CHARGE AND COUNTERCHARGE.
Don’s bold accusation astounded those who heard it, for it was wholly
unexpected. Renwood seemed amazed, Mayfair and Chatterton sprang to
their feet, and Sterndale uttered an exclamation.
“He’s the sneak who did the dirty work!” cried the doctor’s son. “He
can’t deny it! He slashed those suits and destroyed that football!”
“You’re a liar!” retorted Dolph, quick as a flash.
It was well that Sterndale was between them instantly, else Don might
have broken his promise to Renwood’s sister. Finding Dick there, he
restrained himself, laughed harshly and triumphantly, and said:
“That’s all right; I can afford to take it off you just now. In short
order I’ll show you up as both a liar and a sneak. You followed me from
this room last night, and you can’t deny that.”
“I don’t wish to deny it. What if I did?” said Dolph.
“From here you went directly to the dressing-room under the
grand-stand, where you used your handsome pearl-handled knife to slash
these suits and cut up the football. Why you did such a low, sneaking
trick is more than I can understand, unless you were possessed by the
Old Boy himself.”
Renwood laughed derisively.
“You have more gall than any fellow I ever saw!” he declared. “I
compliment you on your nerve, Mr. Scott!”
“How do you know he had such a thing as a pearl-handled knife?” asked
Sterndale.
“That knife slashed the sleeve of my best coat from shoulder to elbow,”
answered Don. “That knife cut these fingers,” and he displayed his
bandaged digits. “That knife is in my possession!”
With the final words, he took the knife from his pocket and held it up
before them all, causing every one of them to utter exclamations of
surprise.
“Let him deny that it is his knife if he can!” challenged the
dark-haired lad.
“I haven’t the least notion of denying it,” said Dolph, immediately.
“It is my knife, lost last Saturday night.”
“Yes, lost in the struggle with me in the dressing-room, where I caught
you just after you had finished your dirty work of cutting up the
football and the suits. I left this suit of clothes I am wearing there
Saturday afternoon, and I went up for it that night, after I was here
in this room. I caught you there, and you fought like a fiend to escape
without being recognized. When I had you down and was choking you into
submission, you tried to stab me with the knife, and you did cut my
shoulder a bit, but I got hold of your hand and took the knife from
you. Here it is, and it is proof that you are the fellow I found in the
dressing-room.”
Don seemed to fancy that he had fastened the deed on Renwood, and
his air was one of satisfied triumph; but he was surprised to observe
that Dolph showed neither confusion nor shame. Instead, the city youth
laughed again, saying:
“That’s a very clever fairy story, Scott, but you can’t make anybody
believe it.”
“Hardly,” agreed Mayfair. “It will not go down.”
“Not mum-much!” scoffed Chatterton.
“If you had not confessed being in the dressing-room Saturday night,”
said Sterndale, regarding Don with mingled anger and aversion, “we
had sufficient evidence to show you were there. We found this in the
dressing-room.” He held up to view Don’s favorite red necktie.
“And this just outside the gate to the field,” put in Mayfair,
displaying a blood-stained handkerchief. “It has your monogram on it,
Scott.”
“Both necktie and handkerchief are mine,” declared Don, without
hesitation. “The necktie was torn off in the struggle. I had the
handkerchief wrapped about my fingers, but lost it on the way home.”
“Sus-sus-slick yarn,” commented Danny, while the others, with the
exception of Sterndale, smiled scornfully.
Then, for the first time, Don realized that his words had fallen on
unbelieving ears and his attempt to expose the villainy of Renwood
was a complete failure. More than that, it was plain to him that
circumstantial evidence had convinced these fellows that he was the
dastardly sneak who had destroyed the football and ruined the suits.
For a moment he turned pale; then all the fury of his fiery nature
burst forth, and he raved against them like a person bereft of reason.
His eyes glared and a white froth formed on his lips, while he shook
all over. It seemed that in his senseless rage he would attack them
all, but he did not.
The boys were awed by the spectacle, though Sterndale remained grave
and firm, his face expressing no emotion.
“Fools!” snarled Don. “You’re blind! Think I tore off my own necktie
and left it behind so you might know I’d been there? How do you suppose
I came into possession of that fellow’s knife unless I obtained it just
as I’ve stated?”
“That was easy,” declared Renwood himself. “I had the knife Saturday
evening just before you entered this room, and I was sitting on that
table over there. The knife was beside me when you came in and walked
over to the table; when you left this room the knife was gone.”
“That’s right,” nodded Mayfair. “We all hunted for it and couldn’t find
it.”
“And now we nun-nun-know why we couldn’t fuf-fuf-find it,” asserted
Chatterton, wisely.
“So you think I stole it?” grated the dark-eyed lad, showing his white
teeth. “All right, think so, if you like! What do I care! You’re a lot
of fools, and you’ll find it out before you are done with Renwood. As
for him, he had better look out for me! I know he did the sneaking work
Saturday night, and I will prove it against him so there will be no
way for him to squirm out of it! Anyhow, I’ll fix him, and you may bet
your lives on that!”
Don flung the handsome pearl-handled knife on the floor and started
to walk from the room, Renwood having left the doorway free; but Dick
Sterndale blocked his passage, putting out a strong hand to stop him.
“Wait, Scott,” said the captain of the eleven, grimly. “When are you
going to pay for that football and those suits?”
The lips of the doctor’s son curled with scorn.
“When?” he cried. “Never!”
“Oh, yes, you will,” said Dick, quietly.
“If I do, I hope I may drop dead the next instant!” panted Don.
“If you do not,” warned the handsome fellow who blocked his path, “your
father will.”
“What do you mean? You----”
“If you refuse to pay, I shall go to your father, tell him the whole
story and demand payment from him.”
Don caught his breath, and it seemed that he would assault the captain
then and there; but Sterndale showed no wavering nor alarm, and the
attack did not come.
“Go ahead!” grated the dark-eyed lad. “Go to my father, if you like!
You can’t drive me that way to pay for damage I never did! I’ll die
before I’ll pay one cent!”
It was plain enough that he meant it then, but Dick said:
“Perhaps you will change your mind after you think it over. I’ll give
you till to-night. If you do not agree to pay by that time, I’ll call
on your father.”
He stepped aside, and the suspected youth walked to the door, where
he turned for a last desperate fling at his accusers. His hands were
clenched, his face flushed and his teeth showing as he looked back over
his shoulder.
“You’re a soft crowd!” he sneered, with curling lips. “If you were not,
you wouldn’t be ready to get down and crawl for a common city cad.
Because his father has some money and he is from Boston, you are ready
to take anything off him and believe any lie he tells. Oh, you make me
sick!”
Then he went out.