
one. He stepped into his bedroom, which was darkened, and going to the
window stood there watching. Presently he saw the three dark figures,
unrecognizable at the distance, creep along the fives-court, dash
across to the cloister that led from Standerland to the Schoolhouse,
and then disappear behind the clump of trees at the corner. Confident
that he had heard some one leaving his own dormitory, the master then
made his rounds, and surely enough found that Deering, Lawrence and
Wilson were missing. Curiously enough Tony’s happened to be the last
room that he entered, and when he found his bedroom empty, thus being
sure that the three he had seen were accounted for, he neglected to
look into Carroll’s room, and returned to his study to wait for their
return.
About ten o’clock as he sat before his fire, meditating the course
of his action, a rap sounded on the door, and in response to his
invitation, Doctor Forester came in.
“Ah, Morris,” said the Head Master, coming forward and standing with
his back to the fire, “I am sorry to disturb you at this time of night;
but there is mischief afoot, and perhaps you can help me catch the
offenders.”
Morris looked at the Doctor attentively, but for the moment did not
volunteer his information.
“This afternoon,” continued the Head, “Maclaren found an old shanty
back of the Third Ridge, rigged out with the paraphernalia of a poker
game. It has evidently been in use, and from the character of the
débris, he thinks, by some of our boys. Maclaren supposes that some of
your boys have been getting out at nights, and may be the culprits. Is
that possible?”
“Yes,” answered Morris, “quite possible. I should not have said so an
hour ago, for I keep a close watch upon that sort of thing, or at least
I try to; but as a matter of fact three of my boys are missing at this
moment.”
“Who are they?” asked the Doctor sharply.
“Lawrence, Deering and Wilson.”
“What! they are the last boys in the School that I should be inclined
to suspect of that sort of thing, though I regret to say, Maclaren has
some evidence that I fear implicates Deering. Have you any idea that
they are gone to the Woods?”
“I fear they have, sir. I heard a noise in the hallway a half-hour ago,
and slipped out to see what it was. For the moment I supposed I had
been mistaken, but a little later from my bedroom window I saw three
boys disappear back of the Schoolhouse. I did not know who they were
until I had made my rounds, which was just a few minutes ago.”
“Well, they must be found. If they are implicated in this affair at the
Third Ridge shanty I shall deal with them severely. Fine boys, too!
it’s a great shame.... Maclaren and Cummings are waiting in my study; I
will go and give them this clue.”
“If you like, sir, I will go for you, and go with them.”
“I would be obliged if you would. In that case, I will remain here
until your return.”
Morris put on his great coat and boots and started out, while the
Doctor settled himself before the fire with a book. A little later the
master with the two prefects whom he had found at the Rectory, set out
for Lovel’s Woods.
Early in the evening Thorndyke, who was a member of the crowd that
frequented the shanty, had got wind of Maclaren’s discovery through
Lawrence Cumming’s indiscreet confidences, and had hastened to the
rendezvous—the stone bridge by the Red Farm below Deal Hill—and had
warned his companions. They had quietly returned to their dormitories;
indeed, while the Head Master and Morris had been talking in the
latter’s study, Carroll had softly stolen upstairs, slipped into his
room, and quietly got into bed.
Our other friends, following Kit’s ardent but injudicious leadership,
were making a detour to the north on their way to their cave with an
intention of taking a peep at the nefarious doings at the shanty.
It was a long walk, and a cold one. Tony and Jimmie had little heart
for it, but the irrepressible Kit led them gaily on. They skirted
Beaver Pond, threaded their way along the ridges over familiar
paths, and at last debouched upon the little clearing in which the
abandoned shanty was situated. On every side stretched the thick woods,
traversable only by those who knew their devious paths. To the east of
the shanty the ridge ended abruptly, there was a sheer descent, and
over the tops of the trees on the hillside one could get a splendid
view of the distant ocean, the Neck, and Deigr Island beyond the point,
with its light faithfully blinking red and white.
