THE NET OF DECEPTION.
“Look here, Bentley, I want to see you,” called Don Scott, sharply, as
Leon was hurrying homeward from school the following noon.
Leon cast a backward glance over the shoulder and saw the doctor’s son
coming after him with swinging strides. The day was dark and lowering
and a storm was threatening, but Bentley saw indications of a swifter
and more violent storm in the face of the boy who was hastened to
overtake him, which made him feel like taking to his heels and seeking
shelter from the outbreak.
“I’m in a hurry,” he cried, half pausing and then quickening his steps
once more.
“I won’t bother you long,” was the assertion which failed to reassure
him in the slightest degree. “What I have to say to you I can say in
short order. Hold on!”
“He won’t dare to touch me,” thought Leon, seeking to quiet his own
fears, but not entirely succeeding. “I might as well let him blaze away
and have it over.”
He paused at a street corner and waited. A wet wind was slashing
viciously at the trees that lined the street, and a yellow leaf,
harbinger of the great flocks to follow, came fluttering like a wounded
bird to Bentley’s feet.
The pursuer came up with a few swift, firm steps and stopped,
regarding Leon with scorn and anger apparently unspeakable, so that
the vacillating fellow stared at the ground and weakly asked, forcing
himself with a painful effort to utter the words:
“Well, what do you want?”
“You’re a nice one, you are!” grated Don, with a motion that caused the
other to start back a bit and lift one hand, like an oft-beaten child
who expects a blow. “Oh, I’m not going to touch you, so don’t cringe
like a whipped cur!”
“What’s the matter with you?” Bentley snapped, trying to stiffen up and
put on a bold front. “If you have anything to say to me, why don’t you
say it?”
“I will. You’re a treacherous sneak! You’re a two-faced whelp! That
ought to be plain enough for you to understand.”
“Oh, come, Scott!” exclaimed Leon, changing his manner. “What reason
have you got to make such talk to me? What have I done?”
“You know what you’ve done! You pretended to be my friend, and yet----”
“I am your friend.”
“You’re nothing of the sort! I wouldn’t own you for a friend! You have
gone back on me!”
“I suppose I know what you’re driving at. You’re mad because I’ve gone
back onto the eleven.”
“After swearing over and over that you’d stick to me through thick and
thin! After vowing you’d never play on the team unless I did! I didn’t
ask for all those promises, but you made them.”
“And I meant to keep them when I made them, Scott----honest I did. But
Sterndale came and offered me my old position, and so----”
“You went back on your word and quit me.”
“No, I’ve not quit you; I’m still your friend.”
“Bah!” cried Don, scornfully.
“I am!” palpitated Leon, eager to convince his companion. “I’ll prove
it to you, too. You don’t think I went back because I want to help them
win, do you?”
The doctor’s son did not speak, and Bentley hastened to go on:
“Not on your life! That wasn’t my little game. I went back because I
can keep track of things better by standing in with the gang. I can
watch Dolph Renwood, and I may get a good chance to give him a dig that
will do him up. Can’t you see I’m liable to get a better chance at him
now? I haven’t forgotten that he got Sterndale to drop me, and I’ll pay
him back.”
“It’s a case of treachery on one side or the other,” declared Don. “If
you’re not lying to me, you’ve gone back to betray the team, and so
you’re a sneak, just the same.”
“Well, you beat anything!” gasped Leon, quite unable to understand the
other youth. “You want to see them get it in the neck because Renwood
is coaching them, and yet you turn up your nose at me when you think
there is a chance that I may be able to give them the throw-down. What
are you made of, anyhow?”
“I hope I’m made of different stuff than you are. I do want them to be
beaten, but I’m not on the eleven. If I were on it, no matter how I
felt, I’d have to do my best to help win. If you do anything else, you
will be a traitor and a sneak.”
Some color mounted to Bentley’s thin cheeks.
“You’re the funniest fellow on legs!” he exclaimed. “Of course I
wouldn’t do anything to down the team unless I could throw it all on
Renwood’s shoulders. I’m keeping my eyes open for a chance to show him
up dirty.”
Don was silent a moment, looking squarely at Leon with those dark,
piercing eyes.
“Thad Boland may be lazy,” he finally said; “but a lazy man is better
than a sneak and a traitor. Sterndale made a mistake when he took you
back, and I’d tell him so if I thought he’d pay any attention to me.”
“You’ll be sorry some time for this kind of talk, Scott!” snapped Leon,
in bewildered anger. “There come some girls, and I don’t want to talk
with you any longer.”
Don saw several girls coming down the street, Dora Deland and Zadia
Renwood among them, and he immediately said:
“I’m sure I don’t want to be seen talking with you, nor do I want
anything further to do with you. You can keep away from me in the
future. Understand?”
Without waiting for Leon to answer, he hastened onward toward home,
leaving Bentley to wait for the girls and force himself upon them as a
companion and escort, whether he was wanted or not.
