1. Patient Perseverance Produces Pugilistic Prodigies
'Where have I seen that face before?' said a voice. TonyGraham looked up from his bag. 'Hullo, Allen,' he said, 'what the dickens are you up herefor?' 'I was rather thinking of doing a little boxing. If you've noobjection, of course.' 'But you ought to be on a bed of sickness, and that sort ofthing. I heard you'd crocked yourself.' 'So I did. Nothing much, though. Trod on myself during a game offives, and twisted my ankle a bit.' 'In for the middles, of course?' 'Yes.' 'So am I.' 'Yes, so I saw in the Sportsman. It says you weigheleven-three.' 'Bit more, really, I believe. Shan't be able to have any lunch,or I shall have to go in for the heavies. What are you?' 'Just eleven. Well, let's hope we meet in the final.' 'Rather,' said Tony. It was at Aldershot--to be more exact, in the dressing-room ofthe Queen's Avenue Gymnasium at Aldershot--that the conversationtook place. From east and west, and north and south, from Dan evenunto Beersheba, the representatives of the public schools hadassembled to box, fence, and perform gymnastic prodigies for fameand silver medals. The room was full of all sorts and sizes ofthem, heavy-weights looking ponderous and muscular, feather-weightsdiminutive but wiry, light-weights, middle-weights, fencers, andgymnasts in scores, some wearing the unmistakable air of theveteran, for whom Aldershot has no mysteries, others nervous, andwishing themselves back again at school. Tony Graham had chosen a corner near the door. This was hisfirst appearance at Aldershot. St Austin's was his School, and hewas by far the best middle-weight there. But his doubts as to hisability to hold his own against all-comers were extreme, nor werethey lessened by the knowledge that his cousin, Allen Thomson, wasto be one of his opponents. Indeed, if he had not been a man ofmettle, he might well have thought that with Allen's advent hischances were at an end. Allen was at Rugby. He was the son of a baronet who owned manyacres in Wiltshire, and held fixed opinions on the subject of thewhole duty of man, who, he held, should be before anything
else asportsman. Both the Thomsons--Allen's brother Jim was at StAustin's in the same House as Tony--were good at most forms ofsport. Jim, however, had never taken to the art of boxing verykindly, but, by way of compensation, Allen had skill enough fortwo. He was a splendid boxer, quick, neat, scientific. He had beenup to Aldershot three times, once as a feather-weight and twice asa light-weight, and each time he had returned with the silvermedal. As for Tony, he was more a fighter than a sparrer. When he paida visit to his uncle's house he boxed with Allen daily, andinvariably got the worst of it. Allen was too quick for him. But hewas clever with his hands. His supply of pluck was inexhaustible,and physically he was as hard as nails. 'Is your ankle all right again, now?' he asked. 'Pretty well. It wasn't much of a sprain. Interfered with mytraining a good bit, though. I ought by rights to be well undereleven stone. You're all right, I suppose?' 'Not bad. Boxing takes it out of you more than footer or a race.I was in good footer training long before I started to get fit forAldershot. But I think I ought to get along fairly well. Any ideawho's in against us?' 'Harrow, Felsted, Wellington. That's all, I think.' 'St Paul's?' 'No.' 'Good. Well, I hope your first man mops you up. I've aconscientious objection to scrapping with you.' Allen laughed. 'You'd be all right,' he said, 'if you weren't sobeastly slow with your guard. Why don't you wake up? You hit likeblazes.' 'I think I shall start guarding two seconds before you lead. Bythe way, don't have any false delicacy about spoiling myaristocratic features. On the ground of relationship, youknow.' 'Rather not. Let auld acquaintance be forgot. I'm not Thomsonfor the present. I'm Rugby.' 'Just so, and I'm St Austin's. Personally, I'm going for theknock-out. You won't feel hurt?' This was in the days before the Headmasters' Conference hadabolished the knock-out blow, and a boxer might still payattentions to the point of his opponent's jaw with an easyconscience. 'I probably shall if it comes off,' said Allen. 'I say, itoccurs to me that we shall be weighing-in in a couple of minutes,and I haven't started to change yet. Good, I've not brought eveningdress or somebody else's footer clothes, as usually happens onthese festive occasions.'
He was just pulling on his last boot when a Gymnasium officialappeared in the doorway. 'Will all those who are entering for the boxing get ready forthe weighing-in, please?' he said, and a general exodus ensued. The weighing-in at the Public Schools' Boxing Competition issomething in the nature of a religious ceremony, but even religiousceremonies come to an end, and after a quarter of an hour or soTony was weighed in the balance and found correct. He strolled offon a tour of inspection. After a time he lighted upon the St Austin's Gym Instructor,whom he had not seen since they had parted that morning, the one onhis way to the dressing-room, the other to the refreshment-bar fora modest quencher. 'Well, Mr Graham?' 'Hullo, Dawkins. What time does this show start? Do you knowwhen the middle-weights come on?' 'Well, you can't say for certain. They may keep 'em back a bitor they may make a start with 'em first thing. No, thelight-weights are going to start. What number did you draw,sir?' 'One.' 'Then you'll be in the first middle-weight pair. That'll beafter these two gentlemen.' 'These two gentlemen', the first of the light-weights, were bythis time in the middle of a warmish opening round. Tony watchedthem with interest and envy. 'How beastly nippy they are,' hesaid. 'Wish I could duck like that,' he added. 'Well, the 'ole thing there is you 'ave to watch the other man'seyes. But light-weights is always quicker at the duck than whatheavier men are. You get the best boxing in the lightweights,though the feathers spar quicker.' Soon afterwards the contest finished, amidst volleys ofapplause. It had been a spirited battle, and an exceedingly closething. The umpires disagreed. After a short consultation, thereferee gave it as his opinion that on the whole R. Cloverdale, ofBedford, had had a shade the worse of the exchanges, and that inconsequence J. Robinson, of St Paul's, was the victor. This waswhat he meant. What he said was, 'Robinson wins,' in a sharp voice,as if somebody were arguing about it. The pair then shook hands andretired. 'First bout, middle-weights,' shrilled the M.C. 'W.P. Ross(Wellington) and A.C.R. Graham (St Austin's).' Tony and his opponent retired for a moment to the changing-room,and then made their way amidst applause on to the raised stage onwhich the ring was pitched. Mr W.P. Ross proceeded to
the farthercorner of the ring, where he sat down and was vigorously massagedby his two seconds. Tony took the opposite corner and submittedhimself to the same process. It is a very cheering thing at anytime to have one's arms and legs kneaded like bread, and it isespecially pleasant if one is at all nervous. It sends a glowthrough the entire frame. Like somebody's something it is bothgrateful and comforting. Tony's seconds were curious specimens of humanity. One was agigantic soldier, very gruff and taciturn, and with decidedleanings towards pessimism. The other was also a soldier. He was inevery way his colleague's opposite. He was half his size, had redhair, and was bubbling over with conversation. The other could notinterfere with his hair or his size, but he could with hisconversation, and whenever he attempted a remark, he was promptlysilenced, much to his disgust. 'Plenty o' moosle 'ere, Fred,' he began, as he rubbed Tony'sleft arm. 'Moosle ain't everything,' said the other, gloomily, and therewas silence again. 'Are you ready? Seconds away,' said the referee. 'Time!' The two stood up to one another. The Wellington representative was a plucky boxer, but he was notin the same class as Tony. After a few exchanges, the latter got towork, and after that there was only one man in the ring. In themiddle of the second round the referee stopped the fight, and gaveit to Tony, who came away as fresh as he had started, and a greatdeal happier and more confident. 'Did us proud, Fred,' began the garrulous man. 'Yes, but that 'un ain't nothing. You wait till he meets youngThomson. I've seen 'im box 'ere three years, and never bin beatyet. Three bloomin' years. Yus.' This might have depressed anybody else, but as Tony already knewall there was to be known about Allen's skill with the gloves, ithad no effect upon him. A sanguinary heavy-weight encounter was followed by the firstbout of the feathers and the second of the light-weights, and thenit was Allen's turn to fight the Harrow representative. It was not a very exciting bout. Allen took things very easily.He knew his training was by no means all it should have been, andit was not his game to take it out of himself with any fireworkbusiness in the trial heats. He would reserve that for the final.So he sparred three gentle rounds with the Harrow sportsman, justdoing sufficient to keep the lead and obtain the verdict after thelast round. He finished without having turned a hair. He had onlyreceived one really hard blow, and that had done no damage. Afterthis came a long series of fights. The heavyweights shed theirblood in gallons for name and fame. The feather-weights gaveexcellent
exhibitions of science, and the light-weight pairs werefought off until there remained only the final to be decided,Robinson, of St Paul's, against a Charterhouse boxer. In the middle-weights there were three competitors still in therunning, Allen, Tony, and a Felsted man. They drew lots, and thebye fell to Tony, who put up an uninteresting three rounds with oneof the soldiers, neither fatiguing himself very much. Henderson, ofFelsted, proved a much tougher nut to crack than Allen's firstopponent. He was a rushing boxer, and in the first round had, ifanything, the best of it. In the last two, however, Allen graduallyforged ahead, gaining many points by his perfect style alone. Hewas declared the winner, but he felt much more tired than he haddone after his first fight. By the time he was required again, however, he had had plenty ofbreathing space. The final of the light-weights had been decided,and Robinson, of St Paul's, after the custom of Paulines, had setthe crown upon his afternoon's work by fighting the Carthusian to astandstill in the first round. There only remained now the finalsof the heavies and middles. It was decided to take the latter first. Tony had his former seconds, and Dawkins had come to his cornerto see him through the ordeal. 'The 'ole thing 'ere,' he kept repeating, 'is to keep goin' 'ardall the time and wear 'im out. He's too quick for you to try anysparrin' with.' 'Yes,' said Tony. 'The 'ole thing,' continued the expert, 'is to feint with yourleft and 'it with your right.' This was excellent in theory, nodoubt, but Tony felt that when he came to put it into practiceAllen might have other schemes on hand and bring them offfirst. 'Are you ready? Seconds out of the ring.... Time!' 'Go in, sir, 'ard,' whispered the red-haired man as Tony rosefrom his place. Allen came up looking pleased with matters in general. He gaveTony a cousinly grin as they shook hands. Tony did not respond. Hewas feeling serious, and wondering if he could bring off hisknock-out before the three rounds were over. He had his doubts. The fight opened slowly. Both were cautious, for each knew theother's powers. Suddenly, just as Tony was thinking of leading,Allen came in like a flash. A straight left between the eyes, aright on the side of the head, and a second left on the exact tipof the nose, and he was out again, leaving Tony with a helplessfeeling of impotence and disgust. Then followed more sparring. Tony could never get in exactly theright position for a rush. Allen circled round him with anoccasional feint. Then he hit out with the left. Tony ducked. Againhe hit, and again Tony ducked, but this time the left stoppedhalfway, and his right caught Tony on the cheek just as he swayedto one side. It staggered him, and before he could recover himself,in
darted Allen again with another trio of blows, ducked a belatedleft counter, got in two stinging hits on the ribs, and finishedwith a left drive which took Tony clean off his feet and depositedhim on the floor beside the ropes. 'Silence, please,' said the referee, as a burst ofapplause greeted this feat. Tony was up again in a moment. He began to feel savage. He hadexpected something like this, but that gave him no consolation. Hemade up his mind that he really would rush this time, but just ashe was coming in, Allen came in instead. It seemed to Tony for thenext half-minute that his cousin's fists were never out of hisface. He looked on the world through a brown haze of boxing-glove.Occasionally his hand met something solid which he took to beAllen, but this was seldom, and, whenever it happened, it onlyseemed to bring him back again like a boomerang. Just at the mostexciting point, 'Time' was called. The pessimist shook his head gloomily as he sponged Tony'sface. 'You must lead if you want to 'it 'im,' said the garrulous man.'You're too slow. Go in at 'im, sir, wiv both 'ands, an' you'll beall right. Won't 'e, Fred?' 'I said 'ow it 'ud be,' was the only reply Fred wouldvouchsafe. Tony was half afraid the referee would give the fight againsthim without another round, but to his joy 'Time' was duly called.He came up to the scratch as game as ever, though his head wassinging. He meant to go in for all he was worth this round. And go in he did. Allen had managed, in performing a complicatedmanoeuvre, to place himself in a corner, and Tony rushed. He wassent out again with a flush hit on the face. He rushed again, andagain met Allen's left. Then he got past, and in the confined spacehad it all his own way. Science did not tell here. Strength was thething that scored, hard half-arm smashes, left and right, at faceand body, and the guard could look after itself. Allen upper-cut him twice, but after that he was nowhere. Tonywent in with both hands. There was a prolonged rally, and it wasnot until 'Time' had been called that Allen was able to extricatehimself. Tony's blows had been mostly body blows, and very warmones at that. 'That's right, sir,' was the comment of the red-headed second.'Keep 'em both goin' hard, and you'll win yet. You 'ad 'im properthen. 'Adn't 'e, Fred?' And even the pessimist was obliged to admit that Tony couldfight, even if he was not quick with his guard. Allen took the ring slowly. His want of training had begun totell on him, and some of Tony's blows had landed in very tenderspots. He knew that he could win if his wind held out, but he hadmisgivings. The gloves seemed to weigh down his hands. Tony openedthe ball with a tremendous rush. Allen stopped him neatly. Therewas an interval while the two sparred for an opening. Then Allenfeinted and dashed in. Tony did not hit him once. It was the firstround over
again. Left right, left right, and, finally, as hadhappened before, a tremendously hot shot which sent him under theropes. He got up, and again Allen darted in. Tony met him with astraight left. A rapid exchange of blows, and the end came. Allenlashed out with his left. Tony ducked sharply, and brought hisright across with every ounce of his weight behind it, fairly on tothe point of the jaw. The right cross-counter is distinctly one ofthose things which it is more blessed to give than to receive.Allen collapsed. '... nine ... ten.' The time-keeper closed his watch. 'Graham wins,' said the referee, 'look after that manthere.'
2. Thieves Break in and Steal
It was always the custom for such Austinians as went up torepresent the School at the annual competition to stop the night inthe town. It was not, therefore, till just before breakfast on thefollowing day that Tony arrived back at his House. The boardingHouses at St Austin's formed a fringe to the School grounds. Thetwo largest were the School House and Merevale's. Tony was atMerevale's. He was walking up from the station with Welch, anothermember of Merevale's, who had been up to Aldershot as a fencer,when, at the entrance to the School grounds, he fell in withRobinson, his fag. Robinson was supposed by many (includinghimself) to be a very warm man for the Junior Quarter, which was ahandicap race, especially as an injudicious Sports Committee hadgiven him ten yards' start on Simpson, whom he would have backedhimself to beat, even if the positions had been reversed. Being awise youth, however, and knowing that the best of runners may failthrough under-training, he had for the last week or so been goingin for a steady course of over-training, getting up in the smallhours and going for before-breakfast spins round the track on aglass of milk and a piece of bread. Master R. Robinson was nothingif not thorough in matters of this kind. But today things of greater moment than the Sports occupied hismind. He had news. He had great news. He was bursting with news,and he hailed the approach of Tony and Welch with pleasure. Withany other leading light of the School he might have felt less atease, but with Tony it was different. When you have underdone afellow's eggs and overdone his toast and eaten the remainder for aterm or two, you begin to feel that mere social distinctions anddifferences of age no longer form a barrier. Besides, he had news which was absolutely fresh, news to whichno one could say pityingly: 'What! Have you only just heardthat!' 'Hullo, Graham,' he said. 'Have you come back?' Tony admittedthat he had. 'Jolly good for getting the Middles.' (A telegram had,of course, preceded Tony.) 'I say, Graham, do you know what'shappened? There'll be an awful row about it. Someone's been andbroken into the Pav.' 'Rot! How do you know?'
'There's a pane taken clean out. I booked it in a second as Iwas going past to the track.' 'Which room?' 'First Fifteen. The window facing away from the Houses.' 'That's rum,' said Welch. 'Wonder what a burglar wanted in theFirst room. Isn't even a hair-brush there generally.' Robinson's eyes dilated with honest pride. This was good. Thiswas better than he had looked for. Not only were they unaware ofthe burglary, but they had not even an idea as to the recent eventwhich had made the First room so fit a hunting-ground for theburgling industry. There are few pleasures keener than the pleasureof telling somebody something he didn't know before. 'Great Scott,' he remarked, 'haven't you heard? No, of courseyou went up to Aldershot before they did it. By Jove.' 'Did what?' 'Why, they shunted all the Sports prizes from the Board Room tothe Pav. and shot 'em into the First room. I don't suppose there'sone left now. I should like to see the Old Man's face when he hearsabout it. Good mind to go and tell him now, only he'd have a fit.Jolly exciting, though, isn't it?' 'Well,' said Tony, 'of all the absolutely idiotic things to do!Fancy putting--there must have been at least fifty pounds' worth ofsilver and things. Fancy going and leaving all that overnight inthe Pav!' 'Rotten!' agreed Welch. 'Wonder whose idea it was.' 'Look here, Robinson,' said Tony, 'you'd better buck up andchange, or you'll be late for brekker. Come on, Welch, we'll go andinspect the scene of battle.' Robinson trotted off, and Welch and Tony made their way to thePavilion. There, sure enough, was the window, or rather the absenceof window. A pane had been neatly removed, evidently in theorthodox way by means of a diamond. 'May as well climb up and see if there's anything to be seen,'said Welch. 'All right,' said Tony, 'give us a leg up. Right-ho. By Jove,I'm stiff.' 'See anything?' 'No. There's a cloth sort of thing covering what I suppose arethe prizes. I see how the chap, whoever he was, got in. You've onlygot to break the window, draw a couple of bolts, and there you are.Shall I go in and investigate?'
'Better not. It's rather the thing, I fancy, in these sorts ofcases, to leave everything just as it is.' 'Rum business,' said Tony, as he rejoined Welch on terra firma.'Wonder if they'll catch the chap. We'd better be getting back tothe House now. It struck the quarter years ago.' When Tony, some twenty minutes later, shook off the admiringcrowd who wanted a full description of yesterday's proceedings, andreached his study, he found there James Thomson, brother to AllenThomson, as the playbills say. Jim was looking worried. Tony hadnoticed it during breakfast, and had wondered at the cause. He wassoon enlightened. 'Hullo, Jim,' said he. 'What's up with you this morning? Feelingchippy?' 'No. No, I'm all right. I'm in a beastly hole though. I wantedto talk to you about it.' 'Weigh in, then. We've got plenty of time before school.' 'It's about this Aldershot business. How on earth did you manageto lick Allen like that? I thought he was a cert.' 'Yes, so did I. The 'ole thing there, as Dawkins 'ud say, was, Iknocked him out. It's the sort of thing that's always happening. Iwasn't in it at all except during the second round, when I gave himbeans rather in one of the corners. My aunt, it was warm while itlasted. First round, I didn't hit him once. He was better than Ithought he'd be, and I knew from experience he was prettygood.' 'Yes, you look a bit bashed.' 'Yes. Feel it too. But what's the row with you?' 'Just this. I had a couple of quid on Allen, and the rotter goesand gets licked.' 'Good Lord. Whom did you bet with?' 'With Allen himself.' 'Mean to say Allen was crock enough to bet against himself? Hemust have known he was miles better than anyone else in. He's gotthree medals there already.' 'No, you see his bet with me was only a hedge. He'd got five tofour or something in quids on with a chap in his House at Rugby onhimself. He wanted a hedge because he wasn't sure about his anklebeing all right. You know he hurt it. So I gave him four to one inhalf-sovereigns. I thought he was a cert, with apologies toyou.' 'Don't mention it. So he was a cert. It was only the merestfluke I managed to out him when I did. If he'd hung on to the end,he'd have won easy. He'd been scoring points all through.'
'I know. So The Sportsman says. Just like my luck.' 'I can't see what you want to bet at all for. You're bound tocome a mucker sooner or later. Can't you raise the two quid?' 'I'm broke except for half a crown.' 'I'd lend it to you like a shot if I had it, of course. But youdon't find me with two quid to my name at the end of term. Won'tAllen wait?' 'He would if it was only him. But this other chap wants his oofbadly for something and he's leaving and going abroad or somethingat the end of term. Anyhow, I know he's keen on getting it. Allentold me.' Tony pondered for a moment. 'Look here,' he said at last, 'can'tyou ask your pater? He usually heaves his money about prettyreadily, doesn't he?' 'Well, you see, he wouldn't send me two quid off the reelwithout wanting to know all about it, and why I couldn't get on tothe holidays with five bob, and I'd either have to fake up a lot oflies, which I'm not going to do--' 'Of course not.' 'Or else I must tell him I've been betting.' 'Well, he bets himself, doesn't he?' 'That's just where the whole business slips up,' replied Jim,prodding the table with a pen in a misanthropic manner. 'Betting'sthe one thing he's absolutely down on. He got done rather badlyonce a few years ago. Believe he betted on Orme that year he gotpoisoned. Anyhow he's always sworn to lynch us if we made fools ofourselves that way. So if I asked him, I'd not only get beansmyself, besides not getting any money out of him, but Allen wouldget scalped too, which he wouldn't see at all.' 'Yes, it's no good doing that. Haven't you any other source ofrevenue?' 'Yes, there's just one chance. If that doesn't come off, I'mdone. My pater said he'd give me a quid for every race I won at thesports. I got the half yesterday all right when you were up atAldershot.' 'Good man. I didn't hear about that. What time? Anythinggood?' 'Nothing special. 2-7 and three-fifths.' 'That's awfully good. You ought to pull off the mile, too, Ishould think.'
'Yes, with luck. Drake's the man I'm afraid of. He's done it in4-48 twice during training. He was second in the half yesterday byabout three yards, but you can't tell anything from that. Hesprinted too late.' 'What's your best for the mile?' 'I have done 4-47, but only once. 4-48's my average, so there'snothing to choose between us on paper.' 'Well, you've got more to make you buck up than he has. Theremust be something in that.' 'Yes, by Jove. I'll win if I expire on the tape. I shan't sparemyself with that quid on the horizon.' 'No. Hullo, there's the bell. We must buck up. Going toCharteris' gorge tonight?' 'Yes, but I shan't eat anything. No risks for me.' 'Rusks are more in your line now. Come on.' And, in the excitement of these more personal matters, Tonyentirely forgot to impart the news of the Pavilion burglary tohim.
3. An Unimportant By-product
The news, however, was not long in spreading. Robinson took careof that. On the way to school he overtook his friend Morrison, ayoung gentleman who had the unique distinction of being therowdiest fag in Ward's House, which, as any Austinian could havetold you, was the rowdiest house in the School. 'I say, Morrison, heard the latest?' 'No, what?' 'Chap broke into the Pav. last night.' 'Who, you?' 'No, you ass, a regular burglar. After the Sports prizes.' 'Look here, Robinson, try that on the kids.' 'Just what I am doing,' said Robinson. This delicate reference to Morrison's tender years had theeffect of creating a disturbance. Two School House juniors, whohappened to be passing, naturally forsook all their other aims andobjects and joined the battle.
'What's up?' asked one of them, dusting himself hastily as theystopped to take breath. It was always his habit to take up anybusiness that might attract his attention, and ask for explanationsafterwards. 'This kid--' began Morrison. 'Kid yourself, Morrison.' 'This lunatic, then.' Robinson allowed the emendation to pass.'This lunatic's got some yarn on about the Pav. being burgled.' 'So it is. Tell you I saw it myself.' 'Did it yourself, probably.' 'How do you know, anyway? You seem so jolly certain aboutit.' 'Why, there's a pane of glass cut out of the window in the Firstroom.' 'Shouldn't wonder, you know,' said Dimsdale, one of the twoSchool House fags, judicially, 'if the kid wasn't telling the truthfor once in his life. Those pots must be worth something. Don't youthink so, Scott?' Scott admitted that there might be something in the idea, andthat, however foreign to his usual habits, Robinson might on thisoccasion be confining himself more or less to strict fact. 'There you are, then,' said Robinson, vengefully. 'Shows what afat lot you know what you're talking about, Morrison.' 'Morrison's a fool,' said Scott. 'Ever since he got off thebottom bench in form there's been no holding him.' 'All the same,' said Morrison, feeling that matters were goingagainst him, 'I shan't believe it till I see it.' 'What'll you bet?' said Robinson. 'I never bet,' replied Morrison with scorn. 'You daren't. You know you'd lose.' 'All right, then, I'll bet a penny I'm right.' He drew a deepbreath, as who should say, 'It's a lot of money, but it's worthrisking it.' 'You'll lose that penny, old chap,' said Robinson. 'That's tosay,' he added thoughtfully, 'if you ever pay up.'