“No one about,” exclaimed Kit, peering in at a dark window; “what a
lark!”
“Now that we’re here,” said Jimmie. “I’m for investigating.”
“By Jove! the window’s unfastened!” cried Kit, already tugging at the
sash. In a moment he had it up, and disappeared over the window-sill.
He struck a match inside and his companions could see him moving about.
Presently he found a candle, lighted it, and set it on the table. “Come
on in,” he called. “Here’s a rummy old pack of cards.” And he kicked
the deck of cards across the room.
Deering and Lawrence climbed in and joined him in an interested
examination of the room. The structure, which contained only this one
room, it may be said, had been built some years before by a gentleman
of the neighborhood, who had literary tastes, and sought the quiet
and seclusion of this spot for their development. Of late it had been
disused, however, for a period of six or seven years. There was an
old table, a few rickety chairs, and a strong-box, such as the boys
used in their caves; aside from these no furniture of any description.
The embers of a wood fire glowed on a great hearth at one side of the
room. In a cupboard the boys found several soiled packs of cards, a
pile of poker chips, and some empty cigarette boxes. “The real dope,
I suppose,” Kit commented “is in the strong box, or hid some place
outside. I reckon we can’t bust into it. What a silly lot of asses; if
the prefects don’t get on to this, I’m a loser. But what a jolly old
joint it is, eh?”
“Rather,” said Jimmie. “There’s a pile of dishes in the sink
yonder—they’ve evidently had a feed here this afternoon. There’s live
coals on the hearth. Hmmm—smell the tobacco!”
“Makes my mouth water,” was Kit’s prompt reply. “Let’s fire up,
and have our feed here, and leave a note thankin’ ‘em for their
hospitality. It isn’t likely that anybody will turn up this time o’
night. Get the bundle, Tony; and you, Jim, lend a hand while we start
the fire.”
The two began industriously to lay a fresh fire on the great andirons,
while Tony made for the window. As he reached it there rose before him
what seemed a monstrous head and body. He gave a cry of alarm. “Great
heavens! who is it?” he screamed.
“Don’t have a fit, Deering; it’s only Maclaren.”
Tony immediately recovered his equilibrium. “Only Maclaren!” he
repeated, in a voice of despair. “It’s all up, kiddos.” And he turned a
white face to his amazed companions in the shanty.
“Only Maclaren!” wailed Kit, as he threw his bundle of faggots on the
hearth. “You poor fool, there’s Mr. Morris too.”
It was a sorry procession that wound its way back to Standerland that
cold January night. The Doctor was waiting for them in Mr. Morris’s
study, grown a little impatient at the long delay. The clock had struck
eleven before he heard the footsteps on the stairs.
Mr. Morris had rather deprecated explanations on the way back,
preferring to let the Head deal with the case himself; nor were the
boys much inclined to talk. Upon their arrival at Standerland, Mr.
Morris gave a succinct account of their capture, while the Doctor
listened, a cloud gathering upon his brow.
“Well,” he said sternly, as Morris finished, “what were you doing in
Lovel’s Woods at this time of night? Lawrence, you may answer for the
three.”
“We skipped out just for the lark, sir.”
“You have been in the habit of paying these visits to the Woods?”
“Yes, sir—once in a while, sir,” Jimmie answered, in rather a doleful
tone.
“What have you done there?”
“Simply fooled about in our cave, sir.”
“Do you call that shanty your cave?”
“No, sir—our cave is on the east side on the Third Ridge.”
“Well, what were you doing at the shanty?”
“We were investigating it, sir; we had never been there before.”
“None of you?”
“None, sir.”
“Is that true of you, Wilson?”
“I?” exclaimed Kit. “No, sir; that is, sir, I have been there once
before, but only on the outside and looked in at the windows.”
“And you, Deering?”
“No, sir, I have never been there before.”
Dr. Forester had turned on Tony like a flash. “How then do you account
for the fact that a letter addressed to you was found there this
afternoon?”
