BLASH CONFESSES
“Of all the crazy things to do!” marvelled Stanley when, at noon, Dick
found him in the room and poured out the story to him. “Didn’t you know
you weren’t supposed to give your plays away like that?”
“I guess I didn’t think,” said Dick humbly. “Besides, Leonardville is
so far away----”
“Well, no use talking about it now. Who do you suppose found the
letter?”
“I don’t know. Most anyone might have. I dare say I tossed the whole
thing at the barrel and this piece that Mr. Driscoll has fell outside.”
“Yes, that’s probably what happened. But where did the bit of envelope
come from? I don’t believe that was any accident, Dick!”
“What do you mean?” demanded Dick warmly. “Do you think I lied----”
“Hold your horses! What I mean is that--well, I don’t know just what I
do mean, Dickie. But if anyone had found that piece of your letter and
wanted to get you in wrong all he’d have had to do was----”
“I thought of that, Stan, but there isn’t anyone who----”
Dick stopped and frowned thoughtfully at his chum.
“Sure of that?” asked Stanley.
“You mean----”
“Yes, how about Sandy? He has it in for you, hasn’t he?”
“Why, yes, I suppose he has. In fact, he’s got a good big mad on with
me, Stan. I didn’t tell you, but I had a bit of an argument with him
yesterday afternoon, down in front of the door. Do you think----”
“What sort of an argument?” asked Stanley suspiciously.
So Dick told and Stanley snapped his fingers in triumph. “Why, it’s as
plain as the nose on your face, Dick!” he exclaimed. “Either Sandy came
across that piece of paper by accident or he saw you tear the letter
up and pulled it out after you’d gone on. Then, yesterday, he fixed up
that envelope to look as if it belonged with the letter! You didn’t ask
Mr. Driscoll when he got them, did you? Well, I’ll wager it was last
night after you’d thrown Sandy down or early this morning. It’s a mean
thing to say, Dickie, but the thing’s just the sort of low-down plot
that Sandy would take to. Shows ingenuity, too, and Sandy’s no fool if
he is a villain! Why don’t you put it up to Driscoll straight! Tell him
you know who supplied the incriminating evidence and tell him the whole
yarn.”
“But I can’t prove anything, Stan.”
“What of it? You can show that Sandy has a grouch and Driscoll’s got
sense enough to see that the whole thing’s a frame-up.”
“I might go to Sandy and make him tell the truth,” said Dick.
“How? He’d deny it, of course. Well, after all, it’s no great matter.
Driscoll doesn’t believe it and when your Leonardville chum gets here
he can clear the whole thing up. Best thing to do is forget it. It’s
rather a sell on Sandy, though, for I guess he expected Driscoll would
fire you off the team!”
“Somehow, I sort of think that’s what he meant to do when I first went
in there.”
“You can bet he didn’t want to, Dick! He’d have done it, though, in a
minute, if he hadn’t believed your story! Say, if I was you I’d take a
crack at Sandy, just for luck, the first time I met him!”
But Dick didn’t do that. For one reason, he didn’t see Sandy that day
or the next. He might have found him, but Dick concluded that his hold
on the position of substitute quarter-back was uncertain enough at
present without taking any chances! And so long as Sumner was coming to
clear up the mystery he could afford to keep the peace.
That Thursday evening Dick and Stanley went over to Goss to call on
Blash and Sid. It was raining great guns and an easterly gale was
howling around the corner as they set forth and, in violation of a
school ordinance, cut across over the turf and under the dripping
branches of the bare lindens. Both Blash and Sid were home and hailed
the arrival of visitors with loud acclaim. Blash pulled the “larder,”
as he called it, from under the window-seat and produced sweet crackers
and the remains of a pineapple cheese and Sid disappeared down the
corridor and presently returned with three bottles of some sweetly
sickish concoction called Raspberry Squash. It was a quarter of an hour
later, after the last bit of cheese had disappeared that Dick, idly
prospecting among a pile of magazines and papers--many of them moving
picture monthlies--happened on something that brought an exclamation
of surprise to his lips. The others, busy in talk, neither heard
nor noted and Dick drew from concealment a copy of the Leonardville
_Sentinel_, opened with the third page uppermost. “Leonardville is
Proud of Him,” read Dick. He didn’t go on, for he remembered the rest
of it perfectly. Instead, he laid the paper down and thoughtfully
stared across at Blash, who was too enthralled in the conversation
to heed. Dick kept silence for a good five minutes. Then, to the
astonishment of the others, he broke in rudely and abruptly.
“How did you know about my brother Stuart, Blash?” he demanded.
“Eh? What’s that?” Blash looked across startledly, striving to
accommodate his mind to the sudden change of subject.
“And where we lived?” pursued Dick.
“Oh! Well, what was it you asked?” Blash floundered badly, his gaze
falling on the paper under Dick’s hand and a slow grin curving the
corners of his mouth.
“I asked how you knew my brother’s name and where he lived,” explained
Dick calmly; “and where we lived.”
Blash looked at Dick for an instant and then shrugged. “I didn’t,
Dick,” he answered. “That part was supplied by the editor man, I
suppose. All I did was to write a nice little press notice and mail it
to the paper. I didn’t know whether they’d use it, but they did, and
they sent me a copy of it. Honest, now, don’t you think journalism is
my line? Dana or Bennett or any of those top-notchers got anything on
me, Dick?”
Stanley was staring wide-eyed. “D-do you mean that _you_ wrote that
thing about Dick in the Leonardville paper?” he gasped.
“Most of it,” replied Blash modestly. “Of course, as I’m telling you, I
couldn’t supply the--the intimate details.”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!”
“Same here,” laughed Sid. “Blash, you’re as crazy a loon as they make!”
“Seems to me,” said Dick, “you’ve spent most of your time of late
working practical jokes on me. After this I’ll never believe a thing
until I’ve made sure you’re not at the bottom of it. Well, I wonder if
you know that that tommyrot of yours here about my high school friends
coming to see Saturday’s game started something.”
“Started something!” Blash asked eagerly. “No. What?”
“Five of the fellows read that drivel and decided to follow the
suggestion. Blash, I hope you choke!”
Blash had gone off into a gale of laughter. Stanley and Sid grinned
doubtfully, wanting to laugh, too, but fearful of wounding Dick’s
feelings.
“O boy!” gasped Blash. “Dick, I guess we’re more than even! I’ve paid
in full, eh?”
Dick smiled at last. “No, you still owe me some pennies.”
“Not a cent! You telephoned me that night at the movie house that I
needn’t pay the last seven and a half cents: or, at least, ‘Uncle John’
did!”
“That’s so,” acknowledged Dick, laughing. “I’d forgotten.”
“When you get back,” said Stanley, “you can read what I wrote on the
piece of paper one night. Remember?”
Dick nodded. “Better tell me now, though. I never could stand suspense.”
“I wrote ‘Blash will chisel a penny in two and send half as the last
payment.’ Was I right, Blash?”
“Right as rain! Fact is, the two halves are in that top drawer over
there this minute. But you’ll never get either of them, Dick. I’ve paid
my debts!”
“You have,” agreed Dick heartily. “You’ve more than paid them, and I
hope I’ll live long enough to hand you back the change!”