'You've got us as witnesses,' said Dimsdale. 'We'll see that heshells out. Scott, remember you're a witness. 'Right-ho,' said Scott. At this moment the clock struck nine, and as each of theprincipals in this financial transaction, and both the witnesses,were expected to be in their places to answer their names at 8.58,they were late. And as they had all been late the day before andthe day before that, they were presented with two hundred linesapiece. Which shows more than ever how wrong it is to bet. The news continuing to circulate, by the end of morning schoolit was generally known that a gang of desperadoes, numbering atleast a hundred, had taken the Pavilion down, brick by brick, tillonly the foundations were left standing, and had gone off withevery jot and tittle of the unfortunately placed Sports prizes. At the quarter-to-eleven interval, the School had gone enmasse to see what it could see, and had stared at the windowwith much the same interest as they were wont to use in inspectingthe First Eleven pitch on the morning of a match--a curious custom,by the way, but one very generally observed. Then the official news of the extent of the robbery was spreadabroad. It appeared that the burglar had by no means done theprofession credit, for out of a vast collection of prizes rangingfrom the vast and silver Mile Challenge Cup to the pair offives-gloves with which the 'under twelve' disciple of Deerfoot wasto be rewarded, he had selected only three. Two of these were worthhaving, being the challenge cup for the quarter and thenon-challenge cup for the hundred yards, both silver, but the thirdwas a valueless flask, and the general voice of the School was loudin condemning the business abilities of one who could select hisswag in so haphazard a manner. It was felt to detract from themerit of the performance. The knowing ones, however, gave it astheir opinion that the man must have been frightened by something,and so was unable to give the matter his best attention and dohimself justice as a connoisseur. 'We had a burglary at my place once,' began Reade, of Philpott'sHouse. 'The man--' 'That rotter, Reade,' said Barrett, also of Philpott's, 'hasbeen telling us that burglary chestnut of his all the morning. Iwish you chaps wouldn't encourage him.' 'Why, what was it? First I've heard of it, at any rate.' Dallasand Vaughan, of Ward's, added themselves to the group. 'Out withit, Reade,' said Vaughan. 'It's only a beastly reminiscence of Reade's childhood,' saidBarrett. 'A burglar got into the winecellar and collared all thecoals.' 'He didn't. He was in the hall, and my pater got hisrevolver--' 'While you hid under the bed.'
'--and potted at him over the banisters.' 'The last time but three you told the story, your pater firedthrough the keyhole of the diningroom.' 'You idiot, that was afterwards.' 'Oh, well, what does it matter? Tell us something fresh.' 'It's my opinion,' said Dallas, 'that Ward did it. A man of thevilest antecedents. He's capable of anything from burglary--' 'To attempted poisoning. You should see what we get to eat inWard's House,' said Vaughan. 'Ward's the worst type of beak. He simply lives for the sake ofbooking chaps. If he books a chap out of bounds it keeps him happyfor a week.' 'A man like that's bound to be a criminal of sorts in his sparetime. It's action and reaction,' said Vaughan. Mr Ward happening to pass at this moment, the speaker went on toask Dallas audibly if life was worth living, and Dallas repliedthat under certain conditions and in some Houses it was not. Dallas and Vaughan did not like Mr Ward. Mr Ward was not thesort of man who inspires affection. He had an unpleasant habit of'jarring', as it was called. That is to say, his conversation wasshaped to one single end, that of trying to make the person to whomhe talked feel uncomfortable. Many of his jars had become part ofthe School history. There was a legend that on one occasion he hadinvited his prefects to supper, and regaled them with sausages.There was still one prefect unhelped. To him he addressedhimself. 'A sausage, Jones?' 'If you please, sir.' 'No, you won't, then, because I'm going to have halfmyself.' This story may or may not be true. Suffice it to say, that MrWard was not popular. The discussion was interrupted by the sound of the bell ringingfor second lesson. The problem was left unsolved. It was evidentthat the burglar had been interrupted, but how or why nobody knew.The suggestion that he had heard Master R. Robinson training forhis quarter-mile, and had thought it was an earthquake, found muchfavour with the junior portion of the assembly. Simpson, on whomRobinson had been given start in the race, expressed an opinionthat he, Robinson, ran like a cow. At which Robinson smiled darkly,and advised the other to wait till Sports Day and then he'd see,remarking that, meanwhile, if he gave him any of his cheek he mightnot be well enough to run at all.
'This sort of thing,' said Barrett to Reade, as they walked totheir form-room, 'always makes me feel beastly. Once start a rowlike this, and all the beaks turn into regular detectives and goferreting about all over the place, and it's ten to one they knockup against something one doesn't want them to know about.' Reade was feeling hurt. He had objected to the way in whichBarrett had spoiled a story that might easily have been true, andreally was true in parts. His dignity was offended. He said 'Yes'to Barrett's observation in a tone of reserved hauteur.Barrett did not notice. 'It's an awful nuisance. For one thing it makes them so jollystrict about bounds.' 'Yes.' 'I wanted to go for a bike ride this afternoon. There's nothingon at the School.' 'Why don't you?' 'What's the good if you can't break bounds? A ride of about aquarter of a mile's no good. There's a ripping place about tenmiles down the Stapleton Road. Big wood, with a ripping littlehollow in the middle, all ferns and moss. I was thinking of takinga book out there for the afternoon. Only there's roll-call.' He paused. Ordinarily, this would have been the cue for Reade tosay, 'Oh, I'll answer your name at roll-call.' But Reade saidnothing. Barrett looked surprised and disappointed. 'I say, Reade,' he said. 'Well?' 'Would you like to answer my name at roll-call?' It was thefirst time he had ever had occasion to make the request. 'No,' said Reade. Barrett could hardly believe his ears. Did he sleep? Did hedream? Or were visions about? 'What!' he said. No answer. 'Do you mean to say you won't?' 'Of course I won't. Why the deuce should I do your beastly dirtywork for you?' Barrett did not know what to make of this. Curiosity urged himto ask for explanations. Dignity threw cold water on such a scheme.In the end dignity had the best of it.
'Oh, very well,' he said, and they went on in silence. In allthe three years of their acquaintance they had never beforehappened upon such a crisis. The silence lasted until they reached the form-room. ThenBarrett determined, in the interests of the common good--he andReade shared a study, and icy coolness in a small study isunpleasant-to chain up Dignity for the moment, and give Curiositya trial. 'What's up with you today?' he asked. He could hardly have chosen a worse formula. The question has onmost people precisely the same effect as that which the query, 'Doyou know where you lost it?' has on one who is engaged in lookingfor mislaid property. 'Nothing,' said Reade. Probably at the same moment hundreds ofother people were making the same reply, in the same tone of voice,to the same question. 'Oh,' said Barrett. There was another silence. 'You might as well answer my name this afternoon,' said Barrett,tentatively. Reade walked off without replying, and Barrett went to his placefeeling that curiosity was a fraud, and resolving to confine hisattentions for the future to dignity. This was by-product numberone of the Pavilion burglary.
4. Certain Revelations
During the last hour of morning school, Tony go. note fromJim. 'Graham,' said Mr Thompson, the master of the Sixth, sadly, justas Tony was about to open it. 'Yes, sir?' 'Kindly tear that note up, Graham.' 'Note, sir?' 'Kindly tear that note up, Graham. Come, you are keeping uswaiting.' As the hero of the novel says, further concealment was useless.Tony tore the note up unread. 'Hope it didn't want an answer,' he said to Jim after school.'Constant practice has made Thompso. sort of amateur lynx.'
'No. It was only to ask you to be in the study directly afterlunch. There'. most unholy row going to occur shortly, as far a.can see.' 'What, about this burglary business?' 'Yes. Haven't time to tell you now. See you after lunch.' After lunch, having closed the study door, Jim embarked on thefollowing statement. It appeared that on the previous night he had lef. book ofnotes, which were of absolutely vital importance for theexamination which the Sixth had been doing in the earlier part ofthe morning, in the identical room in which the prizes had beenplaced. Or rather, he had left it there several days before, andhad not needed it till that night. At half-past six the Pavilionhad been locked up, and Biffen, the ground-man, had taken the keyaway with him, and it was only after tea had been consumed and theevening paper read, that Jim, thinking it about time to begin work,had discovered his loss. This was about half-past seven. Bein. House-prefect, Jim did not attend preparation in the GreatHall with the common herd of the Houses, but was part-owner withTony of a study. The difficulties of the situation soon presented themselves tohim. It was only possible to obtain the notes in threeways--firstly, by going to the rooms of the Sixth Form master, wholived out of College; secondly, by borrowing from one of the otherSixth Form members of the House; and thirdly, by the desperateexpedient of burgling the Pavilion. The objections to the firstcourse were two. In the first place Merevale was taking prep. overin the Hall, and it was strictly forbidden for anyone to quit theHouse after lock-up without leave. And, besides, it was long oddsthat Thompson, the Sixth Form master, would not have the notes, ashe had dictated them partly out of his head and partly from theworks of various eminent scholars. The second course was out of thequestion. The only other Sixth Form boy in the House, Tony andWelch being away at Aldershot, was Charteris, and Charteris, whonever worked much except the night before an exam, but worked thenunder forced draught, was appalled at the mere suggestion ofletting his note-book out of his hands. Jim had sounded him on thesubject and had met with the reply, 'Kill my father and burn myancestral home, an. will look on and smile. But touch these notesand you rouse the British Lion.' After which he had given up theborrowing idea. There remained the third course, and there was an excitement andsporting interest about it that took him immensely. But how was heto get out to start with? He opened his study-window and calculatedthe risks o. drop to the ground. No, it was too far. Not worthrisking a sprained ankle on the eve of the mile. Then he thought ofthe Matron's sitting-room. This was on the ground-floor, and if itsowner happened to be out, exit would be easy. As luck would have itshe was out, and in another minute Jim had crossed the Rubicon andwas standing on the gravel drive which led to the front gate. A sharp sprint took him to the Pavilion. Now the difficulty wasnot how to get out, but how to get in. Theoretically, it shouldhave been the easiest of tasks, but in practice there were plentyof obstacles to success. He tried the lower windows, but they werefirmly fixed. There had bee. time
when one of them would yield t.hard kick and fly bodily out of its frame, but somebody had beencaught playing that game not long before, and Jim remembered wit.pang that not only had the window been securely fastened up, butthe culprit had ha. spell of extra tuition and other punishmentswhich had turned him for the time int. hater of his species. Hisown fate, he knew, would be even worse, fo. prefect is supposed tohave something better to do in his spare time than breaking intopavilions. It would mean expulsion perhaps, or, at the least, theloss of his prefect's cap, and Jim did not want to lose that. Stillthe thing had to be done if he meant to score any marks at all inthe forthcoming exam. He wavere. while betwee. choice of methods,and finally fixed on the crudest of all. No one was likely to bewithin earshot, thought he, so he picked up the largest stone hecould find, took as careful aim as the dim light would allow, andhove it. There wa. sickening crash, loud enough, he thought, tobring the whole School down on him, followed b. prolonged rattle asthe broken pieces of glass fell to the ground. He held his breath and listened. Fo. moment all was still,uncannily still. He could hear the tops of the trees groaning inthe slight breeze that had sprung up, and far away the distant roaro. train. The. queer thing happened. He hear. quiet thud, as ifsomebody had jumped fro. height on to grass, and then quickfootsteps. He waited breathless and rigid, expecting every moment to se.form loom up beside him in the darkness. It was useless to run. Hisonly chance was to stay perfectly quiet. Then it dawned upon him that the man was running away from him,not towards him. His first impulse was to give chase, but prudencerestrained him. Catching burglars is an exhilarating sport, but itis best to indulge in it when one is not o. burgling expeditiononeself. Besides he had come out to get his book, and business isbusiness. There was no time to be lost now, for someone might have heardone or both of the noises and given the alarm. Once the window was broken the rest was fairly easy, the onlydanger being the pieces of glass. He took off his coat and flung iton to the sill of the upper window. I. few seconds he was uphimself without injury. He found i. trifle hard to keep hisbalance, as there was nothing to hold on to, but he managed it longenough to enable him to thrust an arm through the gap and turn thehandle. After this there was a bolt to draw, which he managedwithout difficulty. The window swung open. Jim jumped in, and groped his way roundthe room till he found his book. The other window of the room waswide open. He shut it for no definite reason, and noticed tha. panehad been cut out entire. The professional cracksman had done hiswork more neatly than the amateur. 'Poor chap,' thought Jim, wit. chuckle, as he effecte. retreat,'I must have given hi. bit o. start with my half-brick.' Afterbolting the window behind him, he climbed down. As he reached earth again the clock struc. quarter to nine. Inanother quarter of an hour prep, would be over and the House doorunlocked, and he would be able to get in again. Nor would the
factof his being out excite remark, for it was the custom of theHouse-Prefects to take the air for the few minutes which elapsedbetween the opening of the door and the final locking-up for thenight. The rest of his adventures ran too smoothly to requir. detaileddescription. Everything succeeded excellently. The onlyreminiscences of his escapade wer. few cuts in his coat, which wentunnoticed, and the precious book of notes, to which he appliedhimself with such vigour in the watches of the night, wit.surreptitious candle and a hamper of apples as aids to study, that,though tired next day, he managed to do quite well enough in theexam, to pass muster. And, as he had never had the least prospectof coming out top, or even in the first five, this satisfied himcompletely. Tony listened with breathless interest to Jim's recital of hisadventures, and at the conclusion laughed. 'Wha. mad thing to go and do,' he said. 'Jolly sporting,though.' Jim did not join in his laughter. 'Yes, but don't you see,' he said, ruefully, 'wha. mess I'm in?If they find out tha. was in the Pav. at the time when the cupswere bagged, how on earth a. to prov. didn't take them myself?' 'By Jove. never thought of that. But, hang it all, they'd neverdream of accusin. Coll. chap of stealing Sports prizes. This isn'ta reformatory for juvenile hooligans.' 'No, perhaps not.' 'Of course not.' 'Well, even if they didn't, the Old Man would be frightfullysick if he got to know about it. I'd lose my prefect's cap fo.cert.' 'You might, certainly.' 'I should. There wouldn't be any question about it. Why, don'tyou remember that business last summer about Cairns? He used tostay out after lock-up. That was absolutely all he did. Well, theOld 'Un dropped on him lik. hundredweight of bricks. Multiply thatby about ten and you get what he'll do to me if he books me overthis job.' Tony looked thoughtful. The case of Cairns versus ThePowers that were, was too recent to have escaped his memory. Evennow Cairns was to be seen on the grounds wit. common School Housecap at the back of his head in place of the prefect's cap which hadonce adorned it. 'Yes,' he said, 'you'd lose your cap all right, I'm afraid.'
'Rather. And the sickening part of the business is that thisreal, copper-bottomed burglary'll make them hunt about all over theshop for clues and things, and the odds are they'll find me out,even if they don't book the real man. Shouldn't wonder if they ha.detective down fo. big thing of this sort.' 'They are having one. heard.' 'There you are, then,' said Jim, dejectedly. 'I'm done, yousee.' 'I don't know. don't believe detectives are much class.' 'Anyhow, he'll probably have gumption enough to spot me.' Jim's respect for the abilities of our national sleuth-houndswas greater than Tony's, an. good deal greater than that of mostpeople.
5. Concerning the Mutual Friend
'I wonder where the dear Mutual gets to these afternoons,' saidDallas. 'The who?' asked MacArthur. MacArthur, commonly known as theBabe, was a day boy. Dallas and Vaughan had invited him to tea intheir study. 'Plunkett, you know.' 'Why the Mutual?' 'Mutual Friend, Vaughan's and mine. Shares this study with us.call him dear partly because he's head of the House, and therefore,of course, we respect and admire him.' 'And partly,' put in Vaughan, beaming at the Babe ove.frying-pan full of sausages, 'partly because we love him so. Oh,he'. beauty.' 'No, but rotting apart,' said the Babe, 'what sort o. chap ishe? I hardly know him by sight, even.' 'Should describe him roughly,' said Dallas, 'a. hopeless,forsaken unspeakable worm.' 'Understates it considerably,' remarked Vaughan. 'His mannersare patronizing, and his customs beastly.' 'He wears spectacles, and reads Herodotus in the original Greekfor pleasure.' 'He sneers at footer, and jeers at cricket. Croquet is his form,I should say. Should doubt, though, if he even plays that.' 'But why on earth,' said the Babe, 'do you have him in yourstudy?'
Vaughan looked wildly and speechlessly at Dallas, who lookedhelplessly back at Vaughan. 'Don't, Babe, please!' said Dallas. 'You've no idea ho. remarkof that sort infuriates us. You surely don't suppose we'd have theman in the study if we could help it?' 'It's another instance of Ward at his worst,' said Vaughan.'Have you never heard the story of the Mutual Friend'sarrival?' 'No.' 'It was like this. At the beginning of this ter. came backexpecting to be head of this show. You see, Richards left atChristmas an. was next man in. Dallas an. had made all sorts ofarrangements for having a good time. Well. got back on the lastevening of the holidays. When I got into this study, there was theman Plunkett sitting in the best chair, reading.' 'Probably reading Herodotus in the original Greek,' snortedDallas. 'He didn't take the slightest notice of me. stood in the doorwaylike Patience o. monument for abou. quarter of an hour. The.coughed. He took absolutely no notice. coughed again, loud enoughto crack the windows. The. got tired of it, and said "Hullo". Hedid look up at that. "Hullo," he said, "you've got rathe. nastycough.. said "Yes", and waited for him to throw himself on my bosomand explain everything, you know.' 'Did he?' asked the Babe, deeply interested. 'No. bit,' said Dallas, 'he--sorry, Vaughan, fire ahead.' 'He went on reading. Afte. bi. sai. hoped he was fairlycomfortable. He said he was. Conversation languished again. madeanother shot. "Looking for anybody?. said. "No," he said, "areyou?" "No." "Then why the dickens shoul. be?" he said. didn't quitefollow his argument. In fact. don't even now. "Look here,. said,"tell me one thing. Have you or have you not bought this place? Ifyou have, all right. If you haven't, I'm going to sling you out,and jolly soon, too." He looked at me in his superior sort of way,and observed without blenching that he was head of the House.' 'Just another of Ward's jars,' said Dallas. 'Knowing thatVaughan was keen on being head of the House he actually went to theOld Man and persuaded him that it would be better to bring in someday boy who was a School-prefect than let Vaughan boss the show.What do you think of that?' 'Pretty low,' said the Babe. 'Sai. was thoughtless and headstrong,' cut in Vaughan, spearinga sausage as if it were Mr Ward's body. 'Muffins up, Dallas, oldman. When the sausages are done t. turn. "Thoughtless andheadstrong." Those were his very words.'
'Can't you imagine the old beast?' said Dallas, pathetically,'Can't you see him getting round the Old Man. capital lad at heart.am sure, distinctl. capital lad, but thoughtless and headstrong,far too thoughtless fo. position so important as that of head of myHouse. The abandoned old wreck!' Tea put an end for the moment to conversation, but when the lastsausage had gone the way of all flesh, Vaughan returned to the soresubject lik. moth t. candle. 'It isn't only the not being head of the House tha. bar. It'sthe man himself. You say you haven't studied Plunkett much. Whenyou get to know him better, you'll appreciate his finer qualitiesmore. There are so few of them.' 'The only fine quality I've ever seen in him,' said Dallas, 'ishis habit of slinking off in the afternoons when he ought to beplaying games, and not coming back till lock -up.' 'Which brings us back to where we started,' put in the Babe.'You were wondering what he did with himself.' 'Yes, it can't be anything good so we'll put beetles andbutterflies out of the question right away. He might go and poach.There's heaps of opportunity round here fo. chap who wants to tryhis hand at that. I remember, whe. wa. kid, Morton Smith, who usedto be in this House--remember him?--took me to oldwhat's-his-name's place. Who's that frantic blood who owns all thatland along the Badgwick road? The M.P. man.' 'Milord Sir Alfred Venner, M.P., of Badgwick Hall.' 'That's the man. Generally very much of Badgwick Hall. Came downlast summer on Prize Day. One would have thought from the side onhim that he was all sorts of dooks. Anyhow, MortonSmith took merabbiting there. didn't know it was against the rules or anything.Ha. grand time. few days afterwards, Milord Sir Venner copped himon the hop and he got sacked. There was an awful row. thought myhair would have turned white.' 'I shouldn't think the Mutual poaches,' said Vaughan. 'He hasn'tgot the enterprise to poach an egg even. No, it can't be that.' 'Perhaps he bikes?' said the Babe. 'No, he's not go. bike. He's the sort of chap, though, to borrowsomebody else's without asking. Possibly he does bike.' 'If he does,' said Dallas, 'it's only so as to get well awayfrom the Coll., before starting on his career of crime. I'll swearhe does break rules like an ordinary human being when he thinksit's safe. Those aggressively pious fellows generally do.' 'I didn't know he was that sort,' said the Babe. 'Don't you findit rathe. jar?' 'Jus. bit. He jaws us sometimes till we turn and rend him.'
'Yes, he's an awful man,' said Vaughan. 'Don't stop,' said the Babe, encouragingly, after the silencehad lasted some time. 'It'. treat pickin. fellow to pieces likethis.' 'I don't know if that's your beastly sarcasm, Babe,' saidVaughan, 'but, speaking for self and partner. don't know how weshould get on if we didn't blow off steam occasionally in thisstyle.' 'We should probably last out fo. week, and then there would be asharp shriek. hollow groan, and all that would be left of theMutual Friend would b. slight discolouration on the studycarpet.' 'Coupled with an aroma of fresh gore.' 'Perhaps that's why he goes off in the afternoons,' suggestedthe Babe. 'Doesn't want to run any risks.' 'Shouldn't wonder.' 'He's suc. rotten head of the House, too,' said Vaughan. 'Wardmay gas about my being headstrong and thoughtless, but I'm dashedif I would mak. bally exhibition of myself like the Mutual.' 'What's he do?' enquired the Babe. 'It's not so much what he does. It's what he doesn't do thatsickens me,' said Dallas. 'I may b. bit o. crock in some ways--forfurther details apply to Ward--bu. can sto. couple of fags raggingif I try.' 'Can't Plunkett?' 'Not for nuts. He's simply helpless when there's anything goingon that he ought to stop. Why, the other day there wa. row in thefags' room that you could almost have heard at your place, Babe. Wewere up here working. The Mutual was jawing as usual on the subjectof cramming tips for the Aeschylus exam. Said it wasn'tscholarship, or some rot. What business is it of his ho. chapworks. should like to know. Just as he had got under way, the fagsbegan kicking up more row than ever.' 'I said', cut in Vaughan, 'that instead of minding otherpeople's business, he'd better mind his own fo. change, and go downand stop the row.' 'He looke. bit green at that,' said Dallas. 'Said the row didn'tinterfere with him. "Does with us,. said. "It's all very well foryou. You aren't doin. stroke of work. No amount of row matters to achap who's only deliverin. rotten sermon on scholarship. Vaughanand I happen to be trying to do some work." "All right," he said,"if you want the row stopped, why don't you go and stop it? What'sit got to do with me?"' 'Rotter!' interpolated the Babe.