“A letter addressed to me found there!” exclaimed Tony, in surprise. “I
can’t account for it. I do not know how it got there.”
“Do you know of other boys being there?”
“I believe other boys have been there; yes, sir.”
“Do you know what boys have been there?”
“I really can’t say, sir.”
Tony was growing restless and ill at ease under this severe
cross-examination. It suddenly dawned upon him, that the Doctor did
not appear to accept his replies as he gave them.... In his quick
passionate southern way he fired with resentment. His face flushed,
he stammered in giving his replies, and once or twice inadvertently
contradicted himself. Jimmie and Kit looked at him in amazement; for a
moment the suspicion crossed their minds that Tony had perhaps after
all been going to the shanty with Carroll. Even Morris, who had been
serenely confident that the boys would clear themselves of the charge
of gambling, showed a troubled countenance as the cross-examination
went on.
“Come, come,” said the Doctor, “I would like you to suggest some
explanation as to how a letter addressed to you was found in that
shanty this afternoon.”
“I don’t account for it,” Tony replied. “I know nothing about it. I
know nothing about the shanty; I never saw it until to-night.”
“That statement,” commented the Doctor mercilessly, “conflicts with
what you implied a few moments ago. You allowed me to infer that you do
know what boys go there.”
“Suppose I do,” exclaimed Tony passionately. “Suppose I do—I shan’t
tell anything about it. I have never been there, and I have nothing to
do with it.”
“Well, sir, there is still another bit of evidence that inevitably
suggests to me the suspicion that you must know more than you admit.
The strong-box in that shanty was rifled this afternoon by the Head
Prefect under my direction. In it were found several packs of playing
cards, a quantity of poker chips, and a memorandum-book.”
“Well, sir?”
“Do you know anything about that memorandum-book?”
“I do not.”
The Doctor drew it from his pocket as he spoke, and opened it. “I find
here various entries, evidently sums of money owing to certain persons.
I find here the entry ‘A. D. to R. C.—$5.’ Between these pages is a
check on the First National Bank of New Orleans drawn by you in your
own favor and endorsed on the back. Do you recollect such a check?”
Tony racked his memory, and recalled at last that a week or so before
he had given Reggie such a check in payment of a small loan. “I made
out such a check; yes, sir.”
“To whom did you pay it?”
“I decline to tell you, sir.”
“What did you pay it for?”
“In payment of the sum of five dollars which I had borrowed.”
“The boy to whom you paid this will corroborate your statement?”
“Possibly, sir—I don’t know. I certainly shan’t ask him to. I am
accustomed to tell the truth.”
“You decline then to explain to me how this check came to be found in
this memorandum-book in the strong-box of that shanty?”
“I know nothing about it to explain. I paid the check to a friend. I
don’t know how it came to be in the shanty.”
“Have you ever played poker in this school?”
“No, sir; I have not.”
“Could this check have had anything to do with a poker game?”
“I don’t know—not so far as I am concerned.”
“What do you mean by ‘so far as I am concerned’?”
“I mean that I have never played cards for money, or given that check
in payment for a gambling debt. As to whether other boys have gambled
in the shanty or elsewhere, I do not know. I have nothing to say.”
“You have broken bounds repeatedly this term?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That will do for to-night. You three boys may go to bed now. Report to
me to-morrow morning at the Rectory after Chapel. You will not attend
recitations or take any part in the school activities until this matter
is settled.”
The three culprits silently took up their caps and went off to their
rooms; Jimmie and Kit, distressed and alarmed for themselves, but even
more for Tony; Deering was sullen and angry.
Doctor Forester sank back for a moment in his chair and looked
helplessly at his master and his prefects. “I don’t think for a moment
that that boy is not telling the truth, Morris. But there is the
letter, the check, and the memorandum-book. What do you make of it?”
“I would stake my life on his honor,” exclaimed Morris generously.
