A QUESTION OF RIGHT AND WRONG
An air of gloom hung over the breakfast-room. Search as one might, up
and down the long tables, it would have been hard to find one smiling
countenance. Most of the boys were eating absent-mindedly, as if they
had small relish for their food; their foreheads were wrinkled and
knotted, as if their thoughts were far away. To any one at all
acquainted with school affairs, the trouble was not far to seek. The
first day of the mid tear examinations was at hand.
Of all these troubled faces, perhaps Dave Ellis' was the most moody
and depressed. English Thirteen--how he dreaded it! He had sat up
almost all night, in defiance of the rules, stealthily flashing an
electric bull's-eye on his notes, and now, with aching head and jaded
nerves, he was paying the penalty. His brain was in confusion. Names
of books and authors sang themselves over and over in his mind. Now an
absurd, annoying jingle, "Fielding, Smollett, _Rich_ardson; Fielding
Smollett, _Rich_ardson;" and then, no sooner had he managed to stop
the monotonous refrain than off it went again, "Dickens, Trollope,
_Thack_eray; Dickens, Trollope, _Thack_eray." He groaned, turned
desperately to his cup of coffee, gulped down half of it at once,
scalded himself, and then--it was all of no avail--the tune began once
more. Suddenly, and without warning, he thought of another name, and
to his horror, everything connected with it had gone wholly from his
mind. He glanced despairingly across the table at Allen. "Harry," he
cried, "for goodness' sake, what school did Jane Austen belong to? And
what did she write?"
Allen gazed gravely back at him. "Jane Austen?" he repeated. "Why, she
was the head of the Romantic school. She wrote _The Maniac's Deed_,
and _Tracked to his Doom_, and _The Bandit's Revenge_. She's been
called the founder of the Modern Romance--Old Sleuth, you know, and
Nick Carter--"
Ellis had sat listening, his mouth a little open, his eyes troubled,
his whole expression a study in amazed bewilderment. Two or three of
the boys snickered, and at once he came to his senses. "Oh, shut up,
Harry," he cried, "that's an awfully dirty trick--to jolly a fellow
that way. If you felt as rotten as I do--"
Allen relented. "Well, excuse me, Dave," he said, "but you know what
she wrote, just as well as I do, if you'd only stop to think. She was
the great realist. _Pride and Prejudice_, _Sense and Sensibility_, all
that list."
Ellis' face cleared. "Oh, yes," he said hastily, "of course.
_Mansfield Park_, _Emma_, and some kind of an Abbey; I've got 'em all
in my notes. But what if it had come on the exam? I never would have
remembered it in the world. Confound English Thirteen. I'm going to
flunk; I know I am."
With a sigh he returned to his half-finished breakfast. Then, looking
around him, "Pass the salt, Randall," he said, none too pleasantly.
On Dick, himself in none too amiable a frame of mind, the tone jarred.
He paused, his hand on the salt-cellar. "Did I hear you say 'please?'"
he questioned.
Ellis' face flushed. "Oh, don't be a fool," he cried, "if you had the
things to bother you that I have, you wouldn't be so particular.
Please--please--please--as many times as you like, only pass it,
anyway."
Dick complied. "Well, you needn't make such a row about your hard
times," he retorted. "I can't see that you're any worse off than any
one else. These confounded mid-years. They put us all in the same
boat."
Ellis scowled. "Oh, you don't know everything," he grumbled. "I guess
if you--"
He pulled himself up sharply, and went on with his breakfast. Five
minutes later, as they filed out of the hall, Allen drew Dick to one
side. "Say," he whispered, "what's our friend Dave got on his mind?
He's awfully down in the mouth lately. Has he ever tried to borrow any
money of you?"
Dick looked at his friend in some surprise. "Why, yes," he answered
rather unwillingly, "he has. I told him I was sorry, but I didn't have
any I could spare. Why, has he tried you, too?"
Allen nodded. "Sure," he answered briefly, "and Steve Lindsay, and Ned
Brewster. I guess that's where the trouble is. He must be in some sort
of a money scrape, and that and the mid-years together have got him
feeling pretty blue. Anyway, it looks like that to me."
Half an hour later the unfortunates who took English Thirteen
assembled in the upper hall. It was Dick's first examination of
importance since he had been in the school, and he felt extremely
nervous. His mouth was dry; his heart was pounding against his ribs.
To divert his mind he looked around the room to see where his friends
were seated. Brewster and Putnam were far away, across the room.