'Wasn't he? Well, of course we couldn't stand that.' 'We crushed him,' said Vaughan. 'I said: "In my young days the head of the House used to keeporder for himself.. asked him what he thought he was here for.Because he isn't ornamental. So he went down after that.' 'Well?' said the Babe. Bein. miserable day boy he had had noexperience of the inner life o. boarding House, which is the reallife o. public school. His experience of life at St Austin's waslimited to doing his work and playing centre-three-quarter for thefifteen. Which, it may be remarked in passing, he did extremelywell. Dallas took up the narrative. 'Well, after he'd been gone aboutfive minutes, and the row seemed to be getting worse than ever, wethought we'd better go down and investigate. So we did.' 'And when we got to the fags' room,' said Vaughan, pointing thetoasting-fork at the Babe by way of emphasis, 'there was the Mutualstanding in the middle of the room gassing away with an expressionon his fac. cross betwee. village idiot and an unintelligent friedegg. And all round him wa. seething mass of fags, half of themplaying soccer wit. top-hat and the other half cheering wildlywhenever the Mutual opened his mouth.' 'What did you do?' 'We made an aggressive movement in force. Collared the hat,brained every fag within reach, and swore we'd report them to thebeak and so on. They quieted down in about three an. quarterseconds by stopwatch, and we retired, taking the hat a. prize ofwar, and followed by the Mutual Friend.' 'He looked worried, rather,' said Vaughan. 'And, thank goodness,he let us alone for the rest of the evening.' 'That's onl. sample, though,' explained Dallas. 'That sort ofthing has been going on the whole term. If the head o. House is anabject lunatic, there's bound to be ructions. Fags simply live forthe sake of kicking up rows. It's meat and drink to them.' 'I wish the Mutual would leave,' said Vaughan. 'Only that sortof chap always lingers on until he dies or gets sacked.' 'He's not the sort of fellow to get sacked. should say,' saidthe Babe. ''Fraid not. wis. could shunt into some other House. BetweenWard and the Mutual life here isn't worth living.' 'There's Merevale's, now,' said Vaughan. 'I wis. was in there.In the first place you've got Merevale. He gets as near perfectiona. beak ever does. Coaches the House footer and cricket, and
takesan intelligent interest in things generally. Then there are somedecent fellows in Merevale's. Charteris, Welch, Graham, Thomson,heaps of them.' 'Pity you came to Ward's,' said the Babe. 'Why did you?' 'My pater knew War. bit. If he'd known him well, he'd have sentme somewhere else.' 'My pater knew Vaughan's pater well, who knew Ward slightly andthere you are. Voila comme des accidents arrivent.' 'If Ward wanted to lug i. day boy to be head of the House,' saidVaughan, harping once more on the old string, 'he might at leasthave got somebody decent.' 'There's the great Babe himself. Babe, why don't you come innext term?' 'Not much,' said the Babe, wit. shudder. 'Well, even barring present company, there are lots of chaps whowould have jumped at the chance of being head o. House. But nothingwould satisfy Ward but lugging the Mutual from the bosom of hisbeastly family.' 'We haven't decided that point about where he goes to,' said theBabe. At this moment the door of the study opened, and the gentlemanin question appeared in person. He stood in the doorway fo. fewseconds, gasping and throwing his arms about as if he foun.difficulty in making his way in. 'I wish you two wouldn't make such an awful froust in the studyevery afternoon,' he observed, pleasantly. 'Have you beenhaving a little tea-party? How nice!' 'We've been brewing, if that's what you mean,' said Vaughan,shortly. 'Oh,' said Plunkett, 'I hope you enjoyed yourselves. It's nearlylock-up, MacArthur.' 'That's Plunkett's delicate way of telling you you're notwanted, Babe.' 'Well. suppos. ought to be going,' said the Babe. 'So long.' And he went, feeling grateful to Providence for not having madehis father, like the fathers of Vaughan and Dallas. casualacquaintance of Mr Ward. The Mutual Friend really wa. trial to Vaughan and Dallas. Onlythose whose fate it is or has been to shar. study with anuncongenial companion can appreciate their feelings to the full.Three i. study is always something o. tight fit, and when the threeare i. state of perpetual warfare, or, at the best, of armed truce,things become very bad indeed.
'Do you find it necessary to have tea-parties every evening?'enquired Plunkett, after he had collected his books for the night'swork. 'The smell of burnt meat--' 'Fried sausages,' said Vaughan. 'Perfectly healthy smell. Do yougood.' 'It's quite disgusting. Really, the air in here is hardly fit tobreathe.' 'You'll find an excellent brand of air down in the seniorstudy,' said Dallas, pointedly. 'Don't stay and poison yourselfhere on our account,' he added. 'Think of your family.' 'I shall work wher. choose,' said the Mutual Friend, withdignity. 'Of course, so long as you do work. You mustn't talk. Vaughanand I have got some Livy to do.' Plunkett snorted, and the passage of arms ended, as it usuallydid, in his retiring with his books to the senior study, leavingDallas and Vaughan to discuss his character once more in case theremight be any points of it left upon which they had not touched inprevious conversations. 'This robbery of the pots i. rum thing,' said Vaughan,thoughtfully, when the last shreds of Plunkett's character had beenput through the mincing-machine to the satisfaction of allconcerned. 'Yes. It's the sort of thing one doesn't think possible till itactually happens.' 'What the dickens made them put the things in the Pav. at all?They must have known it wouldn't be safe.' 'Well, you see, they usually cart them into the Board Room.believe, only this time the governors were going to hav. meetingthere. They couldn't very well meet i. room with the table allcovered with silver pots.' 'Don't see why.' 'Well. suppose they could, really, but some of the governors arefairly nuts on strict form. There's that crock who makes thetwo-hour vote of thanks speeches on Prize Day. You can see himrising t. point of order, and fixing the Old 'Un wit. fishyeye.' 'Well, anyhow. don't see that they can blam. burglar for takingthe pots if they simply chuck them in his way like that.' 'No. say, we'd better weigh in with the Livy. The man Ward'll beround directly. Where's the dic? And our invaluable friend,Mr Bohn? Right. Now, you reel it off, and I'll keep an eye on thenotes.' And they settled down to the business of the day. Afte. while Vaughan looked up. 'Who's going to win the mile?' he asked.
'What's the matter with Thomson?' 'How about Drake then?' 'Thomson won the half.' 'I knew you'd say that. The half isn'. test o. chap's mile form.Besides, did you happen to see Drake's sprint?' 'Jolly good one.' 'I know, but look how late he started for it. Thomson crammed onthe pace directly he got into the straight. Drake only began to putit on when he got to the Pav. Even then he wasn't far behind at thetape.' 'No. Well, I'm not plunging either way. Ought to b. goodrace.' 'Rather. say. wonder Welch doesn't try his hand at the mile. Ibelieve he would do some rattling times if he'd only try.' 'Why, Welch i. sprinter.' 'I know. Bu. believe for all that that the mile's his distance.He's always well up in the crosscountry runs.' 'Anyhow, he's not in for it this year. Thomson's my man. It'llbe a near thing, though.' 'Jolly near thing. With Drake in front.' 'Thomson.' 'Drake.' 'All right, we'll see. Wonder why the beak doesn't come up.can't sit here doing Livy all the evening. And yet if we stop he'sbound to look in.' 'Oh Lord, is that what you've been worrying about. thought you'ddeveloped the work habit or something. Ward's all right. He's outon the tiles tonight. Gone t. dinner at Philpott's.' 'Good man, how do you know? Are you certain?' 'Heard him telling Prater this morning. Half the staff havegone. Good opportunity fo. chap to go fo. stroll if he wanted to.Shall we, by the way?' 'Not for me, thanks. I'm in the middle o. rather special book.Ever read Great Expectations? Dickens, you know.'
'I know. Haven't read it, though. Always rather funk starting ona classic, somehow. Good?' 'My dear chap! Good's not the word.' 'Well, after you. Exit Livy, then. An. good job, too. You mightpass us the great Sherlock. Thanks.' He plunged with the great detective into the mystery of thespeckled band, while Vaughan opened Great Expectations atthe place where he had left off the night before. An. silence fellupon the study. Curiously enough, Dallas was not the only member of Ward's Houseto whom it occurred that evening that the absence of theHouse-master supplie. good opportunity fo. stroll. The idea hadalso struck Plunkett favourably. He was not feeling verycomfortable down-stairs. On entering the senior study he foundGalloway, an Upper Fourth member of the House, already inpossession. Galloway had managed that evening to insinuate himselfwith such success into the good graces of the matron, that he hadbeen allowed to stay in the House instead of proceeding with therest of the study to the Great Hall for preparation. The palpablefailure of his attempt to hide the book he was reading under thetable when he was disturbed led him to cast at the Mutual Friend,the cause of his panic, so severe and forbidding a look, that thatgentleman retired, and made for the junior study. The atmosphere in the junior study was close, and heavy wit.blend of several strange odours. Plunkett went to the window. Thenhe noticed what he had never noticed before, that there were nobars to the window. Only the glass stood between him and the outerworld. He threw up the sash as far as it would go. There was plentyof room to get out. So he got out. He stood fo. moment inhaling thefresh air. Then, taking something from his coat-pocket, he divedinto the shadows. An hour passed. In the study above, Dallas,surfeited with mysteries and villainy, put down his book andstretched himself. 'I say, Vaughan,' he said. 'Have you settled the House gym. teamyet? It's about time the list went up.' 'Eh? What?' said Vaughan, coming slowly out of his book. Dallas repeated his question. 'Yes,' said Vaughan, 'got it somewhere on me. Haynes, Jarvis,and myself are going in. Only, the Mutual has to stick up thelist.' It was the unwritten rule in Ward's, as in most of the otherHouses at the School, that none but the head of the House had theright of placing notices on the House board. 'I know,' said Dallas. 'I'll go and buck him up now.' 'Don't trouble. After prayers'll do.'
'It's all right. No trouble. Whom did you say? Yourself,Haynes--' 'And Jarvis. Not that he's any good. But the third string nevermatters much, and it'll do him good to represent the House.' 'Right. I'll go and unearth the Mutual.' The result was that Galloway received another shock to hissystem. 'Don't glare, Galloway. It's rude,' said Dallas. 'Where's Plunkett got to?' he added. 'Junior study,' said Galloway. Dallas went to the junior study. There were Plunkett's books onthe table, but of their owner no signs were to be seen. The MutualFriend had had the good sense to close the window after he hadclimbed through it, and Dallas did not suspect what had actuallyhappened. He returned to Vaughan. 'The Mutual isn't in either of the studies,' he said. 'I didn'twant to spend the evening playing hideand-seek with him, so I'vecome back.' 'It doesn't matter, thanks all the same. Later on'll do just aswell.' 'Do you object to the window going up?' asked Dallas. 'There'.bit of a froust on in here.' 'Rather not. Heave it up.' Dallas hove it. He stood leaning out, looking towards theCollege buildings, which stood out black and clear against theApril sky. From out of the darkness in the direction of Stapletonsounded the monotonous note o. corn-crake. 'Jove,' he said, 'it'. grand night. I. was at home no. shouldn'tbe cooped up indoors like this.' 'Holidays in another week,' said Vaughan, joining him. 'It isripping, isn't it? There's something not half bad in the Coll.buildings on a night like this. shall be jolly sorry to leave, inspite of Ward and the Mutual.' 'Same here, by Jove. We've each go. couple more years, though,if it comes to that. Hullo, prep.'s over.' The sound of footsteps began to be heard from the direction ofthe College. Nine had struck from the School clock, and the GreatHall was emptying.
'Your turn to read at prayers, Vaughan. Hullo, there's theMutual. Didn't hear him unlock the door. Glad he has, though. Savesus trouble.' 'I must be going down to look u. bit to read. Do you rememberwhen Harper read the same bit six days running. shall never forgetWard's pained expression. Harper explained that he thought thepassage so beautiful that he couldn't leave it.' 'Why don't you try that tip?' 'Hardly. My reputation hasn't quite the stamina for thetest.' Vaughan left the room. At the foot of the stairs he was met bythe matron. 'Will you unlock the door, please, Vaughan,' she said, handinghim a bunch of keys. 'The boys will be coming in i. minute.' 'Unlock the door?' repeated Vaughan. 'I thought it was unlocked.All right.' 'By Jove,' he thought, 'the plot thickens. What is our onlyPlunkett doing out of the House when the door is locked.wonder.' Plunkett strolled in with the last batch of the returning crowd,wearing on his face the virtuous look of one who has been snatchinga whiff of fresh air afte. hard evening's preparation. 'Oh. say, Plunkett,' said Vaughan, when they met in the studyafter prayers, 'I wanted to see you. Where have you been?' 'I have been in the junior study. Where did you thin. hadbeen?' 'Oh.' 'Do you doubt my word?' 'I've the most exaggerated respect for your word, but youweren't in the junior study at five to nine.' 'No. went up to my dormitory about that time. You seemremarkably interested in my movements.' 'Only wanted to see you about the House gym. team. You mightshove up the list tonight. Haynes, Jarvis, and myself.' 'Very well.' 'I didn't say anything to him,' said Vaughan to Dallas as theywere going to their dormitories, 'but, you know, there's somethingjolly fishy about the Mutual. That door wasn't unlocked when we
sawhim outside. unlocked it myself. Seems to me the Mutual's beenhaving a little private bust of his own on the quiet.' 'That's rum. He might have been out by the front way to see oneof the beaks, though.' 'Well, even then he would be breaking rules. You aren't allowedto go out after lock -up without House beak's leave. No. find himguilty.' 'If only he'd go and get booked!' said Vaughan. 'Then he mighthave to leave. But he won't. No such luck.' 'No,' said Dallas. 'Good-night.' 'Good-night.' Certainly there was something mysterious about the matter.
6. A Literary Banquet
Charteris and Welch were conversing in the study of which theywere the joint proprietors. That is to say, Charteris was talkingand playing the banjo alternately, while Welch was deep i. book andrefused to be drawn out of it under any pretext. Charteris' banjowas the joy of his fellows and the bane of his House-master. Beingo. musical turn and ownin. good deal of pocket-money, he had, atthe end of the summer holidays, introduced the delights o.phonograph into the House. This being vetoed by the House-master,he had returned at the beginning of the following term wit. pennywhistle, which had suffere. similar fate. Upon this he had investedi. banjo, and the dazed Merevale, feeling that matters were gettingbeyond his grip, had effected a compromise with him. Havingascertained that there was no specific rule at St Austin's againstthe use of musical instruments, he had informed Charteris that ifhe saw fit to play the banjo before prep, only, and regarded thehours between seven and eleven a. close time, all should beforgiven, and he might play, if so disposed, till the crack ofdoom. To this reasonable request Charteris had promptly acceded,and peace had been restored. Charteris and Welch wer. curious pair.Welch spoke very little. Charteris was seldom silent. They wereboth in the Sixth--Welch high up, Charteris rather low down. Ingames, Welch was one of those fortunate individuals who are good ateverything. He was captain of cricket, and not only captain, butalso the best all-round man in the team, which is ofte. verydifferent matter. He was the best wing three-quarter the Schoolpossessed; played fives and racquets lik. professor, and only theday before had shared Tony's glory by winning the silver medal forfencing in the Aldershot competition. The abilities of Charteris were more ordinary. He wa. sound bat,and went in first for the Eleven, and played half for the Fifteen.As regards work, he might have been brilliant if he had chosen, buthis energies were mainly devoted to the compilation o. monthlymagazine (strictly unofficial) entitled The Glow Worm. Thishe edited, and for the most part wrote himself. It wa. cleverperiodical, and rarely failed to bring him in at least tenshillings per number, after deducting the expenses which theCollege bookseller, who acted as sole agent, did his best to makeas big as possible. Onl. very few of the elect knew the identity ofthe editor, and they were bound to strict
secrecy. On the daybefore the publication of each number. notice was placed in thedesk of the captain of each form, notifying him of what the morrowwould bring forth, and asking him to pass it round the form. Thatwas all. The School did the rest. The Glow Worm always soldwell, principally because of the personal nature of its contents.If the average mortal is told that there is something about him ina paper, he will buy that paper at your own price. Today he was giving his monthly tea in honour of the new number.Only contributors were invited, and the menu was always of thebest. It was a Punch dinner, only more so, for these teaswere celebrated with musical honours, and Charteris on the banjowas worth hearing. His rendering of extracts from the works ofMessrs Gilbert and Sullivan was an intellectual treat. 'Whe. take the chair at our harmonic club!' he chanted, fixingthe unconscious Welch wit. fiery glance. 'Welch!' 'Yes.' 'If this is your idea o. harmonic club, it isn't mine. Put downthat book, and try and be sociable.' 'One second,' said Welch, burrowing still deeper. 'That's what you always say,' said Charteris. 'Look here--Comein.' There had bee. knock at the door as he was speaking. Tonyentered, accompanied by Jim. They were regular attendants at thesebanquets, for between them they wrote most of what was left of themagazine when Charteris had done with it. There was only one othercontributor, Jackson, of Dawson's House, and he came i. few minuteslater. Welch was the athletics expert of the paper, and did most ofthe match reports. 'Now we're complete,' said Charteris, as Jackson presentedhimself. 'Gentlemen--your seats. There are only four chairs, andwe, as Wordsworth might have said, but didn't, are five. All right,I'll sit on the table. Welch, you worm, away with melancholy. Takeaway his book, somebody. That's right. Who says what? Tea alreadymade. Coffee published shortly. If anybody wants cocoa, I've gotsome, only you'll have to boil more water. regret the absence ofmenu-cards, but as the entire feast is visible to the naked eye,our loss is immaterial. The offertory will be for the Churchexpenses fund. Biscuits, please.' 'I wish you'd given this tea after next Saturday, Alderman,'said Jim. Charteris was called the Alderman on account of hisfigure, which was inclined to stoutness, and his general capacityfor consuming food. 'Never put off till tomorrow--Why?' 'I simply must keep fit for the mile. How's Welch to run, too,if he eats this sort of thing?' He pointed to the well-spreadboard.
'Yes, there's something in that,' said Tony. 'Thank goodness, mylittle entertainment's over. thin. will try one of thosechocolate things. Thanks.' 'Welch is all right,' said Jackson. 'He could win the hundredand the quarter on sausage-rolls. But think of the times.' 'And there,' observed Charteris, 'there, my young friend, youhave touched upo. sore subject. Before you came i. wasadministering a few wholesome words of censure to that miserableobject on your right. What i. fifth o. second more or less that itshould mak. man insult his digestion as Welch does? You'll hardlycredit it, but for the last three weeks or mor. have been forced tolook on a fellow-being refusing pastry and drinking beastlyextracts of meat, all for the sake of winnin. couple of races. Itquite put me off my feed. Cake, please. Good robust slice.Thanks.' 'It's rather funny when you come to think of it,' said Tony.'Welch lives on Bovril for. month, and then, just as he thinks he'sgoing to score. burglar wit. sense of humour strolls into the Pav.,carefully selects the only two cups he ha. chance of winning, andso to bed.' 'Leaving Master J. G. Welch an awful example of what comes oftraining,' said Jim. 'Welch, you'r. rotter.' 'It isn't my fault,' observed Welch, plaintively. 'You chapsseem to think I've committed some sort of crime, just becaus. ma.didn't know from Adam has bagge. cup or two.' 'It looks to me,' said Charteris, 'as if Welch, thinking hischances of the quarter rather rocky, hired one of his lowacquaintances to steal the cup for him.' 'Shouldn't wonder. Welch knows some jolly low characters inStapleton.' 'Welch i. jolly low character himself,' said Tony, judicially.'I wonder you associate with him, Alderman.' 'Stand in loco parentis. Aunt of his asked me to keep aneye on him. "Dear George is so wild,"' she said. Before Welch could find words to refute this hideous slander,Tony cut in once more. 'The only reason he doesn't drink gin and play billiards at the"Blue Lion" is that gin makes him ill and his best break at pillsis six, including two flukes.' 'A. matter of fact,' said Welch, changing the conversation witha jerk, 'I don't much care if the cups are stolen. One doesn't onlyrun for the sake of the pot.' Charteris groaned. 'Oh, well,' said he, 'if you're going to takethe high moral standpoint, and descend to brazen platitudes likethat, I give you up.' 'It'. rum thing about those pots,' said Welch, meditatively.
'Seems to me,' Jim rejoined, 'the rum thing is tha. man whoconsiders the Pav. safe place to kee. lot of valuable prizes inshould be allowed at large. Why couldn't they keep them in theBoard Room as they used to?' 'Thought it 'ud save trouble. suppose. Save them carting thethings over to the Pav. on Sports Day,' hazarded Tony. 'Saved the burgla. lot of trouble. should say,' observedJackson, 'I could break into the Pav. myself in five minutes.' 'Good old Jackson,' said Charteris, 'hav. shot tonight. I'llhold the watch. I'm doin. leader on the melancholy incident fornext month's Glow Worm. It appears that Master ReginaldRobinson. member of Mr Merevale's celebratedboarding-establishment, was passing by the Pavilion at an earlyhour on the morning of the second of April--that's today--when hiseye was attracted by an excavation or incision in one of thewindows of that imposing edifice. His narrative appears on anotherpage. Interviewed b. Glow Worm representative, MasterRobinson, who i. fine, healthy, bronzed young Englishman of somethirteen summers, wit. delightful, boyish flow of speech, notwholly free fro. suspicion of cheek, gave it as his opinion thatthe outrage was the work o. burglar--a remarkable display ofsagacity in one so young. portrait of Master Robinson appears onanother page.' 'Everything seems to appear on another page,' said Jim. 'A. todo the portrait?' 'I think it would be best. You can never trus. photo tocaricature a person enough. Your facial H.B.'s the thing.' 'Have you heard whether anything else was bagged besides thecups?' asked Welch. 'Not tha. know of,' said Jim. 'Yes there was,' said Jackson. 'It further appears that thatlunatic, Adamson, had left some money in the pocket of his blazer,which he had left in the Pav. overnight. On enquiry it was foundthat the money had also left.' Adamson was in the same House as Jackson, and had talked ofnothing else throughout the whole of lunch. He was an abnormallywealthy individual, however, and it was generally felt, though hehimself thought otherwise, that he could afford to lose some of thesurplus. 'How much?' asked Jim. 'Two pounds.' At this Jim gave vent to the exclamation which Mr Barry Paincalls the Englishman's shortest prayer.
'My dear sir,' said Charteris. 'My very dear sir. We blush foryou. Migh. ask why you take the matter to heart so?' Jim hesitated. 'Better have it out, Jim,' said Tony. 'These chaps'll keep itdark all right.' And Jim entered once again upon the recital of hisdoings on the previous night. 'So you see,' he concluded, 'this two pound business makes itall the worse.' 'I don't see why,' said Welch. 'Well, you see, money'. thing everybody wants, whereas cupswouldn't be any good t. fellow at school. So tha. should find itmuch harder to prove tha. didn't take the two pounds, tha. shouldhave done to prove tha. didn't take the cups.' 'But there's no earthly need for you to prove anything,' saidTony. 'There's not the slightest chance of your being foundout.' 'Exactly,' observed Charteris. 'We will certainly respect yourincog. if you wish it. Wild horses shall draw no evidence from us.It is, of course, very distressing, but what is man after all? Arewe not as the beasts that perish, and is not our little liferounded b. sleep? Indeed, yes. And now-with full chorus,please. '"We-e take him from the city or the plough. We-e dress him up in uniform so ne-e-e-at."' And at the third line some plaster came down from the ceiling,and Merevale came up, and the meeting dispersed without thecustomary cheers.
7. Barrett Explores
Barrett stood at the window of his study with his hands in hispockets, looking thoughtfully at the football field. Now and thenhe whistled. That was to show that he was very much at his ease. Hewhistled a popular melody of the day three times as slowly as itstalented composer had originally intended it to be whistled, and i.strange minor key. Some people, when offended, invariably whistlein this manner, and these are just the people with whom, if youhappen to share a study with them, it is rash to have differencesof opinion. Reade, who was deep i. book --though not so deep as hewould have liked the casual observer to fancy him to be--would havegiven much to stop Barrett's musical experiments. To ask him tostop in so many words was, of course, impossible. Offended dignitymust draw the line somewhere. That is one of the curious results o.polite education. When two gentlemen of Hoxton or the Borough hav.misunderstanding, they address one another with even more freedomthan is their usual custom. When one member o. public school fallsout with another member, his politeness in dealing with him becomesso Chesterfieldian, that one cannot help being afraid that he willsustai. strain from which he will never recover.
Afte. time the tension became too much for Barrett. He picked uphis cap and left the room. Reade continued to be absorbed in hisbook. It wa. splendid day outside, warm for April, and with just thatfreshness in the air which gets into the blood and makes Spring thebest time of the whole year. Barrett had not the aesthetic soul toany appreciable extent, but he did kno. fine day when he saw one,and even he realized tha. day like this was not to be wasted inpottering about the School grounds watching the 'under thirteen'hundred yards (trial heats) and the 'under fourteen' broad jump, ordoing occasional exercises in the gymnasium. It wa. day for goingfar afield and not returning till lock-up. He had an object, too.Everything seemed to shout 'eggs' at him, to remind him that he wasan enthusiast on the subject and ha. collection to which he oughtto seize this excellent opportunity of adding. The only questionwas, where to go. The surrounding country wa. Paradise for thenaturalist who had no absurd scruples on the subject oftrespassing. To the west, in the direction of Stapleton, the woodsand hedges were thick with nests. But then, so they were to theeast along the Badgwick road. He wavered, but a recollection thatthere was water in the Badgwick direction, and that he might withluck bear. water-wagtail in its lair, decided him. What is lifewithou. waterwagtail's egg. mere mockery. He turned east. 'Hullo, Barrett, where are you off to?' Grey, of Prater's House,intercepted him as he was passing. 'Going to see i. can get some eggs. Are you coming?' Grey hesitated. He wa. keen naturalist, too. 'No. don't thin. will, thanks. Got an uncle coming down to seeme.' 'Well, cut off before he comes.' 'No, he'd be too sick. Besides,' he added, ingenuously, 'there'sa possible tip. Don't want to miss that. I'm simply stony. Alwaysam at end of term.' 'Oh,' said Barrett, realizing that further argument would bethrown away. 'Well, so long, then.' 'So long. Hope you have luck.' 'Thanks. say.' 'Well?' 'Roll-call, you know. If you don't see me anywhere about, youmight answer my name.' 'All right. And if you find anything decent, you might rememberme. You know pretty well what I've got already.' 'Right. will.'
