Part 11 (1/2)
”What a night-what a horrible night!”
Lying there, he somewhat reluctantly reviewed the events of the previous evening, and as he thought it all over he regretted most heartily that curiosity and a desire to delve into the private doings of others had led him to become a member of that card party. For the first time he fully realized that the person who attempts to pry into the affairs of others without authority or a sufficiently good reason almost invariably brings upon himself no end of trouble and is sure in time to be regarded as a spy, a meddler and a nuisance. His eyes were opened at last to the real reason for the aversion with which his former friends and chums had seemed to regard him of late.
”This being a detective isn't half as fine as it seems in stories,” he muttered; ”and, anyhow, I don't believe I was ever cut out for one. I've made a mistake. I'm too sensitive, too conscientious. My feelings are too easily stirred for me ever to make a success in that line. I'm going to quit it. Perhaps I can write stories, and I'm sure I'd like that better. They say an experienced crook often makes the most efficient detective, and I despise crooks. I'm done with the game.”
That final word, although he had been thinking of something else, again brought vividly to his mental view a picture of the green-covered table bearing chips and cards and the young players sitting around it engaged in what they chose to call ”a little friendly game.” A few short hours before this had seemed to him all very fine and sporty, and it had attracted him as the magnet attracts the steel. Now, in the somber light of a dull spring Sabbath morning, the glamour was swept away, leaving only a bitter after-taste that was remorse.
They had said that they were playing penny poker with a ten-cent limit simply to make the game interesting; but as he recalled their intentness upon the run of the play, the ill-concealed bitterness with which some of them accepted defeat, and their greedy, eager joy in winning, the truth smote him hard and convincingly. They had been gambling! The reason why they chose to play so small a game lay in the limited condition of their finances. Had they all possessed more money, penny-ante with a dime limit would have seemed tame and unsatisfactory, and therefore games of this sort were but the first steps to something bigger and worse.
”Ned Osgood started it here in this town,” thought Piper. ”He's naturally a fine fellow, and he doesn't realize what he's doing. I was not the only one who couldn't afford to play, putting aside the question of its being real gambling. In that whole bunch Osgood was the only one who really could afford it, and he was a winner.”
At that time Sleuth did not know that in ninety-nine genuine gambling games out of a hundred the majority of the players cannot, from financial reasons alone, afford to partic.i.p.ate. If not openly, they take part in such games with the secret hope that they will come forth winners, and one of the bad features of it all is the fact that their winnings, when made, seldom do them any real, substantial good; for money easily acquired is rarely rated at its real value and is almost as elusive as quicksilver. The winning gambler regards his gains as ”velvet,” forgetting his losses of yesterday and disregarding the a.s.sured certainty that he must lose again to-morrow or at some future time. He spends freely and foolishly, making doubly certain the time of deprivation and need which must come in future reverses.
The faint clatter of dishes, coming up from the dining-room, roused Sleuth from his unpleasant reveries, and, with a strange feeling of la.s.situde and weariness in his limbs, he dragged himself out of bed. The night had exacted its penalty in physical enervation as well as mental torment.
”No more,” he kept repeating-”no more of it for me.”
Breakfast over, he was drawn by an intense desire, not unmingled with dread, to learn something of Roy Hooker's condition. Not a word had Roy spoken after that blow, and Piper was haunted by the memory of the dazed, uncomprehending look in the boy's eyes.
”He's probably all right now,” Sleuth told himself; but he could not dismiss the fear that Roy might not be all right.
Thus worried, he found an early opportunity of getting away from the house, his footsteps leading him toward Hooker's home. The streets of the village bore the deserted appearance usual upon Sunday morning, but to him they seemed ominously silent and lonely. The early church bells began to ring, but the sound was hateful, for it seemed to add to that oppressive loneliness.
On the corner of Main and Middle streets, a block from where Hooker lived, he met Phil Springer, and a single glance told him that here was a companion in misery. For Springer also appeared downcast and troubled, and there was in his eyes an expression that told of sleep denied.
”Huh-h.e.l.lo, Sleuthy,” faltered Phil. ”What bub-brings you out so early?”
”Same thing that brought you out, I guess. Heard anything from Roy?”
”Not a word. You?”
”No; just came from home.”
”You took your chance to skin out and leave him on our hands, dud-didn't you?” said Phil resentfully. ”Cooper just mum-made me stick by till we got him home.”
”That was a mean trick of mine,” admitted Piper instantly. ”I'm sorry I did it, but I was nervous and excited, and I didn't stop to think. How was he? How did he appear? Did he talk any?”
”Not a word. Couldn't seem to gug-get any sense into him. Why, Pipe, he actually acted as if he didn't know wh-where he lived. What do you think of that?”
”I don't know what to think of it. I don't like to think of it. What did you do? How did you get him into the house?”
”We took him to the door; it was locked. I pounded until we saw a light through the gla.s.s and heard some one coming. Then, like the two cheap sus-sus-skates we were, we up and dusted-ran away.” Springer was not inclined to spare himself.
Suddenly Sleuth made a grab at his companion's arm. ”Look! Here comes Dr. Grindle now! I'll bet he's been to see Roy! Let's ask him.”
”Yu-yu-you ask,” gurgled Phil, getting pale around the mouth. ”It would tut-tut-take me tut-tut-too long.”
Medicine-case in hand, the doctor approached, and, a.s.suming as far as possible a natural air, Piper bade him good morning and inquired if there was some one ill ”over that way.”