Lindsay was three seats to his right. Dave Ellis was in the next seat,
on his left, and Allen was stationed directly behind Ellis.
The nine o'clock bell rang, and Mr. Fenton mounted the platform. "Now,
boys," he said cheerfully, "just a word, before we begin. This paper,
for the period which it covers, is fully as hard as the average of the
college entrance examinations. Yet, as a test, it is a perfectly fair
one, in every way; an honest attempt to find out how much you know of
the course. There are no catch questions, or anything of that sort. So
go to work in good earnest. Read the paper through from beginning to
end before you touch pencil to paper; don't lose your heads; take your
time in thinking out your answers. And if there are questions which
you _can't_ answer, they will at least show you where your weak points
are, before the final examinations next spring."
A minute later, the last paper had been distributed. Dick read the
questions through, slowly and deliberately, as the master had
suggested, and then drew a long breath of relief. It was a "fair"
paper, as Mr. Fenton had said; none too easy, but to a boy who had
taken an interest in the course, and had kept up with references and
outside reading, one almost certain to be passed, and to be attacked
with real interest and enthusiasm. Allen and he had prepared for the
examination together, and Dick saw more than one question where his
classmate's devotion to his "old poets," as Jim Putnam called them,
was now to serve him in good stead. For the better part of an hour, he
wrote steadily; and then, with the easier questions out of the way,
used greater deliberation in answering those which remained.
Once or twice, as Dick glanced up from his work, he noticed, half
abstractedly, that Ellis, on his left, was sitting always in the same
position, gazing straight before him at his paper, without writing a
word. And then, a little later, as he was about to begin on the
question next the last, a faint cough from his neighbor, three or four
times repeated, attracted his attention. He looked up from his book,
and the next instant a little ball of paper came spinning along the
bench, so well aimed that it stopped just at the left of his
examination book, lying almost within his grasp. Dick hesitated for a
moment, leaned forward a trifle, unfolded the pellet, and read. At the
top, three times underlined, were the words, "Help, please," and then,
underneath, "Who wrote _Barry Lyndon?_ When was Fielding born? Did
Trollope write _The Moonstone?_" Below each question Ellis had left a
little space for the answer.
Dick felt himself flush, almost as if he himself had been detected in
something wrong. With a quick movement, he thrust the telltale slip
into his pocket; then waiting until he caught Ellis' eye, he frowned
slightly, shook his head in decided negative, and bent again to his
task.
He finished the paper some twenty minutes before the time had expired,
re-read his answers with care, and made up his mind that no matter
what his mark would be, he had at least done as well as he could. He
sat back in his chair, and looked around him. Most of the boys were
still hard at work. And then, as his glance fell upon his neighbor, he
gave an involuntary start of surprise. Ellis was writing busily, as if
his very life depended on it, yet even as Dick looked, he saw him
pause, and tug gently at his left sleeve with the fingers of his right
hand. Gradually, he pulled a long slip of paper into view, studied it
carefully for a moment, then relaxed his hold, and the paper,
evidently fastened to an elastic of some sort, slid smoothly back
again out of sight. Dick looked quickly away, a feeling of disgust
overcoming him. He had heard of such things, but this was the first
time he had seen actual cheating taking place before his very eyes.
Ten minutes later the bell clanged, papers and books were gathered up,
and the test was over.
The mid-years lasted for a week; at the end of that time the results
were made known. Dick did fully as well as he had expected. Out of a
total of seven subjects, he had one A, three B's, two C's, and one D.
Harry Allen topped the list with five A's and two B's; Brewster did a
trifle better than Dick; Putnam and Lindsay not quite so well. But the
surprise of the whole affair was Ellis' good showing. It was nothing
brilliant, compared with the records of the really fine scholars in
the class, but he did far better than any one had supposed he would
do, and in those subjects where memory played an important part, his
marks were fully equal to the average. Thus all doubts of his being
eligible for the spring games were removed, and Brewster, as captain
of the track team, heaved a sigh of relief that this anxiety was off
his mind.
Dick found himself unable to share in Brewster's pleasure. The thought
of that strip of paper, and those cautious fingers pulling it gently
downward, rankled in his mind. He wondered what a fellow ought to do
in such a case. He ought not to tell tales, of course; that wasn't
right; and yet--it was such a downright, dirty trick on Ellis'
part--such a sailing under false colors--
And then, one morning, he found his perplexities increased. In the
excitement of the mid-years, he had forgotten another matter of
importance, and now, on the bulletin in the hall, appeared the notice
that in a fortnight the election for class president would be held.