'Magpie's wha. want particularly. Where are you going, by theway?' 'Thought of havin. shot at old Venner's woods. I'm after awater-wagtail myself. Ought to be one or two in the Dingle.' 'Heaps, probably. Bu. should advise you to look out, you know.Venner's awfully down on trespassing.' 'Yes, the bounder. Bu. don't think he'll get me. One gets theknack of keeping fairly quiet with practice.' 'He's got thousands of keepers.' 'Millions.' 'Dogs, too.' 'Dash his beastly dogs. like dogs. Why are you suc. croakertoday, Grey?' 'Well, you know he's had two chaps sacked for going in his woodsto my certain knowledge, Morton-Smith and Ainsworth. That's onlysince I've been at the Coll., too. Probably lots more beforethat.' 'Ainsworth was booked smoking there. That's why he was sacked.And Venner caught MortonSmith himself simply staggering under deadrabbits. They sack any chap for poaching.' 'Well. don't see how you're going to show you've not beenpoaching. Besides, it's miles out of bounds.' 'Grey,' said Barrett, severely, 'I'm surprised at you. Go awayand meet your beastly uncle. Fancy talking about bounds at yourtime of life.' 'Well, don't forget me when you're hauling in the eggs.' 'Right you are. So long.' Barrett proceeded on his way, his last difficulty safelyremoved. He could rely on Grey not to bungle that matter ofroll-call. Grey had been there before. A long white ribbon of dusty road separated St Austin's from thelodge gates of Badgwick Hall, the country seat of Sir AlfredVenner, M.P., also of 49A Lancaster Gate, London. Barrett walkedrapidly for over half-an-hour before he came in sight of the greatiron gates, flanked on the one side b. trim little lodge and greenmeadows, and on the other by woods o. darker green. Having got sofar, he went on up the hill till at last he arrived at hisdestination. small hedge, a sloping strip of green, and then thefamous Dingle. am loath to inflict any scenic rhapsodies on thereader, but really the Dingle deserve. line or two. It was the mostbeautiful spot i. country
noted for its fine scenery. Dense woodswere its chief feature. And by dens. mean well-supplied not onlywith trees (excellent things in themselves, but for the most partuseless to the nest hunter), but also wit. fascinating tangle ofundergrowth, where every bush seemed to harbour eggs. All carefullypreserved, too. That was the chief charm of the place. Since thesad episodes of Morton-Smith and Ainsworth, the School for the mostpart had looked askance at the Dingle. Once a select party fromDacre's House, headed by Babington, who always got himself into hotwater when possible, had ventured into the forbidden land, and hadreturned hurriedly later in the afternoon with every sign ofexhaustion, hinting breathlessly at keepers, dogs, an. pursuit thathad lasted fifty minutes withou. check. Since then no one had beendaring enough to brave the terrors so carefully prepared for themby Milord Sir Venner and his minions, and the proud owner of theDingle walked his woods in solitary state. Occasionally he wouldpersonally conduct some favoured guest thither and show him thewonders of the place. But this was no. frequent occurrence. Onstill-less frequent occasions, there were large shooting parties inthe Dingle. But, as a rule, the word was 'Keepers only. No othersneed apply'. A futile iron railing, some three feet in height, shut in theDingle. Barrett jumped this lightly, and entered forthwith intoParadise. The place was full of nests. As Barrett too. step forwardthere was a sudden whirring of wings, an. bird rose fro. bush closebeside him. He went to inspect, and foun. nest with seven eggs init. Only a thrush, of course. As no one ever wants thrushes' eggsthe world is over-stocked with them. Still, it gave promise of goodthings to come. Barrett pushed on through the bushes and thepromise was fulfilled. He came upon another nest. Five eggs thistime, o. variety he was unable with his moderate knowledge toclassify. At any rate, he had not got them in his collection. Nor,to the best of his belief, had Grey. He took one for each ofthem. Now this was all very well, thought Barrett, but what he hadcome for was the ovular deposit of the water-wagtail. Through thetrees he could see the silver gleam of the brook at the foot of thehill. The woods sloped down to the very edge. Then came the brook,widening out here into the size o. small river. Then woods againall up the side of the opposite hill. Barrett hurried down theslope. He had put on flannels for this emergency. He was prepared towade, to swim if necessary. He hoped that it would not benecessary, for in April water is generally inclined to be chilly.Of keepers he had up till now seen no sign. Once he had heard thedistant bark o. dog. It seemed to come from far across the streamand he had not troubled about it. In the midst of the bushes on the bank stoo. tree. It was nottall compared to the other trees of the Dingle, but standing aloneas it did amongst the undergrowth it attracted the eye at once.Barrett, looking at it, saw something which made him forgetwater-wagtails for the moment. I. fork in one of the upper brancheswa. nest, an enormous nest, roughly constructed of sticks. It wa.very jerrybuilt residence, evidently run up for the season by someprudent bird who knew by experience that no nest could last throughthe winter, and so had declined to waste his time in uselessdecorative work. But what bird was it? No doubt there are expertsto who. wood-pigeon's nest is something apart and distinct from thenest of the magpie, but to your unsophisticated amateu. nest thatis large may be anything--rook's, magpie's, pigeon's, or greatauk's. To such an one the only true test lies in the eggs.Solvitur ambulando. Barrett laid the pill-boxes,
containingthe precious specimens he had found in the nest at the top of thehill, at the foot of the tree, and began to climb. It was to b. day of surprises for him. When he had got half wayup he found himself o. kind of ledge, which appeared to b. kind ofjunction at which the tree branched off into two parts. To the leftwas the nest, high up in its fork. To the right was another shoot.He realized at once, with keen disappointment, that it would beuseless to go further. The branches were obviously not strongenough to bear his weight. He looked down, preparatory tocommencing the descent, and to his astonishment found himselflooking int. black cavern. In his eagerness to reach the nest hehad not noticed before that the tree was hollow. This made up fo. great many things. His disappointment becameless keen. Few things are more interesting tha. hollow tree. 'Wonder how deep it goes down,' he said to himself. He broke offa piece of wood and dropped it down the hollow. It seemed to reachthe ground uncommonly soon. He tried another piece. The sound ofits fall came up to him almost simultaneously. Evidently the holewas not deep. He placed his hands on the edge, and let himselfgently down into the darkness. His feet touched something solidalmost immediately. As far as he could judge, the depth of thecavity was not more than five feet. Standing up at his full heighthe could just rest his chin on the edge. He seemed to be standing on some sort o. floor, roughly made,but too regular to be the work of nature. Evidently someone hadbeen here before. He bent down to make certain. There was more roomto move about in than he suspected. man sitting down would find itnot uncomfortable. He brushed his hand along the floor. Certainly it seemed to beconstructed of boards. Then his hand hit something small and hard.He groped about until his fingers closed on it. It was--what wasit? He could hardly make out for the moment. Suddenly, as he movedit, something inside it rattled. Now he knew what it was. It wasthe very thing he most needed. box of matches. The first match he struck promptly and naturally went out. Nofirst match ever stays alight for more than three-fifths o. second.The second was more successful. The sudden light dazzled him fo.moment. When his eyes had grown accustomed to it, the match wentout. He lit a third, and this time he saw all round the littlechamber. 'Great Scott,' he said, 'the place i. regular poultryshop.' All round the sides were hung pheasants and partridges invarious stages of maturity. Here and there the fur o. rabbit o.hare showed up amongst the feathers. Barrett hit on the solution ofthe problem directly. He had been show. similar collection once i.tree on his father's land. The place was the headquarters of somepoacher. Barrett was full of admiration for the ingenuity of theman in finding so safe a hiding-place. He continued his search. In one angle of the tree wa. piece ofsacking. Barrett lifted it. He caugh. glimpse of something bright,but before he could confirm the vague suspicion that flashed uponhim, his match burnt down and lay smouldering on the floor. Hishand trembled with excitement as he started to light another. Itbroke off in his hand. At last he succeeded. The light flashed up,and there beside the piece of sacking which had covered them weretwo cups. He recognized them instantly.
'Jove,' he gasped. 'The Sports pots! Now, how on earth--' At this moment something happened which took his attention awayfrom his discovery with painful suddenness. From beneath him camethe muffled whine o. dog. He listened, holding his breath. No, hewas not mistaken. The dog whined again, and broke into an excitedbark. Somebody at the foot of the tree began to speak.
8. Barrett Ceases to Explore
'Fetchimout!' said the voice, all in one word. 'Nice cheery remark to make!' thought Barrett. 'He'll have to d.good bit of digging before he fetches me out. I'. fixturefor the present.' There wa. sound of scratching as if the dog, in his eagerness tooblige, were trying to uproot the tree. Barrett, realizing thatunless the keeper took it into his head to climb, which wasunlikely, he was as safe as if he had been in his study atPhilpott's, chuckled within himself, and listened intently. 'What is it, then?' said the keeper. 'Good dog, at 'em! Fetchhim out, Jack.' Jack barked excitedly, and redoubled his efforts. The sound of scratching proceeded. 'R-r-r-ats-s-s!' said the mendacious keeper. Jack had evidentlypaused for breath. Barrett began quite to sympathize with him. Thethought that the animal was getting farther away from the object ofhis search with every ounce of earth he removed, tickled himhugely. He would have liked to have been able to see theoperations, though. At present it was like listening t.conversation throug. telephone. He could only guess at what wasgoing on. Then he heard somebody whistling 'The Lincolnshire Poacher', astrangely inappropriate air in the mouth o. keeper. The sound wastoo far away to be the work of Jack's owner, unless he had gone fora stroll since his last remark. No, it was another keeper. newvoice came up to him. ''Ullo, Ned, what's the dog after?' 'Thinks 'e's smel. rabbit, seems to me.' ''Ain'. rabbit hole 'ere.' 'Thinks there is, anyhow. Look at the pore beast!' They both laughed. Jack meanwhile, unaware that he was turninghimself into an exhibition to mak. keeper's holiday, dugassiduously. 'Come away, Jack,' said the first keeper at length.'Ain't nothin' there. Ought to know that, clever dog like you.'
There wa. sound as if he had pulled Jack bodily from hishole. 'Wait! 'Ere, Ned, what's that on the ground there?' Barrettgasped. His pill-boxes had been discovered. Surely they would puttwo and two together now, and climb the tree after him. 'Eggs. Two of 'em. 'Ow did they get 'ere, then?' 'It's one of them young devils from the School. Master says tome this morning, "Look out," 'e says, "Saunders, for them boys ascome in 'ere after eggs, and frighten all the birds out of thedratted place. You keep your eyes open, Saunders," 'e says.' 'Well, if 'e's still in the woods, we'll 'ave 'im safe.' 'If he's still in the woods!' thought Barrett wit.shiver. After this there was silence. Barrett waited for what he thoughtwas a quarter of an hour--it was really five minutes or less--thenhe peeped cautiously over the edge of his hiding-place. Yes, theyhad certainly gone, unless--horrible thought--they were waiting soclose to the trunk of the tree as to be invisible from where hestood. He decided that the possibility must be risked. He was downon the ground in record time. Nothing happened. No hand shot outfrom its ambush to clutch him. He breathed more freely, and beganto debate within himself which way to go. Up the hill it must be,of course, but should he go straight up, or to the left or to theright? He would have given much to know which way the keepers hadgone, particularly he of the dog. They had separated, he knew. Hebegan to reason the thing out. In the first place if they hadseparated, they must have gone different ways. It did not take himlong to arrive at that conclusion. The odds, therefore, were thatone had gone to the right up-stream, the other down-stream to theleft. His knowledge of human nature told him that nobody wouldwillingly walk up-hill if it was possible for him to walk on theflat. Therefore, assuming the two keepers to be human, they hadgone along the valley. Therefore, his best plan would be to makestraight for the top of the hill, as straight as he could steer,and risk it. Just as he was about to start, his eye caught the twopillboxes, lying on the tur. few yards from where he had placedthem. 'May as well take wha. can get,' he thought. He placed themcarefully in his pocket. As he did s. faint bark came to him on thebreeze from down-stream. That must be friend Jack. He waited nolonger, but dived into the bushes in the direction of the summit.He was congratulating himself on being out of danger--already hewas more than half way up the hill--when suddenly he receive.terrible shock. From the bushes to his left, not ten yards fromwhere he stood, came the clear, sharp sound o. whistle. The soundwas repeated, and this time an answer came from far out to hisright. Before he could move another whistle joined in, again fromthe left, but farther off and higher up the hill than the first hehad heard. He recalled what Grey had said about 'millions' ofkeepers. The expression, he thought, had understated the truefacts, if anything. He remembered the case of Babington. It was amoment for action. No guile could save him now. It must b. sternchase for the rest of the distance. He dre. breath, and was offlike an arrow. The noise he made was appalling. No one in the woodcould help hearing it.
'Stop, there!' shouted someone. The voice came from behind. factwhich he noted almost automatically and rejoiced at. He ha. startat any rate. 'Stop!' shouted the voice once again. The whistle blew lik.steam siren, and once more the other two answered it. They were allbehind him now. Surel. man of the public schools in flannels andgymnasium shoes, and trained to the last ounce for just suc. sprintas this, could bea. handful of keepers in their leggings and heavyboots. Barrett raced on. Close behind hi. crashing in theundergrowth and the sound of heavy breathing told him that keepernumber one was doing his best. To left and right similar soundswere to be heard. But Barrett had placed these competitors out ofthe running at once. The race was between him and the manbehind. Fifty yards of difficult country, bushes which caught hisclothes as if they were trying to stop him in the interests of lawand order, branches which lashed him across the face, andrabbit-holes half hidden in the bracken, and still he kept hislead. He was increasing it. He must win now. The man behind waspanting in deep gasps, for the pace had been warm and he was not intraining. Barrett cas. glance over his shoulder, and as he lookedthe keeper's foot caught i. hole and he fell heavily. Barrettuttere. shout of triumph. Victory was his. In front of him wa. small hollow fringed with bushes. Collectinghis strength he cleared these wit. bound. Then another of theevents of this eventful afternoon happened. Instead of the hardturf, his foot struck something soft, something which sat upsuddenly wit. yell. Barrett rolled down the slope and halfway upthe other side lik. shot rabbit. Dimly he recognized that he hadjumped on t. human being. The figure did not wear the officialvelveteens. Therefore he had no business in the Dingle. And closebehind thundered the keeper, now on his feet once more, dust on hisclothes and wrath in his heart in equal proportions. 'Look out,man!' shouted Barrett, as the injured person rose to his feet.'Run! Cut, quick! Keeper!' There was no time to say more. He ran.Another second and he was at the top, over the railing, and in thegood, honest, public high-road again, safe. hoarse shout of 'Gotyer!' from below tol. harrowing tale of capture. The stranger hadfallen into the hands of the enemy. Very cautiously Barrett leftthe road and crept to the railing again. It wa. rash thing to do,but curiosity overcame him. He had to see, or, if that wasimpossible, to hear what had happened. Fo. moment the only sound to be heard was the gasping of thekeeper. Afte. few second. rapidly nearing series of crashesannounced the arrival of the man from the right flank of thepursuing forces, while almost simultaneously his colleague on theleft came up. Barrett could see nothing, but it was easy to understand whatwas going on. Keeper number one was exhibiting his prisoner. Hisnarrative, punctuated with gasps, was told mostly in hoarsewhispers, and Barrett missed most of it. 'Foot (gasp) rabbit-'ole.' More gasps. 'Up agen ... minute ...(indistinct mutterings) ... and (triumphantly) COTCHED IM!' Exclamations of approval from the other two. 'I assure you,'said another voice. The prisoner was having his say. 'I assure youthat I was doing no harm whatever in this wood. I....'
'Better tell that tale to Sir Alfred,' cut in one of hiscaptors. ''E'll learn yer,' said the keeper previously referred to asnumber one, vindictively. He was feeling shaken up with his run andhis heavy fall, and his temper was proportionately short. 'I swear I've heard that voice before somewhere,' thoughtBarrett. 'Wonder if it'. Coll. chap.' Keeper number one added something here, which was inaudible toBarrett. 'I tell you I'm no. poacher,' said the prisoner, indignantly.'And I object to your language. tell yo. was lying here doingnothing and some fool or other came and jumped on me. I....' The rest was inaudible. But Barrett had heard enough. 'I knew I'd heard that voice before. Plunkett, by Jove! Golly,what is the world coming to, when heads of Houses andSchool-prefects go on the poach! Fancy! Plunkett of all people,too! This i. knock-out, I'm hanged if it isn't.' From below came the sound of movement. The keepers were goingdown the hill again. To Barrett's guilty conscience it seemed thatthey were coming up. He turned and fled. The hedge separating Sir Alfred Venner's land from the road wasnot a high one, though the drop the other side was considerable.Barrett had not reckoned on this. He leapt the hedge, and staggeredacross the road. At the same momen. grey-clad cyclist, who waspedalling in a leisurely manner in the direction of the School,arrived at the spot. A collision seemed imminent, but the strangeri. perfectly composed manner, as if he had suddenly made up hismind to tak. sharp turning, rode his machine up the bank, whence hefell with easy grace to the road, just in time to act a. cushionfor Barrett. The two lay there i. tangled heap. Barrett was thefirst to rise.
9. Enter the Sleuth-Hound
'I'm awfully sorry,' he said, disentangling himself carefullyfrom the heap. 'I hope you're not hurt.' The man did not reply fo. moment. He appeared to be laying thequestion before himself as an impartial judge, as who should say:'Now tell me candidly, are you hurt? Speak freely andwithout bias.' 'No,' he said at last, feeling his left leg as if he were notabsolutely easy in his mind about that, 'no, not hurt, thank you.Not much, that is,' he added with the air of one who thinks it bestto qualify too positiv. statement. 'Left leg. Shin. Slight bruise.Nothing to signify.' 'It wa. rotten thing to do, jumping over into the road likethat,' said Barrett. 'Didn't remember there'd be suc. bigdrop.' 'My fault i. way,' said the man. 'Riding wrong side of road. Outfor a run?'
'More or less.' 'Excellent thing.' 'Yes.' It occurred to Barrett that it was only due to the man on whomhe had been rolling to tell him the true facts of the case.Besides, it might do something towards removing the impressionwhich must, he felt, be forming in the stranger's mind that he wasmad. 'You see,' he said, i. burst of confidence, 'it was rathe. closething. There were some keepers after me.' 'Ah!' said the man. 'Thought so. Trespassing?' 'Yes.' 'Ah. Keepers don't like trespassers. Curious thing--don't knowif it ever occurred to you--if there were no trespassers, therewould be no need for keepers. To their interest, then, to encouragetrespassers. But do they?' Barrett admitted that they did not very conspicuously. 'No. Same with all professions. Not poaching. suppose?' 'Rather not. was after eggs. By Jove, that reminds me.' He feltin his pocket for the pill-boxes. Could they have survived thestormy times through which they had been passing? He heave. sigh ofrelief as he saw that the eggs were uninjured. He was so intent onexamining them that he missed the stranger's next remark. 'Sorry. What. didn't hear.' 'Asked i. was going right for St Austin's School.' 'College!' said Barrett wit. convulsive shudder. The most deadlyerror mortal man can make, with the exception of callin. school acollege, is to cal. colleg. school. 'College!' said the man. 'Is this the road?' 'Yes. You can't miss it. I'm going there myself. It's only abouta mile.' 'Ah,' said the man, wit. touch of satisfaction in his voice.'Going there yourself, are you? Perhaps you're one of thescholars?' 'Not much,' said Barrett, 'ask our form-beak if I'. scholar. Oh.I see. Yes, I'm there all right.'
Barrett wa. little puzzled as to how to class his companion. Noold public school man would talk of scholars. And yet he wasemphatically no. bargee. Barrett set him down a. sort of superiortourist, a Henry as opposed to an 'Arry. 'Been bit o. disturbance there, hasn't there? Cricket pavilion.Cups.' 'Rather. But how on earth--' 'How on earth di. get to hear of it, you were going to say.Well, no need to conceal anything. Fact is, down here to look intothe matter. Detective. Name, Roberts, Scotland Yard. Now we knoweach other, and if you can tell me one or two things about thisburglary, it would be a great help to me, an. should be very muchobliged.' Barrett had heard tha. detective was coming down to look intothe affair of the cups. His position was rathe. difficult one. I.sense it was simple enough. He had found the cups. He could(keepers permitting) go and fetch them now, and there would--No.There would not be an end of the matter. It would be verypleasant, exceedingly pleasant, to go to the Headmaster and thedetective, and present the cups to them wit. 'Bless you, mychildren' air. The Headmaster would say, 'Barrett, you'r. marvel.How ca. thank you sufficiently?' while the detective would observethat he had been in the profession over twenty years, but never hadhe seen so remarkable an exhibition of sagacity and acumen as this.That, at least, was what ought to take place. But Barrett'sexperience of life, short as it was, had taught him the differencebetween the ideal and the real. The real, he suspected, would inthis case be painful. Certain facts would come to light. When hadhe found the cups? About four in the afternoon? Oh. Roll-call tookplace at four in the afternoon. How came it that he was not atroll-call? Furthermore, how came it that he was marked on the listas having answered his name at that ceremony? Where had he foundthe cups? I. hollow tree? Just so. Where was the hollow tree? InSir Alfred Venner's woods. Did he know that Sir Alfred Venner'swoods were out of bounds? Did he know that, in consequence ofcomplaints from Sir Alfred Venner, Sir Alfred Venner's woods weremore out of bounds than any other out of bounds woods in the entirecounty that did not belong to Sir Alfred Venner? He did? Ah!No, the word for his guidance in this emergency, he feltinstinctively, was 'mum'. Time might provide him wit. solution. Hemight, for instance, abstract the cups secretly from theirresting-place, place them in the middle of the football field, andfind them there dramatically after morning school. Or he mightreveal his secret from the carriage window as his train moved outof the station on the first day of the holidays. There was certainto be some way out of the difficulty. But for the present,silence. He answered his companion's questions freely, however. Of theactual burglary he knew no more than any other member of theSchool, considerably less, indeed, than Jim Thomson, of Merevale's,at present staggering under the weight o. secret even more giganticthan Barrett's own. In return for his information he extractedsundry reminiscences. The scar on the detective's cheekbone, barelyvisible now, was the mark o. bullet, whic. certain burglar, named,singularly enough, Roberts, had fired at him fro. distance of fiveyards. The gentleman in question, who, the detective hastened toinform Barrett, was no relation of his, though owning the samename, happened to b. poor marksman and only score. bad outer,assuming the detective's face to have been the bull. He also turnedup his cuff to sho. larger scar. This was another testimonial fromthe
burglar world. Kensington practitioner had had the bad taste tobite off a piece of that part of the detective. In short, Barrettenlarged his knowledge of the seamy side of things considerably inthe mile of road which had to be traversed before St Austin'sappeared in sight. The two parted at the big gates, Barrett goingin the direction of Philpott's, the detective wheeling his machinetowards the porter's lodge. Barrett's condition when he turned in at Philpott's door wascritical. He was so inflated with news that any attempt to keep itin might have serious results. Certainly he could not sleep thatnight in such a bomb-like state. It was thus that he broke in upon Reade. Reade had passed anabsurdly useless afternoon. He had not stirred from the study. Forall that it would have mattered to him, it might have been raininghard the whole afternoon, instead of being, as it had been, thefinest afternoon of the whole term. I. word, and not to put toofin. point on the matter, he had been frousting, and consequentlywas feeling dull and sleepy, and generally under-vitalized andfutile. Barrett entered the study wit. rush, and was carried awayby excitement to such an extent that he addressed Reade as if thedeadly feud between them not only did not exist, but never hadexisted. 'I say, Reade. Heave that beastly book away. My aunt. have hadan afternoon of it.' 'Oh?' said Reade, politely, 'where did you go?' 'After eggs in the Dingle.' Reade was fairly startled out of his dignified reserve. For thefirst time since they had had their little difference, he addressedBarrett i. sensible manner. 'You idiot!' he said. 'Don't see it. The Dingle's just the place to spen. happy day.Like Rosherville. Jove, it's worth going there. You should see thebirds. Place is black with 'em.' 'How about keepers? See any?' 'Di. not! Three of them chased me like good 'uns all over theplace.' 'You got away all right, though.' 'Only just. say, do you know what happened? You know that rotterPlunkett. Used to b. day boy. Head of Ward's now. Wears specs.' 'Yes?' 'Well, just a. was almost out of the wood. jumpe. bush andlanded right on top of him. The man was asleep or something. Fancychoosing the Dingle of all places to sleep in, where you can't g.couple of yards without running int. keeper! He hadn't even thesense to run. I yelled to him to
look out, and the. hooked itmyself. And then the nearest keeper, who'd just come dow. busterove. rabbit-hole, sailed in and had him. couldn't do anything, ofcourse.' 'Jove, there'll b. fair-sized row about this. The Old Man's onto trespassing like tar. say, think Plunkett'll say anything aboutyou being there too?' 'Shouldn't think so. For one thin. don't think he recognized me.Probably doesn't know me by sight, and he was fast asleep, too. No,I fancy I'm all right.' 'Well, it wa. jolly narrow shave. Anything else happen?' 'Anything else! Jus. bit. That's to say, no, nothing much else.No.' 'Now then,' said Reade, briskly. 'None of your beastlymysteries. Out with it.' 'Look here, swear you'll keep it dark?' 'Of cours. will.' 'On your word of honour?' 'If you think--' began Reade in an offended voice. 'No, it's all right. Don't get shirty. The thing is, though,it's so frightfully important to keep it dark.' 'Well? Buck up.' 'Well, you needn't believe me, of course, but I've found thepots.' Reade gasped. 'What!' he cried. 'The pot for the quarter?' 'And the one for the hundred yards. Both of them. It'.fact.' 'But where? How? What have you done with them?' Barrett unfolded his tale concisely. 'You see,' he concluded, 'wha. hole I'm in. can't tell the OldMan anything about it, o. get booked for cutting roll-call, andgoing out of bounds. And then, while I'm waiting and wondering whatto do, and all that, the thief, whoever he is, will most likely gooff with the pots. What do you thin. ought to do?' Reade perpended.