“For a moment I doubted him when he was confronted with your evidence;
but there is an explanation for it, I am sure. Perhaps we will find
it out; perhaps not. But whether we do or not, I would take Deering’s
word.”
“Doubtless you are right. His grandfather was the same sort of
hot-headed chivalrous youth, always in trouble, always refusing to
clear himself if there were a shadow of doubt as to involving some one
else. Nevertheless, this business is to be probed to the bottom, and I
shall be inclined to expel the offenders without mercy. Come, boys, get
to bed now; come to see me in the morning. You too, Morris. Good-night.
I don’t know when a case of discipline has given me so much distress.”
When they were gone, Morris crossed over to Deering’s room, and tapped
on the door. Receiving no reply, he opened it and walked in. As he
found no one in the study, he went into the bedroom, and there he
discovered Tony lying on the bed, shaken by a storm of sobs. Carroll
was sitting by his side, with his arms around him, trying to get some
explanation of his distress.
Reggie looked up at the master. “What is the trouble, Mr. Morris? I
can’t get a word from Tony.”
Morris explained in a few sentences what had happened.
“But, sir—he gave his word?”
“I know, I know,” exclaimed the master. “I believe him absolutely, but
I am afraid there is a strong evidence against him that he will have to
explain to the Head.”
“But the Doctor must know that he is telling the truth. I never knew
him to misjudge a boy.”
“Even so—but whether he believes him or not, the Head is forced to
probe the matter. He cannot accept Tony’s refusal to speak, and you
must admit, Reggie, the letter, the check and the memorandum are pretty
strong evidence.”
Carroll paled, but he met the master’s gaze firmly. “I can explain
that, sir. The memorandum was made out to a boy who has the same
initials as Tony. I left the check which Tony had paid me in the
memorandum-book by mistake.”
“You—Reginald!”
“Yes, yes—I have been playing poker there all this term, or at least
for a good part of it. Is it too late to go and tell the Doctor?”
“No, I think not; I believe he would like to know to-night.”
Without a word Carroll rose up and left them.
Morris sat down then on the edge of the bed by Deering’s side, and
tried to calm him, making him understand at last what Reggie had done.
Then he persuaded him to undress; and waited until he had got into bed;
then, with a quiet good-night, he turned out the lights and left him
alone.
The Doctor’s study contained a door which gave directly upon the
campus, so that the boys had easy access to him without the formality
of going to the front door of the Rectory and sending their names in by
a servant. When the Doctor was busy and did not wish to be disturbed,
he placed a little sign in the window to that effect. There was no
such sign as Reggie stood in the snow outside, at the foot of the few
steps that led to the study door. The window-shades were up and Carroll
could see the Doctor standing before the fire—a characteristic
attitude—his brows knit in perplexity. The boy’s heart went to his
throat, for like every Deal boy the Doctor’s good opinion was what
secretly he coveted intensely. But there was only a moment’s hesitation
before he went up boldly and tapped at the door.
The Head Master was surprised to see him at that hour of the night, and
waited a little gravely for his explanation.
Carroll made his confession in a few words, stating the case against
himself baldly and without a word of palliation. “I have to say, sir,”
he concluded, “that I have only come to you to save Deering, who has
had absolutely nothing to do with the affair, and who told you the
entire truth. I could not sleep, sir, if I thought you doubted his
honor. Why, sir——”
“Yes, Reginald, I agree with all that you can say about Deering. I have
persistently believed in the boy despite the seemingly strong evidence
against him. I am glad you have set me right there. As for yourself,
you know that you have behaved badly, and I feel your conduct deeply.
But I think you are atoning for it now in the sacrifice you are making
for your friend. I do not want to know the names of your companions in
this gambling episode, but I want to feel that I may count on you from
this moment to make an effort to have it stopped.... Make no promises,
but give me reason to keep my trust in you from now on.”
He extended his hand. “Good-night now; tell Deering to come to me after
Chapel to-morrow morning.”
“Good-night, sir,” said Carroll with a thick voice, as he grasped the
Doctor’s hand.