Only two names were put in nomination--those of Dave Ellis and of
Harry Allen--and suddenly Dick felt his doubts increase. Ought he to
keep silence, after all? It was a mean thing to tell on a fellow--he
had always known that--but on the other hand, where could you draw the
line. If he saw a man commit a murder, he would certainly tell the
authorities. There was a duty in both directions, it seemed. And so he
thought and thought, until finally, on one rainy afternoon, he
gathered his four most intimate friends--Allen, Putnam, Brewster and
Lindsay--together in his room, and proceeded to unburden his mind.
"Look here, you chaps," he began, "I want your advice. This is my
first year in the school, and the last thing I want to do is to butt
in, or to make a nuisance of myself. But I'm in a mix-up about this
business of class president, and I want to put the thing up to you
fellows, and see what you think of it. Of course, I'm with Harry,
as you all know, just as the rest of you are, but we're not the
school--I'm afraid, this time, we're not even a majority of the
school--and I suppose the chances are all in favor of Dave's getting
it."
Allen nodded. "Sure thing," he replied, "I think I know the sentiment
pretty well. There are forty-two fellows in the class, who are
entitled to vote, and I should say that just about twenty-five were
for Dave, and seventeen were for me. Of course you never can tell, for
sure, until the last vote is counted, but I guess that's a pretty fair
estimate. What do you fellows say?" and he turned to Putnam, Lindsay
and Brewster.
"That's about it, I think," Putnam answered, and the others nodded
assent.
"Well, then," Dick continued, "here's the question. In the first
place, Dave Ellis isn't a fit fellow to be president of the class. I
know it, for a fact. A class president is supposed to represent the
school; it's really the highest honor the class can give; and the
fellow we elect, whatever else people might find to say about him,
ought at least to be square. Now, I'll admit that I'm prejudiced
against Dave, because he rather rubbed it into me when I came here
first, and it didn't make things any too agreeable, for a while. But
that's got nothing at all to do with what I'm telling you now. This is
something more than prejudice. Dave isn't on the square, and I can
prove it. He cheated in the English Thirteen exam."
There was a chorus of surprised ejaculation. Allen alone said nothing.
And then Brewster asked, "How, Dick? Are you sure? That's a pretty
serious charge to make against a fellow, if you can't back it up."
But Dick seemed in nowise disposed to retract what he had said. "Oh, I
can back it up, all right," he answered. "First, he threw me a note,
asking for help. And after that I saw him pull a paper out of his
sleeve--you know the kind I mean, the ones they fasten to an
elastic--and he was cribbing his answers from that. I saw him as
plainly as I ever saw anything in my life. I'd swear to it, on my
oath. There's no doubt of it at all."
There was a long silence. Then Dick spoke again. "Well," he asked,
"what ought I to do? What ought we to do, rather? Because it's up to
you fellows now, just as much as it is to me. You represent the
element that stands right back of Mr. Fenton here in the school.
What's the best way to act? We can't go to Mr. Fenton, of course; that
would be a kid trick; worse than what Dave did. But oughtn't we to
tell the fellows? Isn't it only fair, if they want to elect him
president, to let them know first what kind of fellow they're picking
out to represent the class? Or ought we to go to Dave himself, before
we do anything else, and tell him that if he'll withdraw from the
election, and promise not to cheat again, we'll keep our mouths shut
on the whole thing? I don't know. I've thought about it a lot. People
always tell you to do what's right, but they forget to explain how
you're going to know what is right, and what's wrong. So I've come to
you fellows to help me out. Now what do you say?"
There was a little silence before Brewster spoke out impulsively, "I
vote we tell the whole school. It isn't right that a thing like that
should happen, and a fellow get away with it. It's a downright dirty
trick, I think. I move we tell the whole crowd, right away."
Putnam shook his head. "No," he objected; "that would be foolish. It's
the worst mistake you can make to blaze ahead too quick, before you've
figured out the things that may happen. Suppose Dave denies the whole
business, what then?"
Dick's cheeks flamed. "Why, Jim," he cried; "you don't think I'm
lying, do you? You don't mean to say you doubt my word?"
Putnam smiled. "Of course I don't, Dick," he answered. "I know you too
well for that. But I was thinking of what I've heard my father say,
when he's been talking about his law cases. 'Put yourself in the other
fellow's place,' is his great expression, 'and see what you'd do then.