'Well,' he said, 'all you can do is to lie low and trust toluck, as far a. can see. Besides, there's one consolation. ThisPlunkett business'll make every keeper in the Dingle twice as keenafter trespassers. So the pot man won't ge. chance of getting thethings away.' 'Yes, there's something in that,' admitted Barrett. 'It's all you can do,' said Reade. 'Yes. Unles. wrote an anonymous letter to the Old Man explainingthings. How would that do?' 'Do for you, probably. Anonymous letters always get traced tothe person who wrote them. Or pretty nearly always. No, you simplylie low.' 'Right,' said Barrett, 'I will.' The process of concealing one's superior knowledge is veryirritating. So irritating, indeed, that very few people do it.Barrett, however, was obliged to by necessity. He ha. good chanceof displaying his abilities in that direction when he met Grey thenext morning. 'Hullo,' said Grey, 'hav. good time yesterday?' 'Not bad. I've got an egg for you.' 'Good man. What sort?' 'Hanged i. know. know you haven't got it, though.' 'Thanks awfully. See anything of the million keepers?' 'Heard them oftener tha. saw them.' 'They didn't book you?' 'Rather fancy one of them saw me, bu. got away all right.' 'Find the place pretty lively?' 'Pretty fair.' 'Stay there long?' 'Not very.' 'No. Thought you wouldn't. What do you say t. small ice? There'stime before school.' 'Thanks. Are you flush?'
'Flush isn't the word for it. I'. plutocrat.' 'Uncle came out fairly strong then?' 'Rather. To the tune of one sovereign, cash. He'. jolly goodsort, my uncle.' 'So it seems,' said Barrett. The meeting then adjourned to the School shop, Barrett enjoyinghis ice all the more for the thought that his secret still wa.secret. A thing which it would in all probability have ceased tobe, had he been rash enough to confide it to K. St H. Grey, who,whatever his other merits, was very far from being the safest sortof confidant. His usual practice was to speak first, and to think,if at all, afterwards.
10. Mr Thompson Investigates
The Pavilion burglary was discussed in other places besidesCharteris' study. In the Masters' Common Room the matter came infor its full share of comment. The masters were, as at mostschools, divided into the athletic and non-athletic, and it was forthe former class that the matter possessed most interest. If it hadbeen that apple of the College Library's eye, the original MS. ofSt Austin's private diary, or even that lesser treasure, theblack-letter Eucalyptides, that had disappeared, the elder portionof the staff would have ha. great deal to say upon the subject.But, apart from the excitement caused by the strangeness of such anoccurrence, the theft o. couple of Sports prizes had littleinterest for them. On the border-line between these two castes came Mr Thompson,the Master of the Sixth Form, spelt wit. p and no relationto the genial James or the amiable Allen, with the former of whom,indeed, he was on very indifferent terms of friendship. MrThompson, though an excellent classic, had no knowledge of theinwardness of the Human Boy. He expected every member of his formnot only to be earnest--which very few members o. Sixth Formare--but also to communicate his innermost thoughts to him. His aimwas to be their confidant, the wise friend to whom they were tobring their troubles and come for advice. He was, in fact, poorman, the good young master. Now, it is generally the case at schoolthat troubles are things to be worried through alone, and anyattempt at interference is usually resented. Mr Thompson had askedJim to tea, and, while in the very act of passing him the muffins,had embarked o. sort of unofficial sermon, winding up by invitingconfidences. Jim had naturally been first flippant, and then rude,and relations had been strained ever since. 'It must have bee. professional,' alleged Perkins, the master ofthe Upper Fourth. 'If it hadn't been for the fact of the moneyhaving been stolen as well as the cups. should have put it down toone of our fellows.' 'My dear Perkins,' expostulated Merevale.
'My dear Merevale, my entire form is capable of any crime exceptthe theft of money. boy might have taken the cups fo. joke, or justfor the excitement of the thing, meaning to return them in time forthe Sports. But the two pounds knocks that on the head. It musthave been a professional.' 'I always said that the Pavilion wa. very unsafe place in whichto keep anything of value,' said Mr Thompson. 'You were profoundly right, Thompson,' replied Perkins. 'Youdeserve a diploma.' 'This business is rather in your line, Thompson,' said Merevale.'You must bring your powers to bear on the subject, and scent outthe criminal.' Mr Thompson too. keen pride in his powers of observation. Hewould frequently observe, like the lamented Sherlock Holmes, thevital necessity of taking notice of trifles. The daily life o.Sixth Form master a. big public school does not afford much scopefor the practice of the detective art, but Mr Thompson had oncedetected a piece of cribbing, when correcting some Latin proses forthe master of the Lower Third, solely by the exercise of his powersof observation, and he had never forgotten it. He burned to addanother scalp to his collection, and this Pavilion burglary seemedpeculiarly suited to his talents. He had given the matter hisattention, and, as far as he could see, everything pointed to thefact that skilled hands had been at work. From eleven until half-past twelve that day, the Sixth weredoing an unseen examination under the eye of the Headmaster, and MrThompson was consequently off duty. He took advantage of this tostroll down to the Pavilion and mak. personal inspection of thefirst room, from which what were left of the prizes had long beenremoved t. place of safety. He was making his way to the place where the ground-man wasusually to be found, wit. view to obtaining the keys, when henoticed that the door was already open, and on going thither hecame upon Biffen, the ground-man, in earnest conversation wit.stranger. 'Morning, sir,' said the ground-man. He was on speaking termswith most of the masters and all the boys. Then, to his companion,'This is Mr Thompson, one of our masters.' 'Morning, sir,' said the latter. 'Weather keeps up. am InspectorRoberts, Scotland Yard. Bu. think we're in for rain soon. Yes.'Fraid so. Been asked to look into this business, Mr Thompson.Queer business.' 'Very. Migh. ask--I am very interested in this kind ofthing--whether you have arrived at any conclusions yet?' The detective eyed him thoughtfully, as if he were hunting forthe answer t. riddle. 'No. Not yet. Nothing definite.' 'I presume you take it for granted it was the work o.professional burglar.'
'No. No. Take nothing for granted. Great mistake. Prejudices oneway or other great mistake. But. think, yes. think it wasprobably--almost certainly--not done b. professional.' Mr Thompson looked rather blank at this. It shook his confidencein his powers of deduction. 'But,' he expostulated. 'Surely no one bu. practised burglarwould have take. pane of glass out so-ah--neatly?' Inspector Roberts rubbe. finger thoughtfully round the placewhere the glass had been. Then he withdrew it, and showe. small cutfrom which the blood was beginning to drip. 'Do you notice anything peculiar about that cut?' heenquired. Mr Thompson did not. Nor did the ground-man. 'Look carefully. Now do you see? No? Well, it's no. clean cut.Ragged. Very ragged. Now i. professional had cut that pane out hewouldn't have left it jagged like that. No. He would have used adiamond. Done the job neatly.' This destroyed another of Mr Thompson's premises. He had takenit for granted tha. diamond had been used. 'Oh!' he said, 'was that pane not cut b. diamond; what did theburglar use, then?' 'No. No diamond. Diamond would have left smooth surface. Smoothas a razor edge. This is lik. saw. Amateurish work. Can't say forcertain, but probably done wit. chisel.' 'Wit. chisel? Surely not.' 'Yes. Probably wit. chisel. Probably the man knocked the paneout with one blow, then removed all the glass so as to make it looklike the work of an old hand. Very good idea, but amateurish. amtold that three cups have been taken. Could you tell me how longthey had been in the Pavilion?' Mr Thompson considered. 'Well,' he said. 'Of course it's difficult to remember exactly,but I think they were placed there soon after one o'clock the daybefore yesterday.' 'Ah! And the robbery took place yesterday in the early morning,or the night before?' 'Yes.' 'Is the Pavilion the usual place to keep the prizes for theSports?'
'No, it is not. They were only put there temporarily. The BoardRoom, where they are usually kept, and which is in the mainbuildings of the School, happened to be needed until the next day.Most of us were very much against leaving them in the Pavilion, butit was thought that no harm could come to them if they were removednext day.' 'But they were removed that night, which mad. great difference,'said Mr Roberts, chuckling at his mild joke. 'I see. The. supposenone outside the School knew that they were not in their properplace?' 'I imagine not.' 'Just so. Knocks the idea of professional work on the head. Noneof the regular trade can have known this room held so much silverfor one night. No regular would look twice a. cricket pavilionunder ordinary circumstances. Therefore, it must have been somebodywho had something to do with the School. One of the boys,perhaps.' 'Really. do not think that probable.' 'You can't tell. Never does to form hasty conclusions. Boy mighthave done it for many reasons. Some boys would have done it for thesake of the excitement. That, perhaps, is the least possibleexplanation. But you get boy kleptomaniacs just as much inproportion as grown-up kleptomaniacs. kne. man. Ha. son. Couldn'tkeep him away from anything valuable. Had to take him away i. hurryfrom three schools, good schools, too.' 'Really? What became of him? He did not come to us.suppose?' 'No. Somebody advised the father to send him to one of thoseNorth-Country schools where they flog. Great success. Stole somemoney. Got flogged, instead of expelled. Did it again with sameresult. Gradually got tired of it. Reformed character now.... don'tsay it is a boy, mind you. Most probably not. Only say it maybe.' All the while he was talking, his eyes were moving restlesslyround the room. He came to the window through which Jim hadeffected his entrance, and paused before the broken pane. 'I suppose he tried that window first, before going round to theother?' hazarded Mr Thompson. 'Yes. Most probably. Broke it, and then remembered that anyoneat the windows of the boarding Houses might see him, so left hisjob half done, and shifted his point of action. think so. Yes.' He moved on again till he came to the other window. Then he gavevent to an excited exclamation, and picked u. piece of caked mudfrom the sill as carefully as if it were some fragile treasure. 'Now, see this,' he said. 'This was wet when the robbery wasdone. The man brought it in with him. On his boot. Left it on thesill as he climbed in. Got out i. hurry, startled by something--
youcan see he was startled and left i. hurry from the different valuesof the cups he took--and as he was going, put his hand on this.Lef. clear impression. Good as plaster of Paris very nearly.' Mr Thompson looked at the piece of mud, and there, sure enough,was the distinct imprint of the palm o. hand. He could see thelarger of the lines quite clearly, and unde. magnifying-glass therewas no doubt that more could be revealed. He drew i. long breath of satisfaction and excitement. 'Yes,' said the detective. 'That piece of mud couldn't proveanything by itself, but bring it up at the end o. long string ofevidence, and if it fits your man, it convicts him as much a.snap-shot photograph would. Morning, sir. must be going.' And heretired, carrying the piece of mud in his hand, leaving Mr Thompsonin the full grip of the detective-fever, hunting with might andmain for more clues. After some time, however, he was reluctantly compelled to giveup the search, for the bell rang for dinner, and he always lunched,as did many of the masters, in the Great Hall. During the course ofthe meal he exercised his brains without pause in the effort todiscover a fitting suspect. Did he know of any victim ofkleptomania in the School? No, he was sorry to say he did not. Wasanybody in urgent need of money? He could not say. Very probablyyes, but he had no means of knowing. After lunch he went back to the Common Room. There wa. letterlying on the table. He picked it up. It was addressed to 'J.Thomson, St Austin's.' Now Mr Thompson's Christian name was John.He did not notice the omission of the p until he had openedthe envelope and caugh. glimpse of the contents. The letter was soshort that only a glimpse was needed, and it was not till he hadread the whole that he realized that it was somebody else's letterthat he had opened. This was the letter: 'Dear Jim--Frantic haste. Can you let me have that two poundsdirectly you come back? Beg, borrow, or steal it. simply must haveit.--Yours ever, Allen.'
11. The Sports
Sports weather at St Austin's was a. rul. quaint but unpleasantsolution of mud, hail, and iced rain. These were taken a. matter ofcourse, and the School counted it as something gained when theywere spared the usual cutting east wind. This year, however, occurred that invaluable exception which isso useful in proving rules. There was no gale, onl. gentle breeze.The sun was positively shining, and there wa. general freshness inthe air which would have mad. cripple cast away his crutches, and,after backing himself heavily both ways, enter for the Strangers'Hundred Yards.
Jim had wandered off alone. He was feeling too nervous at thethought of the coming mile and all it meant to him to move insociety for the present. Charteris, Welch, and Tony, going outshortly before lunch to inspect the track, found him already on thespot, and i. very low state of mind. 'Hullo, you chaps,' he said dejectedly, as they came up. 'Hullo.' 'Our James is preoccupied,' said Charteris. 'Why this jaundicedair, Jim? Look at our other Thompson over there.' 'Our other Thompson' was at that moment engaged in conversationwith the Headmaster at the opposite side of the field. 'Look at him,' said Charteris, 'prattling away as merrily a.little che-ild to the Old Man. You should tak. lesson fromhim.' 'Look here. say,' said Jim, afte. pause, 'I believe there'ssomething jolly queer up between Thompson and the Old Man, and Ibelieve it's about me.' 'What on earth makes you think that?' asked Welch. 'It's his evil conscience,' said Charteris. 'No one who hadn'tcommitted the awful crime that Jim has, could pay the leastattention to anything Thompson said. What does our friendThucydides remark on the subject?-'"Conscia mens recti, nec si sinit esse dolorem Sed revocare gradum." Very well then.' 'But why should you think anything's up?' asked Tony. 'Perhaps nothing is, but it's jolly fishy. You see Thompson andthe Old 'Un pacing along there? Well, they've been going like thatfor about twenty minutes. I've been watching them.' 'But you can't tell they're talking about you, you rotter,' saidTony. 'For all you know they may be discussing the exams.' 'Or why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings,'put in Charteris. 'Or anything,' added Welch profoundly. 'Well, al. know is that Thompson's been doing all the talking,and the Old Man's been getting more and more riled.'
'Probably Thompson's been demandin. rise of screw or asking fora small loan or something,' said Charteris. 'How long have you beenwatching them?' 'About twenty minutes.' 'From here?' 'Yes.' 'Why didn't you go and join them? There's nothing like tact. Ifyou were to go and ask the Old Man why the whale wailed orsomething after that style it 'ud buck him up lik. tonic. wish youwould. And then you could tell him to tell you all about it and seeif you couldn't do something to smooth the wrinkles from hiscareworn brow and let the sunshine of happiness into his heart.He'd like it awfully.' 'Would he!' said Jim grimly. 'Well. got the chance just now.Thompson said something to him, and he spun round, saw me, andshouted "Thomson". went up and capped him, and he was starting tosay something when he seemed to change his mind, and instead ofconfessing everything, he took me by the arm, and said, "No, no,Thomson. Go away. It's nothing. will send for you later."' 'And did you knock him down?' asked Charteris. 'What happened?' said Welch. 'He gave m. shove as if he were putting the weight, and saidagain, "It's no matter. Go away, Thomson, now." S. went.' 'And you've kept an eye on him ever since?' said Charteris.'Didn't he seem at all restive?' 'I don't think he noticed me. Thompson had the floor and he waspretty well full up listening to him.' 'I suppose you don't know what it's all about?' asked Tony. 'Must be this Pavilion business.' 'Now, my dear, sweet cherub,' said Charteris, 'don't you go andmake an utter idiot of yourself and think you're found out and allthat sort of thing. Even if they suspect you they've got to proveit. There's no sense in your giving the. helping hand in thebusiness. What you've got to do is to look normal. Don't overdo itor you'll look like a swashbuckler, and that'll be worse thanunderdoing it. Can't you make yourself look less lik. convictedforger? For my sake?' 'You really do loo. bit off it,' said Welch critically. 'As ifyou were sickening for the flu., or something. Doesn't he,Tony?'
'Rather!' said that expert in symptoms. 'You simply must buckup, Jim, or Drake'll walk away from you.' 'It's disappointing,' said Charteris, 'to fin. chap who cancrack a crib as neatly as you can doubling up like this. Think howCharles Peace would have behaved under the circs. Don't disgracehim, poor man.' 'Besides,' said Jim, with an attempt at optimism, 'it isn't asif I'd actually done anything, is it?' 'Just so,' said Charteris, 'that's what I've been trying to getyou to see all along. Keep that fact steadily before you, andyou'll be all right.' 'There goes the lunch-bell,' said Tony. 'You can always tellMerevale's bell i. crowd. William rings it as if he was doing itfor his health.' William, also known in criminal circles as the Moke, was thegentleman who served the House--i. perpetual grin an. suit oflivery four sizes too large for him--a. sort of butler. 'He's an artist,' agreed Charteris, as he listened to theperformance. 'Does it as if he enjoyed it, doesn't he? Well, if wedon't want to spoil Merevale's appetite by coming in at half-time,we might be moving.' They moved accordingly. The Sports were to begin at two o'clock wit. series ofhundred-yards races, which commenced with the 'under twelve'(Cameron of Prater's a warm man for this, said those who had meansof knowing), and culminated at abou. quarter past with the openevent, for which Welch was a certainty. B. quarter to the hour theplaces round the ropes were filled, and more visitors wereconstantly streaming in at the two entrances to the School grounds,while in the centre of the ring the band of the local policeforce--the military being unavailable owing to exigencies ofdistance--were seating themselves with the grim determination ofthose who know that they are going to play the soldiers' chorus outof Faust. The band at the Sports had played the soldiers'chorus out of Faust every year for decades past, and will inall probability play it for decades to come. The Sports at St Austin's were always looked forward to byeveryone with the keenest interest, and when the day arrived, wereas regularly voted slow. In all school sports there are too manyforegone conclusions. In the present instance everybody knew, andnone better than the competitors themselves, that Welch would winthe quarter and hundred. The high jump was an equal certainty fo.boy named Reece in Halliday's House. Jackson, unless he were quiteout of form, would win the long jump, and the majority of the otherevents had already been decided. The gem of the afternoon would bethe mile, for not even the shrewdest judge of form could saywhether Jim would beat Drake, or Drake Jim. Both had done equallygood times in practice, and both were known to be in the best oftraining. The adherents of Jim pointed to the fact that he had wonthe half off Drake--b. narrow margin, true, but still he had wonit. The other side argued tha. half-mile is no criterion fo. mile,and that if Drake had timed his sprint better he would probablyhave won, for he had finished up far more strongly than hisopponent. And so on the subject of the mile, public opinion was foronce divided.
The field was nearly full by this time. The only clear spaceoutside the ropes was where the Headmaster stood to greet and talkabout the weather to such parents and guardians and othercelebrities as might pass. This habit of his did not greatly affectthe unattached members of the School, those whose parents lived indistant parts of the world and were not present on Sports Day, butto St Jones Brown (for instance) of the Lower Third, towing MrBrown, senior, round the ring, it wa. nervous ordeal to have tostand by while his father and the Head exchanged politecommonplaces. He could not help feeling that there was jus.chance (horrible thought) that the Head, searching forsomething to say, might seize upon that little matter of brokenbounds or shaky examination papers a. subject for discussion. Hewas generally obliged, when the interview was over, to conduct hisparent to the shop by way of pulling his system together again, thelatter, of course, paying. At intervals round the ropes Old Austinian number one wasmeeting Old Austinian number two (whom he emphatically detested,and had hoped to avoid), and was conversing with him i. nervousmanner, the clearness of his replies being greatly handicapped b.feeling, which grew with the minutes, that he would never be ableto get rid of him and go in search of Old Austinian number three,his bosom friend. At other intervals, present Austinians of tender years weremanoeuvring half-companies of sisters, aunts, and mothers, andtrying without much success to pretend that they did not belong tothem. pretence which came down heavily when one of the auntsaddressed them as 'Willie' or 'Phil', and wanted to know audibly if'that boy who had just passed' (the one person in the Schoolwhom they happened to hate and despise) was their best friend. Itwa. little trying, too, to have to explain in the middle o. crowdthat the reason why you were not running in 'that race' (the 'underthirteen' hundred, by Jove, which ought to have bee. gift to you,only, etc.) was because you had been ignominiously knocked out inthe trial heats. In short, the afternoon wore on. Welch won the hundred by twoyards and the quarter by twenty, and the other events fell innearly every case to the favourite. The hurdles created somethingo. surprise--Jackson, who ought to have won, coming down over thelast hurdle but two, thereby enabling Dallas to pull off anunexpected victory b. couple of yards. Vaughan's enthusiastic watchmade the tim. little under sixteen seconds, but the officialtimekeeper had other views. There were no instances of the timidnew boy, at whom previously the world had scoffed, walking awaywith the most important race of the day. And then the spectators were roused fro. state of coma by thesound of the bell ringing for the mile. Old Austinian number onegratefully seized the opportunity to escape from Old Austiniannumber two, and lose himself in the crowd. Young Pounceby-Greenwith equal gratitude left his father talking to the Head, and shotoff without ceremony to ge. good place at the ropes. In fact, therewa. general stir of anticipation, and all round the ringpaterfamilias was asking his son and heir which was Drake and whichThomson, and settling his glasses more firmly on the bridge of hisnose. The staff of The Glow Worm conducted Jim to thestarting-place, and did their best to relieve his obviousnervousness with light conversation.
'Eh, old chap?' said Jim. He had been saying 'Eh?' to everythingthroughout the afternoon. 'I said, "Is my hat on straight, and does it suit the colour ofmy eyes?"' said Charteris. 'Oh, yes. Yes, rather. Ripping,' i. far-off voice. 'And have yo. theory of the Universe?' 'Eh, old chap?' 'I said, "Did you want your legs rubbed before you start?.believe it's an excellent specific for the gout.' 'Gout? What? No. don't think so, thanks.' 'And you'll write to us sometimes, Jim, and give my love tolittle Henry, and always wear flannel next your skin, mydear boy?' said Charteris. This seemed to strike even Jim as irrelevant. 'Do shut up for goodness sake, Alderman,' he said irritably.'Why can't you go and rag somebody else?' 'My place is by your side. Go, my son, or else they'll bestarting without you. Give us your blazer. And take my tip, the tipof an old runner, and don't pocket your opponent's ball in your owntwenty-five. And come back victorious, or on the shields of yoursoldiers. All right, sir (to the starter), he's just making hiswill. Good-bye Jim. Buck up, or I'll lynch you after the race.' Jim answered by muffling him in his blazer, and walking to theline. There were six competitors in all, each of whom owne. nameranking alphabetically higher than Thomson. Jim, therefore, had theoutside berth. Drake had the one next to the inside, which fell toAdamson, the victim of the lost two pounds episode. Both Drake and Jim got off well at the sound of the pistol, andthe pace was warm from the start. Jim evidently had his eye on theinside berth, and, after hal. lap had been completed, he got it,Drake falling back. Jim continued to make the running, and led atthe end of the first lap by about five yards. Then came Adamson,followed by a batch of three, and finally Drake, taking thingsexceedingly coolly, a couple of yards behind them. The distanceseparating him from Jim was little ove. dozen yards. roar ofapplause greeted the runners as they started on the second lap, andit was significant that while Jim's supporters shouted, 'Well run',those of Drake were fain to substitute advice for approval, and cry'Go it'. Drake, however, had not the least intention of 'going it'in the generally accepted meaning of the phrase. yard or two to therear meant nothing in the first lap, and he was running quite wellenough to satisfy himself, wit. nice, springy stride, which hehoped would begin to tell soon.
