Part 17 (2/2)
”You're glum to-night, Shultzie,” said Hunk Rollins. ”Got a grouch on?”
”Oh, no,” was the answer. ”I've had bad news from home. Father's sick, and I may have to give up school. It wouldn't surprise me to get a telegram to-morrow.”
”Oh, gee!” cried Chub Tuttle. ”Don't think you'll have to go for good, do you? With Hooker hurt and you gone, the nine will be mighty weak.”
”Has any one heard anything from Hooker to-night?” Shultz desperately forced himself to inquire.
”Only that he seems to be about the same,” answered Harry Hopper. ”He hasn't talked much yet. We're all waiting to find out what he will have to say when he does talk. The old Prof seemed to think it was going to b.u.mp somebody. We've been trying to figure out who it will be. Fred Sage is Roy's closest friend, but he wasn't out of the house Sat.u.r.day night, so he don't know anything about it.”
”It wouldn't surprise me,” said Shultz, ”if the whole thing turned out to be sort of a tempest in a teapot. It doesn't seem at all likely that anybody knows the facts and is keeping still. I'll wager Hooker took a tumble and hurt himself on his way home.”
”But the question is, where had he been?” said Tuttle, munching a peanut. ”He must have been out with somebody at that hour, but n.o.body has come forward to say he was with him. That's what makes it look suspicious.”
”Well, I'm going home,” announced Shultz, who had no relish to discuss the matter. ”Perhaps we'll hear something new in the morning.”
In his small back room at Caleb Carter's he tried to divert his mind a while by reading, but gave it up at last and decided to go to bed. He was half undressed when, chancing to turn toward the window, which looked out upon the roof of the ell, he staggered as if struck a blow, his mouth open, his eyes bulging, both hands outflung.
The light of his lamp, s.h.i.+ning through the window, fell upon the pallid face of Roy Hooker, who was gazing fixedly at him!
CHAPTER XVII
THE GREAT FEAR.
Aghast, his heart in his throat, Charley Shultz stared at the face outside the window. Only the upper part of the body of his unwelcome visitor could be seen, and that, clothed all in white, seemed particularly ghostlike. The head of the figure was encircled by a heavy white bandage, like a turban. The eyes which stared back at Shultz from an apparently set and pallid face were full of terrible accusation and menace, and beneath that unwavering gaze the terrified boy felt his blood turn to icy currents in his veins.
For a moment he stood spellbound and as motionless as the unmoving figure upon the roof of the ell. Presently, unable longer to endure the ordeal of those burning orbs, Shultz fell back a step, clapping a trembling hand over his own eyes.
He struck against the little stand on which his lamp stood, and the lamp was overturned. Fortunately, it was of metal, and did not break. The chimney, detaching itself, dropped upon a rug and was also unbroken. The burning wick continued to flare, sending up a writhing spiral of smoke, but the room was temporarily plunged into semi-gloom; and, still further terrified lest complete darkness should ensue, Charley stooped and caught up the lamp. He scarcely realized that he burned his quivering, nerveless fingers as he tried to replace the chimney. It was some moments ere he succeeded in his object, and even then, with the lamp gripped convulsively in his hand and held above his head, he could scarcely bring himself once more to look toward the window.
When he did look, he was astounded by the fact that the apparition had vanished, and for at least sixty seconds he stood watching for it to reappear; for it to materialize slowly and horribly, little by little, vague and mist-like at first, but gradually taking form and growing plainer, until, crouching at the window, it should once more sicken his soul with those terrible eyes.
It did not come. Hoping at last that it was truly gone, he forced himself to advance, bearing the lamp. Reaching the window, he ran the roller shade to the very top, and then, still holding the lamp above his head with one hand while he shaded his eyes with the other, he gazed out into the silent night.
The lamplight showed that the roof of the ell was bare. At the far end of the building it fell upon a big chestnut tree with spreading branches. Beyond that nothing could be seen.
Presently, with a deep breath that was almost painful in the relief it gave, Shultz drew back from the window, seized the shade and quickly pulled it all the way down.
”Mercy! what a fright!” he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. ”I must have imagined it.
My nerves must be on edge, and I never knew I had any nerves. Great Caesar! but it did look natural and real!”
He put the lamp back on the stand and dropped upon a chair, weak and covered with clammy perspiration. For the first time in his life, perhaps, Charley Shultz had been thoroughly frightened, and it was no easy matter for him to recover and regain control of himself.
”I can hardly believe I imagined it, now!” he muttered. ”Why should I? I haven't felt that I was really to blame for this Hooker business, and, if I'm not to blame, why should I get all wrought up over it?”
Up to this time his great concern had been almost wholly for himself as he would be affected by the unfortunate affair. In a slight measure he had regretted that Osgood would be entangled. Hooker had called him a cheat and had been the first to lift his hand in wrath. Therefore, why should he feel remorse over what the fellow had brought upon himself?
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