That will help you in working up your side of the argument.' And
that's a good idea, isn't it, Harry?"
Allen nodded. "Sure," he replied; "they do something like that in
literary criticism. 'Playing the devil's advocate,' they call it.
Which means thinking up all the possible objections any one might
make, and then going ahead and demolishing them. Yes, that's a good
principle to go on."
"Well, then," continued Putnam, "here's what occurs to me. Suppose we
do as Ned says, and spread the story through the school. Some one of
Dave's friends will come running to him with it right away, and what's
Dave going to do then? What's to prevent him from saying that Dick is
lying--that Dick's a friend of Harry's, and that this is all a dodge
to get Harry elected? And if he does do that, then how does Dick
stand? Dave's got an awful following here in the school, and there are
some of the fellows, I'm afraid, who wouldn't care a great deal
whether he cheated or not. They might consider it was rather a brave
thing to try a dodge like that, and carry it through without the
master seeing him. And even the decent fellows, who wouldn't stand for
such a thing--what are they going to believe? It's Dave's word against
Dick's and if they believe Dave, it puts Dick in an awful hole.
They're going to say, 'Here's a new boy in the school, who's trying to
make all the trouble he can. And he picks out the best athlete we've
got, and tries to blackmail him. That's an awfully mean trick, and
we'll see that we make the school too hot to hold him?' What do you
say to that, Dick?"
Dick looked a little staggered. "Well, I hadn't thought of anything
like that," he reluctantly admitted. "I hated to mix up in this thing
anyway; yet it didn't seem right to let it slide, without saying a
word. And if you go through the world on your principle, Jim, you'll
always be keeping quiet, unless you're sure you can prove what you set
out to prove. And there are times, I should think, even when you know
you're going down to defeat, where you would have to speak out, just
because it's the right thing to do. At least, I should think that was
what Mr. Fenton would say."
Lindsay, usually a boy of the fewest possible words, spoke up quickly.
"You're right, Dick," he said. "This is too important a thing for us
to let go. Whether you get into trouble or not, isn't the point. It's
a question of our duty to the school. Let's get Dave in here, now, and
see how he acts. He may get scared, and own up to everything. If he
doesn't, then we can make up our minds what we ought to do next. What
say, Harry?"
Allen had been unusually silent, although listening with the keenest
interest to all that was being said. Now he nodded. "I think that's a
good idea," he said.
Lindsay rose. "Any objection?" he asked of the room in general. No one
answered, and he went out, and a few moments later returned, bringing
Ellis with him.
If the boy who was about to be accused had any suspicions of what was
going to take place, he concealed them admirably. "Hullo, fellows," he
said; "what's this gathering for? Track team, or crew?"
Lindsay, acting as spokesman, wasted no time in beating about the
bush. "It's neither, Dave," he said at once, "it's a meeting on the
class presidency."
Ellis smiled. "Rather an Allen crowd, I guess," he remarked. "I don't
see what you want _me_ for. I'm going to vote for myself, I'll tell
you that now. So Harry needn't waste any politeness on me; he can vote
for himself, too, and then we'll be square."
He had thrown himself back into a chair, perhaps a little too
elaborately at his ease. Lindsay spoke again. "We're not here in
Harry's interests, Dave," he said quietly, "we're here in the
interests of the school. We believe you have the better chance of
being elected president, but there's a matter that we should like to
have explained. We want the president of the class to be a fellow
above suspicion in every way, and we want to ask you whether it is
true that you were seen to cheat in the examination in English
Thirteen?"
Ellis looked at him with well-assumed indignation. "I? Cheat?" he
echoed; "well, I guess not. Who the devil dares to say such a thing as
that about me? I'll punch his head for him."
Lindsay turned to Randall. "Fire away, Dick," he said.
Dick did not flinch, but looked Ellis squarely in the eye. "I was
telling these fellows, Dave," he said, "that I didn't think you were
the man to represent the class as president. I've told no one else,
but I've told them, in confidence, what you did in the English
Thirteen exam. That you first asked me for help, and then cribbed from
that paper up your sleeve--"
He got no further. Ellis leaped to his feet, his face white with
wrath. "You liar!" he cried.
Dick in his turn started from his seat, his face as angry as Ellis'
own. "Hold on," he cried sternly. "I don't like that word, Dave. You'd
better take that back."
Ellis sneered. "Not by a long shot," he answered, "that's what you
are. And how you've got the nerve to start a story like that--"
Dick drew a little piece of paper from his pocket, and handed it to
the boy he was accusing. "You didn't pass me that in the exam?" he
demanded.