With the end of the second lap the real business of the racebegan, for the survival of the fittest had resulted in eliminationsand changes of order. Jim still led, but now by only eight or nineyards. Drake had come up to second, and Adamson had dropped t. badthird. Two of the runners had given the race up, and retired, andthe last man wa. long way behind, and, to all practical purposes,out of the running. There were only three laps, and, as the lastlap began, the pace quickened, fast as it had been before. Jim wasexerting every particle of his strength. He was no. runner whodepended overmuch on his final dash. He hoped to gain so muchground before Drake made his sprint as to neutralize it when itcame. Adamson he did not fear. And now they were in the last two hundred yards, Jim by thistime some thirty yards ahead, but in great straits. Drake hadquickened his pace, and gained slowly on him. As they rounded thecorner and came into the straight, the cheers were redoubled. Itwa. great race. Then, fifty yards from the tape, Drake began hisfinal sprint. If he had saved himself before, he made up for itnow. The gap dwindled and dwindled. Neither could improve his pace.It wa. question whether there was enough of the race left for Draketo catch his man, or whether he had once more left his sprint tilltoo late. Jim could hear the roars of the spectators, and thefrenzied appeals of Merevale's House to him to sprint, but he wasalready doing his utmost. Everything seemed black to him. black,surging mist, and in its centr. thin white line, the tape. Could hereach it before Drake? Or would he collapse before he reached it?There were only five more yards to go now, and still he led. Four.Three. Two. Then something white swept past him on the right, thewhite line quivered, snapped, and vanished, and he pitched blindlyforward on to the turf at the track-side. Drake had won by afoot.
12. An Interesting Interview
For the rest of the afternoon Jim ha. wretched time. To bebeaten after suc. race b. foot, and to be beaten b. foot whenvictory would have cut the Gordian knot of his difficulties onceand for all, was enough to embitter anybody's existence. He foundit hard to accept the well-meant condolences of casualacquaintances, and still harder to do the right thing andcongratulate Drake on his victory. refinement of self-torture whichis by custom expected of the vanquished in every branch of work orsport. But he managed it somehow, and he also managed to appearreasonably gratified when he went up to take his prize for thehalf-mile. Tony and the others, who knew what his defeat meant tohim, kept out of his way, for which he was grateful. After lock -up,however, it wa. different matter, but by that time he was moreready for society. Even now there might be some way out of thedifficulty. He asked Tony's advice on the subject. Tony wasperplexed. The situation was beyond his grip. 'I don't see what you can do, Jim,' he said, 'unless the Rugbychap'll be satisfied wit. pound on account. It'. beastly business.Do you think your pater will give you your money all the same as itwas such a close finish?' Jim thought not. In fact, he was certain that he would not, andTony relapsed into silence as he tried to bring another idea to thesurface. He had not succeeded when Charteris came in. 'Jim,' he said 'you have my sympathy. It was an awfully nearthing. But I've got something more solid than sympathy. will tak.seat.'
'Don't rag, Charteris,' said Tony. 'It's much too serious.' 'Who's ragging, you rotter. sa. have something more solid thansympathy, and instead of giving me an opening, a. decent individualwould, by saying, "What?" you accuse me of ragging. James, my son,if you will postpone your suicide for two minutes. wil. taleunfold. I have an idea.' 'Well?' 'That's more like it. Now you are talking. We will startat the beginning. First, you wan. pound. So do I. Secondly, youwant it before next Tuesday. Thirdly, you haven't it on you. How,therefore, are you to get it? As the song hath it, you don't know,they don't know, but--now we come to the point--I doknow.' 'Yes?' said Jim and Tony together. 'It i. luminous idea. Why shouldn't we publis. special number ofThe Glow Worm before the end of term?' Jim was silent at the brilliance of the scheme. Then doubtsbegan to harass him. 'Is there time?' 'Time? Yards of it. This is Saturday. We start tonight, and keepat it all night, if necessary. We ought to manage it easily beforetomorrow morning. On Sunday we jellygraph it--it'll have to b.jellygraphed number this time. On Monday and Tuesday we sell it,and there you are.' 'How are you going to sell it? In the ordinary way at theshop?' 'Yes, I've arranged all that. All we've got to do is to writethe thing. As the penalty for your sins you shall take on most ofit. I'll do the editorial, Welch is pegging away at the Sportsaccount now, and I waylaid Jackson just before lock-up, and inducedhim by awful threats to knock off some verses. So we're practicallypublished already.' 'It's grand,' said Jim. 'And it's awfully decent of you chaps tofag yourselves like this for me. I'll start on something now.' 'But can you rais. sovereign on one number?' asked Tony. 'Either that, or I've arranged with the shop to give u. quiddown, and take all profits on this and the next number. They're askeen as anything on the taking-all-profits idea, but I've kept thatback to be used only in case of necessity. But the point is thatJim gets his sovereign in any case. must be off to my editorial. Solong,' and he went. 'Grand man, Charteris,' said Tony, as he leant back in his chairin search o. subject. 'You'd better weigh in with an account of theburglary. It'. pity you can't give the realistic description yougave us. It would sell like anything.'
'Wouldn't do to risk it.' At that moment the door swung violently open, with Merevaleholding on to the handle, and following it in its course. Merevalevery rarely knocked a. study door. peculiarity of his which wentfar towards shattering the nervous systems of the various inmates,who never knew when it was safe to stop work and read fiction. 'Ah,Thomson,' he said, 'I was looking for you. The Headmaster wants tosee you over at his House, if you are feeling well enough afteryour exertions. Very close thing, that mile. don't know whe.have see. better-run race on the College grounds. suppose you arefeeling pretty tired, eh?' 'I am rather, sir, bu. had better see the Head. Will he be inhis study, sir?' 'Yes. think so.' Jim took his cap and went off, while Merevale settled down tospend the evening in Tony's study, as he often did when the term'swork was over, and it was no longer necessary to keep up thepretence of preparation. Parker, the Head's butler, conducted Jim into the presence. 'Sit down, Thomson,' said the Head. Jim too. seat, and he had just time to notice that his namesake,Mr Thompson, was also present, and that, in spite of the fact thathis tie had crept up to the top of his collar, he was looking quiteunnecessarily satisfied with himself, when he became aware that theHead was speaking to him. 'I hope you are not feeling any bad effects from your race,Thomson?' Jim was half inclined to say that his effects were nil,but he felt that the quip was too subtle, and would be lost on hispresent audience, so he merely said that he was not. There wa.rather awkward silence fo. minute. Then the Head coughed, andsaid: 'Thomson.' 'Yes, sir.' 'I think it would be fairest to you to come to the point atonce, and to tell you the reason wh. wished to see you.' Jim ran over the sins which shot up in his mind like rockets ashe heard these ominous words, and he knew that this must be thematter of the Pavilion. He was, therefore, i. measure prepared forthe Head's next words. 'Thomson.'
'Yessir.' 'A very serious charge has been brought against you. You areaccused of nothing less than this unfortunate burglary of theprizes for the Sports.' 'Yes, sir. Is my accuser Mr Thompson?' The Headmaster hesitated fo. moment, and Mr Thompson spoke.'That is so,' he said. 'Yes,' said the Head, 'the accusation is brought by MrThompson.' 'Yes, sir,' said Jim again, and this time the observation wasintended to convey the meaning, 'My dear, good sir, when you'veknown him as long a. have, you won't mind what Mr Thompson says ordoes. It's a kind of way he's got, and if he's not under treatmentfor it, he ought to be.' 'I should like to hear from your own lips that the charge isgroundless.' 'Anything to oblige,' thought Jim. Then aloud, 'Yes, sir.' 'You say it is groundless?' This from Mr Thompson. 'Yes, sir.' 'I must warn you, Thomson, that the evidence against you is verystrong indeed,' said the Head. 'Without suggesting that you areguilty of this thing. thin. ought to tell you that if you have anyconfession to make, it will be greatly, very greatly, to your ownadvantage to make it at once.' 'And give myself away, free, gratis and for nothing,' thoughtJim. 'Not for me, thank you.' 'Migh. hear Mr Thompson's evidence, sir?' he asked. 'Certainly, Thomson.' He effecte. movement in Mr Thompson'sdirection, midway betwee. bow an. nod. Mr Thompson coughed. Jim coughed, too, in the same key. This putMr Thompson out, and he had to cough again. 'In the first place,' he began, 'it has been conclusively provedthat the burglary was the work of an unskilful hand.' 'That certainly seems to point to me as the author,' said Jimflippantly. 'Silence, Thomson,' said the Head, and counsel for theprosecution resumed. 'In the second place, it has been proved that you were at thetime of the burglary in great need of money.'
This woke Jim up. It destroyed that feeling of coolness withwhich he had started the interview. Awful thoughts flashed acrosshis mind. Had he been seen at the time of his burglarious entry? Atany rate, how did Mr Thompson come to know of his pecuniarytroubles? 'Did you say it had been proved, sir?' 'Yes.' 'How, sir?' He felt the question wa. mistake as he was uttering it. Yourreally injured innocent would have called all the elements towitness that he wa. millionaire. But it was too late to try thatnow. And, besides, he really did want to know how Mr Thompson hadgot to hear of this skeleton in his cupboard. The Headmaster interrupted hurriedly. 'It i. very unfortunateaffair altogether, and this is quite the most unfortunate part.letter came to the College addressed to J. Thomson, and Mr Thompsonopened and read it inadvertently. Quite inadvertently.' 'Yes, sir,' said Jim, i. tone which implied, 'I am no GeorgeWashington myself, but when you say he read it inadvertently,well--' 'This letter was signed "Allen"--' 'My brother, sir.' 'Exactly. And it asked for two pounds. Evidently in payment o.debt, and the tone of the letter certainly seemed to show that youwere not then in possession of the money.' 'Coul. have the letter, sir?' Then with respectful venom to MrThompson: 'If you have finished with it.' The letter was handedover, and pocketed, and Jim braced his moral pecker up for the nextround of the contest. 'I take it, then, Thomson,' resumed the Head, 'that you owe yourbrother this money?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Two pounds i. great deal of money for one boy to lendanother.' 'It was not lent, sir. It wa. bet.' 'A bet!' i. nasty tone from the Head. 'A bet!' i. sepulchral echo from Mr Thompson. There wa. long pause.
'At any other time,' said the Head, 'I should feel it my duty totake serious notice of this, but beside this other matter withwhich you are charged, it becomes trivial. can only repeat that thecircumstances are exceedingly suspicious, an. think it would be inyour interests to tell us all you know without further delay.' 'You take it for grante. am guilty, sir,' began Jim hotly. 'I say that the circumstances seems to point to it. In the firstplace, you were in need of money. You admit that?' 'Yes, sir.' 'In the second place,' said the Head slowly, 'in the secondplace. am told that you were nowhere to be found in the House athalf-past eight on the night of the burglary, when you oughtcertainly to have been in your study at your work.' Bombshell number two, an. worse one than the first. For themoment Jim's head swam. If he had been asked just then in so manywords where he had been at that time, it is likely that he wouldhave admitted everything. By some miracle the Head did not presshis point. 'You may go now, Thomson,' he said. 'I should like to see youafter morning school on Monday. Good-night.' 'Good-night, sir,' said Jim, and went without another word.Coming so soon after the exertion and strain of the mile, thisshock made him feel sick and dizzy. When he had gone, the Head turned to Mr Thompson wit. worriedlook on his face. 'I feel as certain a. do of anything,' he saidthoughtfully, 'that that boy is telling the truth. If he had beenguilty, he would not have behaved like that. feel sure of it.' Mr Thompson looked equally thoughtful. 'The circumstances arecertainly very suspicious,' he said, echoing the Head's own words.'I wish I could think he was innocent, bu. am bound to sa. do not.regard the evidence as conclusive.' 'Circumstantial evidence is proverbially uncertain, Mr Thompson.That is principally the reason wh. was so bent on making himconfess if he had anything to confess. can't expe. boy and ruin hiswhole career on mere suspicion. The matter must be proved, doublyproved, and even the. should feel uneasy until he owned himselfguilty. It i. most unpleasant affair. terrible affair.' 'Most,' agreed Mr Thompson. And exactly the same thing was occurring at that moment to Jim,as he sat on his bed in his dormitory, and pondered hopelessly onthis new complication that had presented itself so unexpectedly. Hewas getting very near to the end of his tether, was J. Thomson ofMerevale's. It seemed to him, indeed, that he had reached italready. Possibly if he had ha. clearer conscience an. largerexperience, he might have recognized that the evidence which MrThompson had
described as conclusive, was in reality not strongenough to han. cat on. Unfortunately, he did not enjoy thoseadvantages.
13. Sir Alfred Scores
Soon after Jim had taken his departure, Mr Thompson, afterwaiting a few minutes in case the Headmaster had anything more tosay, drifted silently out of the room. The Head, like the gentlemanin the ballad, continued to wea. worried look. The more he examinedthe matter, the less did he know what to make of it. He believed,as he had said to Mr Thompson, that Jim was entirely innocent. Itwas an incredible thing, he thought, tha. public school boy.School-prefect, too, into the bargain, should break out of hisHouse and int. cricket pavilion, however grea. crisis his financesmight be undergoing. And then to steal two of the prizes for theSports. Impossible. Against this, however, must be placed the theftof the two pounds. It might occur to a boy, as indeed Mr Thompsonhad suggested, to steal the cups in order to give the impressiontha. practised burglar had been at work. There was certainlysomething to be said in favour of this view. But he would neverbelieve suc. thing. He wa. good judge of character--a headmastergenerally is--and he thought he could tell whe. boy was speakingthe truth and when he was not. His reflections were interrupted b. knock at the door. Thebutler entered wit. card o. tray. 'Sir Alfred Venner, M.P.,Badgwick Hall,' said--almost shouted--the card. He read the wordswithout any apparent pleasure. 'Is Sir Alfred here himself, Parker?' he said. 'He is, sir.' The Headmaster sighed inaudibly but very wearily. He was feelingworried already, and he knew from experience tha.tete-a-tete with Sir Alfred Venner, M.P., of Badgwick Hall,would worry him still more. The Head wa. man who tried his very hardest to like each and allof his fellow-creatures, but he felt bound to admit that he likedmost peopl. great. very great, deal better than he liked thegentleman who had just sent in his card. Sir Alfred's manner alwaysjarred upon him. It was so exactly the antithesis of his own. Hewas quiet and dignified, and addressed everybody alike,courteously. Sir Alfred was restless and fussy. His manner wasalways dictatorial and generally rude. When he had risen in theHouse to make his maiden speech, calling the attention of theSpeaker to what he described as 'a thorough draught', he hadaddressed himself with such severity to that official, tha. partyof Siamese noblemen, who, though not knowin. word of English, hadcome to listen to the debate, had gone away with the impressionthat he was the prime minister. No wonder the Headmastersighed. 'Show him in, Parker,' said he resignedly. 'Yessir.'
Parker retired, leaving the Head to wonder what his visitor'sgrievance might be this time. Sir Alfred rarely called withou.grievance, generally connected with the trespassing of the Schoolon his land. 'Good evening, Sir Alfred,' he said, as his visitor whirled intothe room. 'O-o-o, this sort of thing won't do, you know, Mr Perceval,'said Sir Alfred fussily, adjustin. pair of gold pince-nez on hisnose. The Head's name, which has not before been mentioned, was theReverend Herbert Perceval, M.A. He had shivered at the sound of the'O-o-o' which had preceded Sir Alfred's remark. He knew, as didother unfortunate people, that the great man was at his worst whenhe said 'O-o-o'. In moments of comparative calm he said 'Er'. 'I can't put up with it, you know, Mr Perceval. It's too much.great deal too much.' 'You refer to--?' suggested the Head, wit. patience that did himcredit. 'This eternal trespassing and tramping in and out of my groundsall day.' 'You have been misinformed. fear, Sir Alfred. have nottrespassed in your grounds for--ah--a considerable time.' The Headcould not resist this thrust. In his unregenerate 'Varsity days hehad been a power at the Union, where man. foeman had exposedhimself t. verbal counter from him with disastrous results. Now thefencing must be done with buttons on the foils. 'You--what--I don't follow you, Mr Perceval.' 'I understand you to reproach me for trespassingand--ah--tramping in and out of your grounds all day. Was that notyour meaning?' Sir Alfred almost danced with impatience. 'No, no, no. You misunderstand me. You don't follow mydrift.' 'In that case. beg your pardon. gathered from the extremeseverity of your attitude towards me tha. was the person to whomyou referred.' 'No, no, no. I've come here to complain of your boys.' It occurred to the Head to ask if the complaint embraced theentire six hundred of them, or merely referred to one of them. Buthe reflected that the longer he fenced, the longer his visitorwould stay. And he decided, in spite of the illicit pleasure to bederived from the exercise, that it was not worth while. 'Ah,' he said. 'Yes,' continued Sir Alfred, 'my keepers tell me the woods werefull of them, sir.'
The Head suggested that possibly the keepers hadexaggerated. 'Possibly. Possibly they may have exaggerated. But that is notthe point. The nuisance is becoming intolerable, Mr Perceval,perfectly intolerable. It is time to take steps.' 'I have already done all that can be done. have placed your landout of bounds, considerably out of bounds indeed. An. inflict theseverest penalties whe. breach of the rule is reported to me.' 'It's not enough. It's not nearly enough.' 'I can scarcely do more. fear, Sir Alfred. There are more thansix hundred boys at St Austin's, and it is not within my power toplace them all under my personal supervision.' Here the Head, who had an eye to the humorous, conjured u.picture of six hundred Austinians going for walks, two and two, thestaff posted at intervals down the procession, and himself bringingup the rear. He mad. mental mem. to laugh when his visitor hadretired. 'H'm,' said the baffled M.P. thoughtfully, adjusting hispince-nez once more. ''M no. No, perhaps not. But'--here hebrightened up--'you can punish them when they do trespass.' 'That is so, Sir Alfred. can and invariably do.' 'Then punish that what's-his-name, Plinkett, Plunkett--I've gotthe name down somewhere. Yes, Plunkett. thought so. PunishPlunkett.' 'Plunkett!' said the Head, taken completely by surprise. He, incommon with the rest of the world, had imagined Plunkett to b.perfect pattern of what should be. headmaster, like other judges ofcharacter, has his failures. 'Plunkett. Yes, that is the name. Boy with spectacles. Goodgracious, Mr Perceval, don't tell me the boy gave m. falsename.' 'No. His name is Plunkett. A. to understand that he wastrespassing on your land? Surely there is some mistake? The boy's aSchool-prefect.' Here it suddenly flashed upon his mind that he had used thatexpression before in the course of the day, on the occasion when MrThompson first told him of his suspicions in connection with Jim.'Why, Mr Thompson, the boy'. School-prefect,' had been his exactwords. School-prefects had been in his eyes above suspicion. It i.bad day fo. school when they are not so. Had that day arrived forSt Austin's? he asked himself. 'He may b. School-prefect, Mr Perceval, but the fact remainsthat he i. trespasser, and ought from your point of view to bepunished for breaking bounds.' The Head suddenly looked almost cheerful again.
'Of course,' he said, 'of course. thought that there must be anexplanation. The rules respecting bounds, Sir Alfred, do not applyto School-prefects, only to the rest of the School.' 'Indeed?' said Sir Alfred. His tone should have warned the Headthat something more was coming, but it did not. He continued. 'Of course it was very wrong of him to trespass on your land,but I have no doubt that he did it quite unintentionally. willspeak to him, an. thin. can guarantee that he will not do itagain.' 'Oh,' said his visitor. 'That is very gratifying. am sure. MightI ask, Mr Perceval, if Schoolprefects at St Austin's have anyother privileges?' The Head began to look puzzled. There was something in hisvisitor's manner which suggested unpleasant possibilities. 'A few,' he replied. 'They hav. few technical privileges, whichit would b. matter of some little time to explain.' 'It must be very pleasant to b. prefect at St Austin's,' saidSir Alfred nastily. 'Very pleasant indeed. Migh. ask, Mr Perceval,if the technical privileges to which you referinclude--smoking?' The Head started as if, supposing suc. thing possible, someonehad pinched him. He did not know what to make of the question. Fromthe expression on his face his visitor did not appear to beperpetrating a joke. 'No,' he said sharply, 'they do not include smoking.' 'I merely asked because this was found by my keeper on the boywhen he caught him.' He produce. small silver match-box. The Head breathed again. Thereputation of the Schoolprefect, though shaky, was still able tocome up to the scratch. 'A match-box is scarcel. proof tha. boy has been smoking.think,' said he. 'Many boys carry matches for various purposes.believe. I myself, thoug. non-smoker, frequently plac. box in mypocket.' For answer Sir Alfred lai. bloated and exceedinglyvulgar-looking plush tobacco-pouch on the table beside thematch-box. 'That also,' he observed, 'was found in his pocket by mykeeper.' He dived his hand once more into his coat. 'And also this,' hesaid. And, with the air o. card-player who trumps his opponent's ace,he placed on the pouc. pipe. And, to make the matter, if possible,worse, the pipe was no. new pipe. It was caked within and
colouredwithout. pipe that had seen long service. The only mitigatingcircumstance that could possibly have been urged in favour of theaccused, namely that of 'first offence', had vanished. 'It is pleasant,' said Sir Alfred with laborious sarcasm, 'tofind a trespasser doin. thing which has caused the dismissal ofseveral keepers. Smoking in my woods I--will--not--permit. will nothave my property burnt down whil. can prevent it. Good evening, MrPerceval.' With these words he mad. dramatic exit. For some minutes after he had gone the Head remained where hestood, thinking. Then he went across the room and touched thebell. 'Parker,' he said, when that invaluable officer appeared, 'goacross to Mr Ward's House, and tell hi. wish to see Plunkett. Sa.wish to see him at once.' 'Yessir.' After ten minutes had elapsed, Plunkett entered the room,looking nervous. 'Sit down, Plunkett.' Plunkett collapsed int. seat. His eye had caught sight of thesmoking apparatus on the table. The Head paced the room, something after the fashion of thetiger at the Zoo, whose clock strikes lunch. 'Plunkett,' he said, suddenly, 'you ar. School-prefect.' 'Yes, sir,' murmured Plunkett. The fact was undeniable. 'You know the duties o. School-prefect?' 'Yes, sir.' 'And yet you deliberately break one of the most important rulesof the School. How long have you been in the habit of smoking?' Plunkett evaded the question. 'My father lets me smoke, sir, when I'm at home.' (A hasty word in the reader's ear. If ever you are accused ofsmoking, please--for my sake, if not for your own--try to refrainfrom saying that your father lets you do it at home. It i. fatalmistake.) At this, to emplo. metaphor, the champagne of the Head's wrath,which had been fermenting steadily during his late interview, gotthe better of the cork of self-control, and he exploded. If theMutual Friend ever has grandchildren he will probably tell themwith bated breath the story of
how the Head paced the room, and thelegend of the things he said. But it will be some time before hewill be able to speak about it with any freedom. At last there wa.lull in the storm. 'I am not going to expel you, Plunkett. But you cannot come backafter the holidays. will write to your father to withdraw you.' Hepointed to the door. Plunkett departed in level time. 'What did the Old 'Un want you for?' asked Dallas, curiously,when he returned to the study. Plunkett had recovered himself by this time sufficiently to beable to tel. lie. 'He wanted to tell me he'd heard from my father about myleaving.' 'About your leaving!' Dallas tried to keep his voice as free aspossible from triumphant ecstasy. 'Are you leaving? When?' 'This term.' 'Oh!' said Dallas. It was an uncomfortable moment. He felt thatat least some conventional expression of regret ought to proceedfrom him. 'Don't trouble to lie about being sorry,' said Plunkett wit.sneer. 'Thanks,' said Dallas, gratefully, 'since you mention it. ratherthin. won't.'
14. The Long Run
Vaughan came up soon afterwards, and Dallas told him the greatnews. They were neither of them naturally vindictive, but theMutual Friend had bee. heavy burden to them during his stay in theHouse, and they did not attempt to conceal from themselves theirunfeigned pleasure at the news of his impending departure. 'I'll never say another word against Mr Plunkett, senior, in mylife,' said Vaughan. 'He'. philanthropist. wonder what the Mutual'sgoing to do? Gentleman of leisure, possibly. Unless he's going tothe 'Varsity.' 'Same thing, rather. don't kno. bit what he's going to do, and Ican't sa. care much. He's going, that's the main point.' 'I say,' said Vaughan. 'I believe the Old Man was holdin. sortof reception tonight. know he had Thomson over to his House. Do youthink there'. row on?' 'Oh. don't know. Probably only wanted to see if he was all rightafter the mile. By Jove, it wa. bit o. race, wasn't it?' And theconversation drifted off into matters athletic.
