Part 18 (1/2)

”He deserved all he got,” Shultz had told himself this over and over.

”Of course I didn't intend to give him a poke that would hurt him seriously, but I had to defend myself.”

Now, however, something like a ray of light, piercing his distressed heart, showed him that under the circ.u.mstances he could not hope wholly to escape just blame and censure. Although seemingly a bit stolid about ordinary affairs, he had always permitted his ungovernable temper and somewhat bullying proclivities to have full sway, and no person with a violent temper is totally phlegmatic or stolid. Rage and resentment had put power into the smas.h.i.+ng blow which threatened him with disgrace-or worse.

”If only I hadn't been quite so quick!” he sighed. ”I didn't realize what might come of it. I didn't stop to think.” Which is the prime cause of most misfortunes we bring upon ourselves; we do not stop to think.

Rising, after a time, from the chair, he paced the floor of the little room, feeling that in his present condition it would be useless to go to bed; for sleep would be denied him. Back and forth he walked for a long time, his mind a riot of wild thoughts. Presently he stood still, breathing softly with his lips parted, his eyes wide and staring, yet seeing nothing in that room. A dreadful thought had gripped him. What if Hooker were dead?

”Perhaps it was his ghost I really saw!” The words drifted so faintly from his lips that another person in the room could not have understood them. ”It isn't impossible that he's dead! The doctor thought he'd get better, but doctors make mistakes. If he's dead I'm done for.”

Scarcely realizing what he was doing, he flung on the garments he had removed some time before. And as he dressed he became more and more convinced that Roy Hooker was really dead.

”I'll have to get out of this town-quick. I'll pack up and get ready.”

Forth from an adjoining closet he drew his trunk, into which he flung his belongings without method or care. A few things, such as he might need for immediate use, he packed into a leather grip.

”I can't get away till morning,” he muttered; ”there's no train. Still, I suppose I might hire a team from the stable. I might tell them I'd had a message that my father was dying. It's thirty-four miles to Watertown on the main line, and there's a train goes through that place at four in the morning. I could catch that train, but, first, I'll make sure about Hooker.”

Blowing out the lamp, he tiptoed down the dark stairs and presently found himself outside the house in which Mr. and Mrs. Carter were soundly sleeping. The air was raw and the night still dark. Later the moon would come up, though it might be smothered by clouds.

Shultz walked slowly, irresolutely, down the black road which led into Lake Street. After a time the academy loomed on his left, and on the right he saw the gymnasium and the fence of the athletic field. Like an avalanche a host of memories came rus.h.i.+ng over him; memories of the days he had spent here since his expulsion from Berkley Academy.

For the first time he realized how pleasant those days had really been, and for the first time he perceived with wonderment that he had become attached to the place and it would give him regret to go away. Through his athletic prowess and his skill in baseball he had won a certain amount of popularity, which might have been much greater if he had only made some effort to curb his unpleasant characteristics. Osgood, his friend, was immensely popular; so popular, indeed, that it had seemed probable that, through a little maneuvering and scheming, he might supersede Nelson as captain of the nine. Without a thought of the moral or manly points involved, they had plotted to bring this about.

”Well, it will never happen now,” said Shultz, with a low, bitter laugh.

”The jig is up, anyhow. I hardly thought Ned would agree when I proposed it, but he almost jumped at it. I believe he'd been thinking of the very same thing. There's cla.s.s to his people, and he's a gentleman, so, when he did agree, it seemed all right to me.” In this manner he sought to excuse himself.

He recalled how he had scoffed at Oakdale, the school and the old professor. He had even dreamed of resorting to various hara.s.sing methods in order to make Professor Richardson's task so difficult that, unable to govern his pupils with a stern hand, he would withdraw from his position to let it be filled by a younger and more efficient instructor.

Yes, having instilled some of his own spirit into his a.s.sociates, Shultz had started a campaign of nagging and annoyance and disregard for what he called old-fas.h.i.+oned rules, which had certainly given the princ.i.p.al no small amount of worry and trouble.

”I suppose,” he half laughed, as he walked slowly past the building, ”the old relic thinks I'm a bad egg. What do I care what he thinks! What do I care what anybody thinks!” But for the first time in his life he did care.

At this hour the center of the village seemed dark and deserted. Only an occasional light was to be seen s.h.i.+ning dimly from a window.

Nevertheless, the boy hesitated about pa.s.sing through the square, fearing that some one might see him, know him, and wonder what he was doing prowling about so late. This fear led him to turn from Lake Street and cross lots toward the rapids below the upper dam. In this manner he stole down the slope at the rear of the stores and houses which lined the western side of lower Main Street.

The water was gurgling and grumbling around the rocks which thrust themselves upward in the channel. At intervals, as Shultz pa.s.sed, it hissed, like a living creature expressing scorn and hatred.

At the bridge he climbed upward to the roadway, where he stood for a few moments, peering and listening.

”I seem to be the only one alive in this old burg.” The thought brought Hooker to his mind-Hooker, dead, perhaps.

Cross Street, which ran back of the town hall and along the sh.o.r.e of the lower pond, would bring him into Lake Street again, near Willow, upon which was the home of the Hookers. He had almost reached Lake Street when he stopped short, halted by the sound of echoing footsteps, which were approaching from that part of the town he had avoided. In a moment he was pressing his body against the bole of a big tree.

The footsteps came nearer. The person began to hum a tune. Here was some one abroad with a light heart and fearless of observation.

”It must be Tuttle,” thought the boy by the tree. ”Yes, it is. Why don't he let his eternal peanuts stop his mouth?”