[Illustration: Ellis leaped to his feet, with wrath]
Ellis' denial was almost too ready. "Of course I didn't," he flung
back, "that's not my writing. I never saw the paper before. I never
cheated in an examination in my life. You're playing dirty politics,
Randall, to help Allen; that's what you're doing. But you can go
ahead. It won't hurt me. I'll tell the story myself, to every boy in
the school, and they can judge who's lying, and who isn't. You'd like
to see me in a scrape, I guess, so you might have a chance at the
Pentathlon, with me out of it. Oh, I'm on to you and your schemes--"
He was storming on, half beside himself with rage. But as he uttered
the words, Allen looked quickly up at him, as if taking a sudden
resolve. "Just a minute, Dave," he said. His tone was quiet, but there
was that in his voice which made Ellis pause, half against his will.
"Well?" he queried, "what have you got to say?"
Allen turned to the others. "Fellows," he said, "this is a dirty
business--the whole thing. It makes me sick and disgusted to be mixed
up in it. But I've no choice now. I've kept my mouth shut, because,
since I was running against Dave, it put me in rather a queer
position, and I thought I'd better not speak. But now that Randall's
good name is brought into it, I'll tell you what I know. Dave did
cheat. I sat behind him in English Thirteen. I saw him write the note
and pass it. I saw him use the paper up his sleeve. And he worked the
same trick again in History Four." He swung around to Ellis. "Dave,"
he said, "you have no right to be running for president, and you know
it. You'll withdraw right away, or I'll give this story to the school
myself. And one thing more. You're trying to make Dick Randall out a
liar. Dick's gone into this thing against his will and risked a chance
of getting into trouble, for the sake of the school. It was a plucky
thing for a fellow to do, and if you breathe one little word to
slander him, I'll do something that I wouldn't do in any other case
for anything under the sun. I'll go straight to Mr. Fenton with the
whole story. And you can take your chance on an investigation. Now
then, will you pull out, or not? You can have your choice."
There was a tense silence. An utter change had come over Ellis' face.
He had the look of an animal hunted down. "You're mistaken, Harry," he
said at last, with an effort at composure, "you're mistaken, I assure
you. You don't understand--"
His stammering sentences died away on his lips. No one spoke, and
presently Ellis seemed to make up his mind. He raised his head with an
expression of resolve. "Look here, you fellows," he said, "I don't
want to make any trouble over this thing. But there's something else
comes into it, that you don't know. I'm in a row over some money
I--lost--and if I don't get it pretty soon, I'm going to be in an
awful hole. I might have to leave school," he added craftily, "and
then I'd be out of it for the Pentathlon. Let's compromise this, all
around. I'll pull out of the presidency, and give Harry a walk-over,
and we'll let the business of the English exam drop. It will be the
best for every one. If I did anything I ought not to have done, I'm
sorry. I was doing it for the school, so that I wouldn't be cut out of
the spring athletics. Why don't you fellows, among you, raise me two
hundred dollars, and we'll let things go on, just as if nothing had
happened at all."
The very effrontery of the proposal almost took away his listeners'
breath. Finally Allen spoke. "No, Dave," he said, "that isn't quite
the way we do things here. We don't buy our athletes. We want the cup,
all right, but we want it on the square. And if you cheated for the
sake of the school, I'll only say that's the most remarkable way of
showing school spirit that I've heard of yet. No, you will have to
withdraw from the presidency, and give us your word never to cheat
again. And if you'll do that, we'll let this whole matter rest. I
don't know whether that's the fairest way or not, but I think it is.
If you're not up for office, it's a private matter then, and one that
there's no need of publishing around. So it's up to you, Dave. Quit or
not. We'll meet you half-way, whatever you do."
Ellis scowled, and bit his lip. He thought for some moments in
silence, then turned to go. "I'll let you know in two days," he said.
"You keep quiet till then, and so will I."
He took his departure, leaving the group behind him busy with
speculations as to what he meant to do. Yet no one even dreamed what
his final decision would really be, and it came to them with a shock
of surprise and disgust. For two days later, they learned that Dave
Ellis had suddenly left school, and a week after that, Jim Putnam
burst quickly into Dick's room, where he and Allen sat studying.
"Golly, fellows," he shouted; "what do you think now? Dave's got it in
for us, all right. He's entered Hopevale, and I'll bet a dollar it
costs us the cup."