There were two persons that night who slept badly. Jim lay awakeuntil the College clock had struck three, going over in his mindthe various points of his difficulties, on the chance of findin.solution of them. He fell asleep a. quarter past, without havingmade any progress. The Head, also, passe. bad night. He was annoyedfor many reasons, principally, perhaps, because he had allowed SirAlfred Venner to score so signa. victory over him. Besides that, hewas not easy in his mind about Jim. He could not come t. decision.The evidence was all against him, but evidence is noted for itsuntrustworthiness. The Head would have preferred to judge thematter from his knowledge of Jim's character. But after thePlunkett episode he mistrusted his powers in that direction. Hethought the matter over fo. time, and then, finding himself unableto sleep, got up and wrote an article for a leading review on thesubject of the Doxology. The article was subsequentlyrejected--which proves that Providence is not altogether incapableo. kindly action-but it served its purpose by sending its authorto sleep. Barrett, too, though he did not allow it to interfere with hisslumbers, was considerably puzzled as to what he ought to do aboutthe cups which he had stumbled upon in the wood. He scarcely feltequal to going to the Dingle again to fetch them, and yet everyminute he delayed made the chances of their remaining there moreremote. He rather hoped that Reade would think of some way out ofit. He had a great respect for Reade's intellect, though he did notalways show it. The next day was the day of the Inter-Housecross-country race. It was always fixed for the afternoon afterSports Day. most inconvenient time for it, as everybody who hadexerted or over-exerted himself the afternoon before was unable todo himself justice. Today, contrary to general expectation, bothDrake and Thomson had turned out. The knowing ones, however, wereprepared to bet anything you liked (except cash), that both woulddrop out before the first mile was over. Merevale's pinned theirhopes on Welch. At that time Welch had not done much longdistancerunning. He confined himself to the hundred yards and the quarter.But he had it in him to do great things, as he proved in thefollowing year, when he won the half, and would have beaten thegreat Mitchell-Jones record for the mile, but for an accident, orrather an event, which prevented his running. The tale of which istold elsewhere. The course for the race wa. difficult one. There were hedges andbrooks to be negotiated, and, worst of all, ploughed fields. Thefirst ploughed field usually thinned the ranks of the competitorsconsiderably. The distance was about ten miles. The race started at three o'clock. Jim and Welch, Merevale'sfirst string, set the pace from the beginning, and gradually drewaway from the rest. Drake came third, and following him the rest ofthe Houses in a crowd. Welch ran easily and springily; Jim with more effort. He feltfrom the start that he could not last. He resolved to do his bestfor the honour of the House, but just as the second mile wasbeginning, the first of the ploughed fields appeared in view,stretching, so it appeared to Jim, right up to the horizon. Hegroaned. 'Go on, Welch,' he gasped. 'I'm done.' Welch stopped short in his stride, and eyed him critically.
'Yes,' he said, 'better get back to the House. You overdid ityesterday. Lie down somewhere. G'bye.' And he got into his strideagain. Jim watched his figure diminish, until at last it was ashapeless dot of white against the brown surface. Then he lay downon his back and panted. It was in this attitude that Drake found him. Fo. moment analmost irresistible wish seized him to act in the same way. Therewas an unstudied comfort about Jim's pose which appealed to himstrongly. His wind still held out, but his legs were beginning tofeel as if they did not belong to him at all. He pulled up for aninstant. 'Hullo,' he said, 'done up?' For reply Jim merely grunted. 'Slacker,' said Drake. 'Where's Welch?' 'Miles ahead.' 'Oh Lord!' groaned Drake and, pulling himself together, set outpainfully once more across the heavy surface of the field. Jim lay where he wa. little longer. The recollection of theother runners, who might be expected to arrive shortly, stirred himto action. He did not wish to interview everyone on the subject ofhis dropping out. He struck off at right angles towards the hedgeon the left. As he did so, the first of the crowd entered thefield. Simpson major, wearing the colours of Perkins's Houseon his manly bosom, was leading. Behind him cam. group of four, twoSchool House, Dallas of Ward's, an. representative of Prater's.minute later they were followed b. larger group, consisting thistime of twenty or more runners--all that was left of the fifty whohad started. The rest had dropped out at the sight of the ploughedfield. Jim watched the procession vanish over the brow of the hill,and, as it passed out of sight, began to walk slowly back to theSchool again. He reached it at last, only to find it almost entirely deserted.In Merevale's House there was nobody. He had hoped that Charterisand Tony might have been somewhere about. When he had changed intohis ordinary clothes, he mad. tour of the School grounds. The onlysign of life, as far as he could see, was Biffen, who wassuperintending the cutting of the grass on the cricketfield.During the winter Biffen always disappeared, nobody knew where,returning at the beginning of Sports Week to begin preparations forthe following cricket season. It had been stated that during thewinter he shut himself up and lived on himself after the fashion o.bear. Others believed that he went and worked in some Welsh mineuntil he was needed again at the School. Biffen himself was notcommunicative on the subject. fact which led a third party to putforward the awful theory that he wa. professional associationplayer and feared to mention his crime i. school which worshippedRugby. 'Why, Mr Thomson,' he said, as Jim came up, 'I thought you wasrunning. Whoa!' The last remark was addressed t. bored-lookinghorse attached to the mowing-machine. From the expression on
itsface, the animal evidently voted the whole process purefoolishness. He pulled up without hesitation, and Biffen turned toJim again. 'Surely they ain't come back yet?' he said. 'I have,' said Jim. 'I did myself up rather in the mileyesterday, and couldn't keep up the pace. dropped out at thatawfully long ploughed field by Parker's Spinney.' Biffen nodded. 'And 'oo was winning, sir?' 'Well, Welch was leading, the las. saw of it. Shouldn't wonderif he won either. He was going all right. say, the place seemsabsolutely deserted. Isn't anybody about?' 'Just what Mr MacArthur was saying to me just this minute, sir.'E went into the Pavilion.' 'Good. I'll go and hunt for him.' Biffen 'clicked' the blase horse into movement again. Jimwent to the Pavilion and met the Babe coming down the steps. 'Hullo, Babe. was looking for you.' 'Hullo! Why aren't you running?' 'Dropped out. Come and have tea in my study.' 'No, I'll tell you what. You come back with me. I've got rathera decent do. want to show you. Only got him yesterday.' Jim revelled in dogs, so he agreed instantly. The Babe livedwith his parents i. big house abou. mile from the College, and inso doing was the object of much envy amongst those who had to putup with life at the Houses. Jim had been to his home once or twicebefore, and had always ha. very good time indeed there. The twostrolled off. In another hour the place began to show signs of lifeagain. The School began to return by ones and twos, most of themtaking u. position near the big gates. This was where the race wasto finish. There was a straight piece of road about two hundredyards in length before the high road was reached. It wa. sightworth seeing when the runners, paced by their respective Houses oneach side of the road, swept round the corner, and did their bestto sprint with all that was left in them after ten miles ofdifficult country. Suddenl. distant shouting began to be heard. Theleaders had been sighted. The noise increased, growing nearer andnearer, until at last it swelled int. roar, an. black mass ofrunners turned the corner. In the midst of the black was one whitefigure--Welch, as calm and unruffled as if he had been returningfro. short trot to improve his wind. Merevale's surged round him ina cheering mob. Welch simply disregarded them. He knew where hewished to begin his sprint, and he would begin it at that spot andno other. The spot he had chosen was well withi. hundred yards fromthe
gates. When he reached it, he let himself go, and from theuproar, the crowd appeared to be satisfied. long pause, and stillnone of the other runners appeared. Five minutes went by beforethey began to appear. First Jones, of the School House, andSimpson, who raced every yard of the way, and finished in the ordernamed, and then three of Philpott's House i. body. The rest droppedin at intervals for the next quarter of an hour. The Headmaster always mad. point of watching the finish of thecross-country run. Indeed, he was generally one of the last toleave. With the majority of the spectators it was enough to see thefirst five safely in. The last man and lock-up arrived almost simultaneously, and theHead went off t. well-earned dinner. He had just finished this meal, and was congratulating himselfon not being obliged to spend the evening i. series of painfulinterviews, as had happened the night before, when Parker, thebutler, entered the room. 'Well, Parker, what is it?' asked he. 'Mr Roberts, sir, wishes to see you.' Fo. moment the Head was a. loss. He could not recall any friendor acquaintance of that name. Then he remembered that Roberts wasthe name of the detective who had come down from London to lookinto the matter of the prizes. 'Very well,' he said, resignedly, 'show him into the study.' Parker bowed, and retired. The Head, after an interval, followedhim, and made his way to the study.
15. Mr Roberts Explains
Inspector Roberts was standing with his back to the door,examining a photograph of the College, when the Head entered. Hespun round briskly. 'Good evening, Mr Roberts. Pray be seated. Youwish to see me?' The detective too. seat. 'This business of the cups, sir.' 'Ah!' said the Head, 'have you made any progress?' 'Considerable. Yes, very considerable progress. I've found outwho stole them.' 'You have?' cried the Head. 'Excellent. suppose it wasThomson, then. was afraid so.'
'Thomson, sir? That was certainly not the name he gave me.Stokes he called himself.' 'Stokes? Stokes? This is curious. Perhaps if you were todescribe his appearance? Was h. tall boy, o. rather slightbuild--' The detective interrupted. 'Excuse me, sir, bu. rather fancy we have different persons inour mind. Stokes is no. boy. Not at all. Well over thirty. Redmoustache. Height, five foot seven. should say. Not more. Works a.farmhand when required, and does odd jobs at times. That's theman.' The Head's face expressed relief, as he heard this description.'Then Thomson did not do it after all,' he said. 'Thomson?' queried Mr Roberts. 'Thomson,' explained the Head, 'is the name of one of the boysat the School. am sorry to say tha. strongly suspected him of thisrobbery.' 'A boy at the School. Curious. Unusual. should have thought, fora boy to be mixed up in an affair like this. Thoug. have knowncases.' 'I was very unwilling. can assure you, to suspect him of such athing, but really the evidence all seemed to point to it. amafraid, Mr Roberts, tha. have been poaching on your preserveswithout much success.' 'Curious thing evidence,' murmured Mr Roberts, fixing with hiseye a bust of Socrates on the writing-desk, as if he wished it topay particular attention to his words. 'Very curious. Very seldomable to trust it. Case the other day. Man charged with robbery fromthe person. With violence. They gave the case to me. Workedup beautiful case against the man. No. hitch anywhere. Whole thingpractically proved. Man brings forward alibi. Proves it.Turned out that at time of robbery he had been serving seven dayswithout the option for knocking down two porters an. guard on theDistrict Railway. Yet the evidence seemed conclusive. Yes, curiousthing evidence.' He nodded solemnly at Socrates, and resumed aninterested study of the carpet. The Head, who had made several spirited attempts at speakingduring this recital, at last succeeded in getting i. word. 'You have the cups?' 'No. No, cups still missing. Only flaw in the affair. Perhap.had better begin from the beginning?' 'Exactly. Pray let me hear the whole story. am more glad tha.can say that Thomson is innocent. There is no doubt of that.hope?' 'Not the least, sir. Not the very least. Stokes is the man.'
'I am very glad to hear it.' The inspector paused fo. moment, coughed, and drifted into hisnarrative. '... Saw at once it was not the work o. practised burglar. Firstplace, how could regular professional know that the cups were inthe Pavilion at all? Quite so. Second place, work very clumsilydone. No neatness. Not the professional touch at all. Tell it i.minute. No mistaking it. Very good. Must, therefore, have beenamateur--this night only--and connected with School. Next question,who? Helpe. little there by luck. Capital thing luck, when it's notbad luck. Was passing by the village inn--you know the village inn.dare say, sir?' The Head, slightly scandalized, explained that he was seldom inthe village. The detective bowed and resumed his tale. 'A. passed the door. ran int. man coming out. I. very elevated,not to say intoxicated, state. A. matter of fact, barely able tostand. Reeled against wall, and dropped handful of money. lenthelping hand, and picked up his money for him. Not my place toarrest drunken men. Constable's! No constable there, of course.Noticed, as I picked the money up, that there wa. good deal of it.For ordinary rustic. very good deal. Sovereign and plenty ofsilver.' He paused, mused fo. while, and went on again. 'Yes. Sovereign, and quite ten shillings' worth of silver. Nowthe nature of my profession makes m. suspicious man. It struck meas curious, not to say remarkable, that suc. man should have thirtyshillings or more about him so late in the week. And then there wasanother thing. thought I'd seen this particular man somewhere onthe School grounds. Couldn't recall his face exactly, but just ha.sort of general recollection of having seen him before. happened tohave a camera with me. A. matter of fac. had been takin. fewphotographs of the place. Pretty place, sir.' 'Very,' agreed the Head. 'You photograph yourself, perhaps?' 'No. I--ah--do not.' 'Ah. Pity. Excellent hobby. However--I too. snap-shot of thisman to show to somebody who might know him better tha. did. This isthe photograph. Drunk a. lord, is he not?' He exhibite. small piece of paper. The Head examined it gravely,and admitted that the subject of the picture did not appear to beostentatiously sober. The sunlight beat full on his face, whichwore the intensely solemn expression of the man who, knowing hisown condition, hopes, by means of exemplary conduct, to conceal itfrom the world. The Head handed the photograph back without furthercomment. 'I gave the man back his money,' went on Mr Roberts, 'and sawhim safely started again, and the. set to work to shadow him. Not adifficult job. He walked very slowly, and for all he seemed tocare, the whole of Scotland Yard might have been shadowing him.Went up the street, and afte.
time turned in at one of thecottages. marked the place, and went home to develop thephotograph. Took it to show the man who looks after thecricket-field.' 'Biffen?' 'Just so, Biffen. Very intelligent man. Given m. good deal ofhelp in one way and another all along. Well. showed it to him andhe said he thought he knew the face. Was almost certain it was oneof the men at work on the grounds at the time of the robbery.Showed it to friend of his, the other ground-man. He thought same.That made it as certain as I had any need for. Went off at once tothe man's cottage, found him sober, and got the whole thing out ofhim. But not the cups. He had been meaning to sell them, but hadnot known where to go. Wanted combination of good price andcomplete safety. Very hard to find, so had kept cups hidden tillfurther notice.' Here the Head interrupted. 'And the cups? Where are they?' 'We-e-ll,' said the detective, slowly. 'It is this way. We haveonly got his word to go on as regards the cups. This man, Stokes,it seems i. notorious poacher. The night after the robbery he tookthe cups out with him on an expedition in some woods that lie inthe direction of Badgwick. think Badgwick is the name.' 'Badgwick! Not Sir Alfred Venner's woods?' 'Sir Alfred Venner it was, sir. That was the name he mentioned.Stokes appears to have been in the habit of visiting thatgentleman's property pretty frequently. He ha. regular hidingplace. sort of store where he used to keep all the game he killed.He described the place to me. It i. big tree on the bank of thestream nearest the high road. The tree is hollow. One has to climbto find the opening to it. Inside are the cups, and. should say.good deal of mixed poultry. That is what he told me, sir. shouldadvise you, i. may say so, to writ. note to Sir Alfred Venner,explaining the case, and ask him to search the tree, and send thecups on here.' This idea did not appeal to the Head at all. Why, he thoughtbitterly, was this wretched M.P. always mixed up with his affairs?Left to himself, he could have existed in perfect comfort withouteither seeing, writing to, or hearing from the great man again forthe rest of his life. 'I will think it over,' he said, 'though itseems the only thing to be done. As for Stokes. suppos. mustprosecute--' The detective raise. hand in protest. 'Pardon my interruption, sir, bu. really should advise you notto prosecute.' 'Indeed! Why?' 'It is this way. If you prosecute, you get the man his term ofimprisonment. year, probably. Well and good. But then what happens?After his sentence has run out, he comes out of prison anex-
convict. Tries to get work. No good. Nobody will look at him.Asks fo. job. People lock up their spoons and shout for the police.What happens then? Not being able to get work, tries anotherburglary. Being a clumsy hand at the game, gets caught again andsent back to prison, and so is ruined and become. danger tosociety. Now, if he is let off this time, he will go straight forthe rest of his life. Ru. mile to avoi. silver cup. He's badlyscared, an. took the opportunity of scaring him more. Told himnothing would happen this time, if the cups came back safely, butthat he'd be watched ever afterwards to see he did not get intomischief. Of course he won't really be watched, you understand, buthe thinks he will. Which is better, for it saves trouble. Besides,we know where the cups are--I feel sure he was speaking the truthabout them, he was too frightened to invent a story--and here ismost of the money. So it all ends well, i. may put it so. Myadvice, sir, an. think you will find it good advice--is not toprosecute.' 'Very well,' said the Head, 'I will not.' 'Very good, sir. Good morning, sir.' And he left the room. The Head rang the bell. 'Parker,' said he, 'go across to Mr Merevale's, and ask him tosend Thomson to me.' It was with mixed feelings that he awaited Jim's arrival. Thedetective's story had shown how unjust had been his formersuspicions, and he felt distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect ofthe apology which he felt bound to make to him. On the other hand,this feeling was more than equalled by his relief at finding thathis faith in the virtue of the genus School-prefect, thoughat fault in the matter of Plunkett, was not altogether misplaced.It made up fo. good deal. Then his thoughts drifted to Sir AlfredVenner. Struggle with his feelings as he might, the Head couldnot endure that local potentate. The recent interviewbetween them had had no parallel in their previous acquaintance,but the Head had always felt vaguely irritated by his manner andspeech, and he had always feared that matters would come t. headsooner or later. The prospect of opening communication with himonce more was not alluring. In the meantime there was his moreimmediate duty to be performed, the apology to Thomson. But thatreminded him. The apology must only be o. certain kind. It must notbe grovelling. And this fo. very excellent reason. After theapology must come an official lecture on the subject of betting. Hehad rather lost sight of that offence in the excitement of thegreater crime of which Thomson had been accused, and very nearlyconvicted. Now the full heinousness of it came back to him.Betting! Scandalous! 'Come in,' he cried, a. knock at the door roused him from histhoughts. He turned. But instead of Thomson, there appeared Parker.Parker carrie. note. It was from Mr Merevale. The Head opened it. 'What!' he cried, as he read it. 'Impossible.' Parker made nocomment. He stood in the doorway, trying to look as lik. piece offurniture as possible--which is the duty o. good butler. 'Impossible!' said the Head again.
What Mr Merevale had said in his note was this, that Thomson wasnot in the House, and had not been in the House since lunchtime. Heought to have returned at six o'clock. It was now half-past eight,and still there were no signs of him. Mr Merevale expresse. writtenopinion that this wa. remarkable thing, and the Head agreed withhim unreservedly.
16. The Disappearance of J. Thomson
Certainly the Head was surprised. He read the note again. No. There was no mistake. 'Thomson isnot in the House.' There could be no two meanings about that. 'Go across to Mr Merevale's,' he said at last, 'and ask him ifhe would mind seeing me here fo. moment.' The butler bowed his head gently, but with more tha. touch ofpained astonishment. He thought the Headmaster might show morerespect for persons. butler is not an errand-boy. 'Sir?' he said, giving the Hea. last chance, as it were, ofrealizing the situation. 'Ask Mr Merevale to step over here fo. moment.' The poor man bowed once more. The phantom o. half-smoked cigarfloated reproachfully before his eyes. He had lit i. quarter of anhour ago in fond anticipation o. quiet evening. Unles. miracle hadoccurred, it must be out by this time. And he knew as well asanybody else tha. relighted cigar is never at its best. But hewent, and in a few minutes Mr Merevale entered the room. 'Sit down, Mr Merevale,' said the Head. 'A. to understand fromyour note that Thomson is actually not in the House?' Mr Merevale thought that if he had managed to understandanything else from the note he must posses. mind of no commonorder, but he did not say so. 'No,' he said. 'Thomson has not been in the House sincelunchtime, as far a. know. It i. curious thing.' 'It is exceedingly serious. Exceedingly so. For many reasons.Have you any idea where he was seen last?' 'Harrison in my House says he saw him at about threeo'clock.' 'Ah!' 'According to Harrison, he was walking in the direction ofStapleton.' 'Ah. Well, it is satisfactory to know even as little asthat.'
'Just so. But Mace--he is in my House, too--declares that he sawThomson at about the same time cycling in the direction ofBadgwick. Both accounts can scarcely be correct.' 'But--dear me, are you certain, Mr Merevale?' Merevale nodded to imply that he was. The Head drummed irritablywith his fingers on the arm of his chair. This mystery, coming asit did after the series of worries through which he had beenpassing for the last few days, annoyed him as much as it is to besupposed the last straw annoyed the proverbial camel. 'A. matter of fact,' said Merevale, 'I know that Thomson startedto run in the long race this afternoon. met him going to thestarting-place, and advised him to go and change again. He was notlooking at all fit for suc. long run. It seems to me that Welchmight know where he is. Thomson and he got well ahead of the othersafter the start, so that if, a. expect, Thomson dropped out earlyin the race, Welch could probably tell us where it happened. Thatwould give us some clue to his whereabouts, at any rate.' 'Have you questioned Welch?' 'Not yet. Welch came back very tired, quite tired out, in factand went straight to bed. hardly liked to wake him except a. lastresource. Perhap. had better do so now?' 'I think you should most certainly. Something serious must havehappened to Thomson to keep him out of his House as late as this.Unless--' He stopped. Merevale looked up enquiringly. The Head, afte.moment's deliberation, proceeded to explain. 'I have mad. very unfortunate mistake with regard to Thomson, MrMerevale. variety of reasons led me to think that he had hadsomething to do with this theft of the Sports prizes.' 'Thomson!' broke in Merevale incredulously. 'There wa. considerable weight of evidence against him, whic.have since found to be perfectly untrustworthy, but which at thetime seemed to me almost conclusive.' 'But surely,' put in Merevale again, 'surely Thomson would bethe last boy to do suc. thing. Why should he? What would he gain byit?' 'Precisely. can understand that perfectly in the light ofcertain information whic. have just received from the inspector.But at the time, a. say. believed him guilty. even went so far asto send for him and question him upon the subject. Now it hasoccurred to me, Mr Merevale--you understand tha. put it forwardmerely as a conjecture--it occurs to me--' 'That Thomson has run away,' said Merevale bluntly.
The Head, slightly discomposed by this Sherlock-Holmes-likereading of his thoughts, pulled himself together, and said,'Ah--just so. think it very possible.' 'I do not agree with you,' said Merevale. 'I know Thomson well,and I think he is the last boy to do suc. thing. He is neithe. foolnor a coward, to put it shortly, and he would need to hav. greatdeal of both in him to run away.' The Head looked slightly relieved at this. 'You--ah--think so?' he said. 'I certainly do. In the first place, where, unless he went home,would he run to? And as he would be going home i. couple of days inthe ordinary course of things, he would hardly be foolish enough torisk expulsion in suc. way.' Mr Merevale always rather enjoyed his straight talks with theHeadmaster. Unlike most of his colleagues he stood in no awe of himwhatever. He always found him ready to listen to sound argument,and, what was better, willing to be convinced. It was so in thiscase. 'The. think we may dismiss that idea,' said the Head withvisible relief. The idea of suc. scandal occurring at St Austin'shad filled him with unfeigned horror. 'And no. think it would be aswell to go across to your House and hear what Welch has to sayabout the matter. Unless Thomson returns soon--and it is alreadypast nine o'clock--we shall have to send out search-parties.' Five minutes later Welch, enjoyin. sound beauty-sleep, began tobe possessed o. vague idea that somebody was trying to murder him.His subsequent struggles for life partially woke him, and enabledhim to see dimly that two figures were standing by his bed. 'Yes?' he murmured sleepily, turning over on to his side again,and preparing to doze off. The shaking continued. This was toomuch. 'Look here,' said he fiercely, sitting up. Then he recognizedhis visitors. As his eye fell on Merevale, he wondered whetheranything had occurred to bring down his wrath upon him. Perhaps hehad gone to bed without leave, and was being routed out to read atprayers or do some work? No, he remembered distinctly gettingpermission to turn in. What then could be the matter? At this point he recognized the Headmaster, and the last mistsof sleep left him. 'Yes, sir?' he said, wide-awake now. Merevale put the case briefly and clearly to him. 'Sorry todisturb you, Welch. know you are tired.' 'Not at all, sir,' said Welch, politely. 'But there is something we must ask you. You probably do notknow that Thomson has not returned?'