That afternoon it rained. Don sat at his desk and listened to the dash
of the wind-driven cloud-tears against a near-by window. Sometimes he
studied, but oftener he was thinking of things far removed from books
and recitations. The rain had begun late in the day and was pretty
certain to continue, so there could be no practice for the Rockspur
Eleven that night.
“They’ve made another shift about since taking Bentley back,” thought
Don, “and every change disturbs them some. There’s little time now for
them to get used to the new line-up.”
It was not necessary for him to remain away from home on the pretense
of practicing that night, which gave him no small satisfaction. He
passed the evening reading.
The following day was bright and clear, and the eleven turned out for
morning practice on the field. At school Don fancied the members of the
team showed something like satisfaction, as if things had moved better.
Even Thad Boland seemed relieved and well pleased.
Saturday came, and as Don came down in the morning, he was greeted by
his father, who cheerfully cried:
“This is a fine day for the great game, my son--bright, sunny and
cool. Are you feeling in first-class trim for it?”
“I am feeling first rate,” was the answer.
“That’s good; but it seems to me that you are not looking as well as
usual. Perhaps regular practice, together with your studies, has taken
hold of you.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” the boy hastened to declare. “I’m feeling fine as
a fiddle.”
“Well, I’m glad of that, for you have a hard task before you to beat
Highland on its own ground. I suppose you’ll want an early dinner
to-day, as you always start away by noon when you are going to
Highland?”
“Yes; half-past eleven will be about right.”
“I did think of driving over to Highland this afternoon and taking a
look at the game,” said the doctor, causing Don’s heart to stop beating
for a moment; “but I find I shall be unable to do so.”
The boy breathed again, inwardly thanking fortune.
“I want you to do your best to-day, my son,” pursued his father; “and
remember to guard your temper and keep your head cool. Promise me that
you will not, under any provocation, permit your temper to master you
to-day, Don.”
The promise was given, and they sat down to breakfast, during which, to
the continued uneasiness of the youth, Dr. Scott persisted in talking
about football and asking unpleasant questions. Don was glad enough to
escape from the house under pretense of going to the field to put in
some morning practice.
To him it now seemed necessary to continue the deception as long as
he could, and it is even probable that he hoped his father might
never find out the truth, although this hardly appeared possible. In
the beginning, the deception had seemed a small matter and of little
consequence, but, having taken the first false step, he had been led
on till now the burden of the deceit seemed more than he could bear.
It was wearing on his nerves and blunting all his finer instincts of
honor, for Don was naturally an upright and straightforward youth, who,
despite his violent disposition, detested anything dishonorable.
Thus it came about that he remained away from home all the forenoon,
shunning and avoiding the other village boys, who shunned and avoided
him. When he came rushing home, it was at the last minute, apparently,
as if the exciting events of the day had caught and carried him away in
their clutches.
“Land of goodness!” cried his aunt, as he flung himself down at the
table. “Don’t tear the house to pieces!”
“I’m in a hurry,” he declared.
“Can’t you wait for your pa? The tea ain’t quite ready.”
“I can’t wait for anything, and I don’t want any tea.”
“But you must eat a good hearty dinner, for you’ll need it.”
“Strictly against orders,” he declared, helping himself to the mashed
potatoes and cold corned beef. “No man is permitted to overload his
stomach on the day of a game.”
He fell to eating without ceremony and was quite finished when his
father came in at the ringing of the bell.
“Hello! hello!” exclaimed the doctor. “Have you eaten? Why, you haven’t
been in the house five minutes. I heard you when you came in.”
“You’ll have to excuse me, father; I didn’t have time to wait for you.
I’m off.”
“Hold on! Aren’t you going to take your overcoat? It will be chilly
riding home to-night.”
“I came near forgetting it,” said Don, whose great anxiety was to
get out of the house before his father could ask any more questions.
“Good-by, Aunt Ella.” He kissed her and then dashed up the stairs,
leaving her standing by the table, with uplifted hands, while the
doctor sat down, laughing.
“Bless us! bless us!” breathed the good woman. “What are boys in these
days coming to? They actually go crazy over baseball, football and such
things. Now, in our day----”
“Boys played barn tag, three-old-cat, prisoner’s base and games of that
class; now they have something better, sister. There is more sense in
baseball, football, tennis, polo, basket-ball and other modern games.”
“Well, there may be,” sighed Aunt Ella, sitting down and preparing to
pour the tea; “but I’m sure there’s more danger, and Don gets so crazy
over them that I expect he’ll come home dead some day, or crippled for
life.”
Don was heard coming swiftly downstairs, taking three at a time.
“Good-by!” he shouted. “I’m off.”
“Good luck, my boy,” called the doctor. “Remember my advice. Take care
of yourself, and do your level best to help Rockspur win.”
The door slammed and Don was gone, but not to play football.