'Not returned!' 'No. Nobody knows where he is. You were probably the last to seehim. What happened when you and he started for the long run thisafternoon? You lost sight of the rest, did you not?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Well?' 'And Thomson dropped out.' 'Ah.' This from the Headmaster. 'Yes, sir. He said he couldn't go any farther. He told me to goon. And, of course. did, as it wa. race. advised him to go back tothe House and change. He looked regularly done up. think he ran toohard in the mile yesterday.' The Head spoke. 'I thought that some such thing must have happened. Where was itthat he dropped out, Welch?' 'It was just as we came t. long ploughed field, sir, by the sideof a big wood.' 'Parker's Spinney. expect,' put in Merevale. 'Yes, sir. Abou. mile from the College.' 'And you saw nothing more of him after that?' enquired theHeadmaster. 'No, sir. He was lying on his back whe. left him. should thinksome of the others must have seen him afte. did. He didn't look asif he was likely to get up for some time.' 'Well,' said the Head, as he and Merevale went out of the room,leaving Welch to his slumbers, 'we have gained little by seeingWelch. had hoped for something more. must send the prefects out tolook for Thomson at once.' 'It will b. difficult business,' said Merevale, refraining--tohis credit be it said--fro. mention of needles and haystacks. 'Wehave nothing to go upon. He may be anywhere for all we know.suppose it is hardly likely that he is still where Welch lefthim?' The Head seemed to think this improbable. 'That would scarcelybe the case unless he were very much exhausted. It is more thanfive hours since Welch saw him. can hardly believe that the worstexhaustion would last so long. However, if you would kindly tellyour House-prefects of this--' 'And send them out to search?'
'Yes. We must do all we can. Tell them to begin searching whereThomson was last seen. will go round to the other Houses. Dear me,this is exceedingly annoying. Exceedingly so.' Merevale admitted that it was, and, having seen his visitor outof the House, went to the studies to speak to his prefects. Hefound Charteris and Tony together in the former's sanctum. 'Has anything been heard about Thomson, sir?' said Tony, as heentered. 'That is just wha. want to see you about. Graham, will you goand bring the rest of the prefects here?' 'Now,' he said, as Tony returned with Swift and Daintree, thetwo remaining House-prefects, 'you all know, of course, thatThomson is not in the House. The Headmaster wants you to go andlook for him. Welch seems to have been the last to see him, and heleft him lying in a ploughed field near Parker's Spinney. You allknow Parker's Spinney, I suppose?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Then you had better begin searching from there. Go in twos ifyou like, or singly. Don't all go together. want you all to be backby eleven. All got watches?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Good. You'd better take lanterns of some sort. thin. can raisea bicycle lamp each, and there i. good moon. Look everywhere, andshout as much as you like. think he must have sprained an ankle orsomething. He is probably lying somewhere unable to move, and toofar away from the road to make his voice heard to anyone. If youstart now, you will have just an hour an. half. You should havefound him by then. The prefects from the other Houses will helpyou.' Daintree put i. pertinent question. 'How about trespassing, sir?' 'Oh, go where you like. In reason, you know. Don't go gettingthe School mixed up in any unpleasantness, of course, but rememberthat your main object is to find Thomson. You all understand?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Very good. Then start at once.' 'By Jove,' said Swift, when he had gone, 'what an unholy rag!This suits yours truly. Poor old Jim, though. wonder what the deucehas happened to him?' At that very moment the Headmaster, leaving Philpott's House togo to Prater's, was wondering the same thing. In spite of MrMerevale's argument, he found himself drifting back to his
formerbelief that Jim had run away. What else could keep him out of hisHouse more than three hours after lock-up? And he had had somereason for running away, for the conscia mens recti, thoughan excellent institution in theory, is not nearly so useful an allyas it should be in practice. The Head knocked at Prater's door,pondering darkly within himself.
17. 'We'll Proceed to Search for Thomson If He Be Above theGround'
'How sweet the moonlight sleeps on yonder haystack,' observedCharteris poetically, as he and Tony, accompanied by Swift andDaintree, made their way across the fields to Parker's Spinney.Each carrie. bicycle lamp, and at irregular intervals each brokeinto piercing yells, to the marked discomfort of certain birdsroosting in the neighbourhood, who burst noisily from the trees,and made their way with visible disgust to quieter spots. 'There's one thing,' said Swift, 'we ought to hear him if heyells on a night like this. yell ought to travel abou. mile.' 'Suppose we try one now,' said Charteris. 'Now. concerted piece,andante in six-eight time. Ready?' The next moment the stillness of the lovely spring night wasshattered b. hideous uproar. 'R.S.V.P.,' said Charteris to space in general, as the echoesdied away. But there was no answer, though they waited severalminutes on the chance of hearing some sound that would indicateJim's whereabouts. 'If he didn't hear that,' observed Tony, 'he can't be withinthree miles, that'. cert. We'd better separate. think.' They were at the ploughed field by Parker's Spinney now. 'Anybody go. coin?' asked Daintree. 'Let's toss fordirections.' Charteris produce. shilling. 'My ewe lamb,' he said. 'Tails.' Tails it was. Charteris expressed his intention of strikingwestward and drawing the Spinney. He and Tony made their waythither, Swift and Daintree moving off together in the oppositedirection. 'This is jolly rum,' said Tony, as they entered the Spinney. 'Iwonder where the deuce the man has got to?'
'Yes. It's beastly serious, really, but I'm hanged i. can helpfeeling as i. were out o. picnic. suppose it's the night air.' 'I wonder if we shall find him?' 'Not the slightest chance in my opinion. There's not the leastgood in looking through this forsaken Spinney. Still, we'd betterdo it.' 'Yes. Don't mak. row. We're trespassing.' They moved on in silence. Half-way through the wood Charteriscaught his foot i. hole and fell. 'Hurt?' said Tony. 'Only in spirit, thanks. The absolute dashed foolishness of thisis being rapidly borne in upon me, Tony. What is the good ofit? We shan't find him here.' Tony put his foot down upon these opinions with exemplarypromptitude. 'We must go on trying. Hang it all, if it comes to the worst,it's better than frousting indoors.' 'Tony, you'r. philosopher. Lead on, Macduff.' Tony was about to do so, whe. form appeared in front of him,blocking the way. He flashed his lamp at the form, and the form,prefacing its remarks wit. good, honest swearword--o. varietypeculiar to that part of the country--requested him, without anyaffectation of ceremonious courtesy, to take his something-or-otherlamp out of his (the form's) what's-its-named face, and state hisbusiness briefly. 'Surel. know that voice,' said Charteris. 'Archibald, mylong-lost brother.' The keeper failed to understand him, and said so tersely. 'Can you tell me,' went on Charteris, 'if you have seensuch a thing a. boy in this Spinney lately? We happen to have lostone. An ordinary boy. No special markings. His name is Thomson, onthe Grampian Hills--' At this point the keeper felt that he had had enough. He mad.dive for the speaker. Charteris dodged behind Tony, and his assailant, not observingthis, proceeded to lay violent hands upon the latter, who had beenstanding waiting during the conversation. 'Let go, you fool,' cried he. The keeper's hand had come smartlyinto contact with his left eye, and from there had taken u.position on his shoulder. In reply the keeper merely tightened hisgrip. 'I'll count three,' said Tony, 'and--'
The keeper's hand shifted to his collar. 'All right, then,' said Tony between his teeth. He hit up withhis left at the keeper's wrist. The hand on his collar loosed itsgrip. Its owner rushed, and as he came, Tony hit him in the partsabout the third waistcoat-button with his right. He staggered andfell. Tony hit very hard when the spirit moved him. 'Come on, man,' said Charteris quickly, 'before he gets his windagain. We mustn't be booked trespassing.' Tony recognized the soundness of the advice. They were out ofthe Spinney in two minutes. 'Now,' said Charteris, 'let's d. steady double to the road. Thisis no place for us. Come on, you man of blood.' When they reached the road they slowed down t. walk again.Charteris laughed. 'I feel just as if we'd don. murder, somehow. What an ass thatfellow was to employ violence. He went down all right, didn'the?' 'Think there'll b. row?' 'No. Should think not. He didn't see us properly. Anyhow, he wasinterfering with an officer in the performance of his duty. So werewe, I suppose. Well, let's hope for the best. Hullo!' 'What's up?' 'All right. It's only somebody coming down the road. Thought itmight be the keeper at first. Why, it's Biffen.' It was Biffen. He looked at them casually as he came up, butstopped short in surprise when he saw who they were. 'Mr Charteris!' 'The same,' said Charteris. 'Enjoyin. moonlight stroll,Biffen?' 'But what are you doing out of the 'ouse at this time of night,Mr Charteris?' 'It's this way,' said Tony, 'all the House-prefects have beensent out to look for Thomson. He's not come back.' 'Not come back, sir!' 'No. Bit queer, isn't it? The last anybody saw of him was whenhe dropped out of the long race near Parker's Spinney.'
'I seen him later than that, Mr Graham. He come on to thegrounds while I was mowing the cricket field.' 'Not really? When was that?' 'Four. 'Alf past four, nearly.' 'What became of him?' ''E went off with Mr MacArthur. Mr MacArthur took 'im off 'omewith 'im. think, sir.' 'By Jove,' said Charteris with enthusiasm. 'Now we are onthe track. Thanks awfully, Biffen, I'll remember you in my will.Come on, Tony.' 'Where are you going now?' 'Babe's place, of course. The Babe holds the clue to thisbusiness. We must get it out of him. 'Night, Biffen.' 'Good-night, sir.' Arrived at the Babe's residence, they rang the bell, and, in theinterval of waiting for the door to be opened, listened with envyto certain sounds of revelry which filtered through the windows o.room to the right of the porch. 'The Babe seems to be makin. night of it,' said Charteris.'Oh'--as the servant opened the door-'can we see Mr MacArthur,please?' The servant looked doubtful on the point. 'There's company tonight, sir.' 'I knew he was makin. night of it,' said Charteris to Tony.'It's not Mr MacArthur we want to see. It's--dash it, what's theBabe's name?' 'Robert. believe. Wouldn't swear to it.' 'Mr Robert. Is he in?' It seemed to Charteris that the form ofthis question smacked of Ollendorf. He half expected the servant tosay 'No, but he has the mackintosh of his brother's cousin'. Itproduced the desired effect, however, for after inviting them tostep in, the servant disappeared, and the Babe came on the scene,wearing a singularly prosperous expression, as if he had dinedwell. 'Hullo, you chaps,' he said.
'Sir to you,' said Charteris. 'Look here, Babe, we want to knowwhat you have done with Jim. He was seen by competent witnesses togo off with you, and he's not come back. If you've murdered him,you might let us have the body.' 'Not come back! Rot. Are you certain?' 'My dear chap, every House-prefect on the list has been sent outto look for him. When did he leave here?' The Babe reflected. 'Six. should think. Little after, perhaps. Why--oh Lord!' He broke off suddenly. 'What's up?' asked Tony. 'Wh. sent him b. short cut through some woods close by here, andI've only just remembered there'. sort of quarry in the middle ofthem. I'll bet he's in there.' 'Great Scott, man, what sort o. quarry. like the calm way theBabe talks of sending unsuspecting friends into quarries.Deep?' 'Not very, thank goodness. Still, if he fell down he might notbe able to get up again, especially if he'd hurt himself at all.Hal. second. Let me get on some boots, and I'll come out and look.Shan't be long. When he came back, the three of them set out for the quarry. 'There you are,' cried the Babe, with an entirely improper pridein his voice, considering the circumstances. 'What di. tell you?'Out of the darkness in front of them cam. shout. They recognizedthe voice at once as Jim's. Tony uttere. yell of encouragement, and was darting forward tothe spot from which the cry had come, when the Babe stopped him.'Don't do that, man,' he said. 'You'll be over yourself, if youdon't look out. It's quite close here.' He flashed one of the lamps in front of him. The light fell o.black opening in the ground, and Jim's voice sounded once more fromthe bowels of the earth, this time quite close to where theystood. 'Jim,' shouted Charteris, 'where are you?' 'Hullo,' said the voice, 'who's that? You might lug me out ofhere.' 'Are you hurt?'
'Twisted my ankle.' 'How far down are you?' 'Not far. Ten feet, about. Can't you get me out?' 'Hal. second,' said the Babe, 'I'll go and get help. You chapshad better stay here and talk to him.' He ran off. 'How many of you are there up there?' asked Jim. 'Only Tony and myself,' said Charteris. 'Though. heard somebody else.' 'Oh, that was the Babe. He's gone off to get help.' 'Oh. When he comes back, wring his neck, and heave him downhere,' said Jim. 'I wan. word with him on the subject of shortcuts. say, is there much excitement about this?' 'Rather. All the House-prefects are out after you. We've beenlooking in Parker's Spinney, and Tony was reluctantly compelled toknock out a keeper who tried to stop us. You should have beenthere. It wa. rag.' 'Wis. had been. Hullo, is that the Babe come back?' It was. The Babe, with his father an. party of friends arrayedin evening dress. They carrie. ladder amongst them. The pungent remarks Jim had intended to address to the Babe hadno opportunity of active service. It was not the Babe who carriedhim up the ladder, but two of the dinner-party. Nor did the Babehav. hand in the carrying of the stretcher. That was done by asmany of the evening-dress brigade as could get near enough. Theyseemed to enjoy it. One of them remarked that it reminded him ofSouth Africa. To which another replied that it was far more lik.party of policemen gathering in an 'early drunk' in the MaryleboneRoad. The procession moved on its stately way to the Babe'sfather's house, and the last Tony and Charteris saw of Jim, he wasthe centre of attraction, and appeared to be enjoying himself verymuch. Charteris envied him, and did not mind saying so. 'Why can't I smash my ankle?' he demanded indignantly ofTony. He was nearing section five, sub-section three, of hisdiscourse, when they reached Merevale's gates. It was after eleven,but they felt that the news they were bringing entitled them to b.little late. Charteris brought his arguments t. premature end, andTony rang the bell. Merevale himself opened the door to them.
18. In Which the Affairs of Various Persons are Wound Up
'Well,' he said, 'you're rather late. Any luck?' 'We've found him, sir,' said Tony. 'Really? That'. good thing. Where was he?' 'He'd fallen dow. sort of quarry place near where MacArthurlives. MacArthur took him home with him to tea, and sent him backb. short cut, forgetting all about the quarry, and Thomson fell inand couldn't get out again.' 'Is he hurt?' 'Only twisted his ankle, sir.' 'Then where is he now?' 'They carried him back to the house.' 'MacArthur's house?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Oh, well. suppose he will be all right then. Graham, just goacross and report to the Headmaster, will you? You'll find him inhis study.' The Head was immensely relieved to hear Tony's narrative. Aftermuch internal debate he had at last come to the conclusion that Jimmust have run away, and he had been wondering how he should informhis father of the fact. 'You are certain that he is not badly hurt, Graham?' he said,when Tony had finished his story. 'Yes, sir. It's only his ankle.' 'Very good. Good-night, Graham.' The Head retired to bed that night filled wit. virtuous resolveto seek Jim out on the following day, and spea. word in season tohim on the subject of crime in general and betting in particular.This plan he proceeded to carry out as soon as afternoon school wasover. When, however, he had arrived at the Babe's house, he foundthat there was one small thing which he had left out of hiscalculations. He had counted on seeing the invalid alone. Onentering the sickroom he found there Mrs MacArthur, looking as ifshe intended to remain where she sat for several hours--which,indeed, actually was her intention--and Miss MacArthur, whose faceand attitude expressed the same, only, if anything, more so. Thefact was that the Babe. very monument of resource on occasions,had, as he told Jim, 'given them the tip not to let the Old
Man getat him, unless he absolutely chucked them out, you know'. When hehad seen the Headmaster approaching, he had gone hurriedly to Jim'sroom to mention the fact, with excellent results. The Head too. seat by the bed, and asked, wit. touch ofnervousness, after the injured ankle. This induced Mrs MacArthur toembark o. disquisition concerning the ease with which ankles aretwisted, from which she drifted easily int. discussion of Rugbyfootball, its merits and demerits. The Head, after several vainattempts to jerk the conversation into other grooves, gave it up,and listened for some ten minutes t. series of anecdotes aboutvarious friends and acquaintances of Mrs MacArthur's who had eithertwisted their own ankles or known people who had twisted theirs.The Head began to forget what exactly he had come to say thatafternoon. Jim lay and grinned covertly through it all. When theHead did speak, his first words roused him effectually. 'I suppose, Mrs MacArthur, your son has told you that we havehad a burglary at the School?' 'Hang it,' thought Jim, 'this isn't playing the game at all. Whytalk shop, especially that particular brand of shop, here?' Hewondered if the Head intended to describe the burglary, and thenspring to his feet wit. dramatic wave of the hand towards him, andsay, 'There, Mrs MacArthur, is the criminal! There lies the viperon whom you have lavished your hospitality, the snaky andsystematic serpent you have been induced by underhand means topity. Look upon him, and loathe him. He stole the cups!' 'Yes, indeed,' replied Mrs MacArthur, 'I have hear. great dealabout it. suppose you have never found out who it was that didit?' Jim lay back resignedly. After all, he had not done it, and ifthe Head liked to say he had, well, let him. He didn'tcare. 'Yes, Mrs MacArthur, we have managed to discover him.' 'And who was it?' asked Mrs MacArthur, much interested. 'Now for it,' said Jim to himself. 'We found that it wa. man living in the village, who had beendoing some work on the School grounds. He had evidently noticed thevalue of the cups, and determined to try his hand at appropriatingthem. He is well known a. poacher in the village, it seems. thinkthat for the future he will confine himself to that--ah--industry,for he is hardly likely ever to--ah--shine a. professionalhouse-breaker. No.' 'Oh, well, that must b. relief to you. am sure, Mr Perceval.These poachers ar. terrible nuisance. They do frighten the birdsso.' She spoke as if it were an unamiable eccentricity on the part ofthe poachers, which they might be argued out of, if the matter wereput before them i. reasonable manner. The Head agreed with her
androse to go. Jim watched him out of the room and then breathe. deep,satisfying breath of relief. His troubles were at an end. In the meantime Barrett, who, having no inkling as to the rateat which affairs had been progressing since his visit to theDingle, still imagined that the secret of the hollow tree belongedexclusively to Reade, himself, and one other, was much exercised inhis mind about it. Reade candidly confessed himself baffled by theproblem. Give him something moderately straightforward, and he wasall right. This secret society and dark lantern style of affairwas, he acknowledged, beyond him. And so it came about that Barrettresolved to do the only thing he could think of, and go to the Headabout it. But before he had come to this decision, the Head hadreceived another visit from Mr Roberts, as a result of which thetable where Sir Alfred Venner had placed Plunkett's pipe and otheraccessories so dramatically durin. previous interview, now boreanother burden--the missing cups. Mr Roberts had gone to the Dingle in person, and, by adroit useof the divinity which hedge. detective, had persuade. keeper tolead him to the tree where, as Mr Stokes had said, the cups hadbeen deposited. The Head's first act, on getting the cups, was to send forWelch, to whom by right of conquest they belonged. Welch arrivedshortly before Barrett. The Head was just handing him his prizeswhen the latter came into the room. It speaks well for Barrett'spresence of mind that he had grasped the situation and decided onhis line of action before Welch went, and the Head turned hisattention to him. 'Well, Barrett?' said the Head. 'If you please, sir,' said Barrett, blandly, 'ma. have leave togo to Stapleton?' 'Certainly, Barrett. Why do you wish to go?' This was something o. poser, but Barrett's brain workedquickly. 'I wanted to sen. telegram, sir.' 'Very well. But'--with suspicion--'why did you not ask MrPhilpott? Your House-master can give you leave to go toStapleton.' 'I couldn't find him, sir.' This was true, for he had notlooked. 'Ah. Very well.' 'Thank you, sir.' And Barrett went off to tell Reade that in some mysteriousmanner the cups had come back on their own account.
When Jim had congratulated himself that everything had endedhappily, at any rate as far as he himself was concerned, he hadforgotten for the moment that at present he had only one pound tohis credit instead of the two which he needed. Charteris, however,had not. The special number of The Glow Worm was due on thefollowing day, and Jim's accident lef. considerable amount of'copy' to be accounted for. He questioned Tony on the subject. 'Look here, Tony, have you time to do any more stuff for TheGlow Worm? 'My dear chap,' said Tony, 'I've not half done my own bits. AskWelch.' 'I asked him just now. He can't. Besides, he only writes atabout the rate of one wor. minute, and we must get it all in bytonight at bed-time. I'm going to sit up as it is to jellygraph it.What's up?' Tony's face had assumed an expression of dismay. 'Why,' he said, 'Great Scott. never thought of it before. If wejellygraph it, our handwriting'll be recognized, and that will givethe whole show away.' Charteris too. seat, and faced this difficulty in all itsaspects. The idea had never occurred to him before. And yet itshould have been obvious. 'I'll have to copy the whole thing out in copper-plate,' he saiddesperately at last. 'My aunt, wha. job.' 'I'll help,' said Tony. 'Welch will, too. should think, if youask him. How many jelly machine things can you raise?' 'I've got three. One for each of us. Wai. bit, I'll go and askWelch.' Welch, having first ascertained that the matter really wa.pressing one, agreed without hesitation. He had objections tospoiling his sleep without reason, but in moments of emergency heput comfort behind him. 'Good,' said Charteris, when this had been settled, 'be here assoon as you can after eleven. tell you what, we'll do the thing instyle, and brew. It oughtn't to take more than an hour or so. It'llbe rather a rag than otherwise.' 'And how about Jim's stuff?' asked Welch. 'I shall have to do that, as you can't. I've done my own bits.think I'd better start now.' He did, and with success. When he wentto bed at half-past ten, The Glow Worm was ready inmanuscript. Only the copying and printing remained to be done. Charteris was out of bed and in the study just as eleven struck.Tony and Welch, arriving half-anhour later, found him hard at workcopying out an article of topical interest i. fair, round hand,quite unrecognizable as his own.
It was an impressive scene. The gas had been cut off, as italways was when the House went to bed, and they worked by the lightof candles. Occasionally Welch, breathing heavily in his efforts tomake his handwriting look like that o. member o. board-school(second standard), blew one or more of the candles out, and theothers grunted fiercely. That was all they could do, for, forevident reasons. vow of silence had been imposed. Charteris was thefirst to finish. He leant back in his chair, and the chair, whicha. reasonable hour of the day would have endured any treatment,collapsed now wit. noise lik. pistol-shot. 'Now you've done it,' said Tony, breaking all rules by speakingconsiderably abov. whisper. Welch went to the door, and listened. The House was still. Theysettled down once more to work. Charteris lit the spirit-lamp, andbegan to prepare the meal. The others toiled painfully on at theirround-hand. They finished almost simultaneously. 'Not another stroke d. do,' said Tony, 'till I've had somethingto drink. Is that water boiling yet?' It was at exactl. quarter past two that the work wasfinished. 'Never again,' said Charteris, looking with pride at the pilesof Glow Worms stacked on the table; 'this jelly businessmakes one beastly sticky. think we'll keep to print in future.' And they did. Out of the twenty or more numbers of The GlowWorm published during Charteris' stay at School, that was theonly one that did not come from the press. Readers who havethemselves tried jellygraphing will sympathize. It i. curiousoperation, but most people will find one trial quite sufficient.That special number, however, reache. record circulation. TheSchool had got its journey-money by the time it appeared, andwanted something to read in the train. Jim's pound was raised withease. Charteris took it round to him at the Babe's house, togetherwith a copy of the special number. 'By Jove,' said Jim. 'Thanks awfully. Do you know, I'dabsolutely forgotten all about The Glow Worm. was to havewritten something for this number, wasn't I?' And, considering the circumstances, that remark, as Charteriswas at some pains to explain to him at the time, contained--whenyou came to analyse it--more cynical immorality to the cubic footthan any other half-dozen remarks he (Charteris) had ever heard inhis life. 'It passes out of the realm of the merely impudent,' he said,with a happy recollection o. certain favourite author of his, 'andsoars into the boundless empyrean of pure cheek.'
Book III. The StrikeChapter XIX. Adam Ward's Work
It was evening. The Interpreter was sitting in his wheel chairon the balcony porch with silent Billy not far away. Beyond thehills on the west the sky was faintly glowing in the last of thesun's light. The Flats were deep in gloomy shadows out of which thegrim stacks of the Mill rose toward the smoky darkness of theiroverhanging cloud. Here and there among the poor homes of
theworkers a lighted window or a lonely street lamp shone in the murkydusk. But the lights of the business section of the city gleamedand sparkled like clusters and strings of jewels, while theresidence districts on the hillside were marked by hundreds oftwinkling, starlike points. The quiet was rudely broken by a voice at the outer doorway ofthe hut. The tone was that of boisterous familiarity. "Hello! hellothere! Anybody home?" "Here," answered the Interpreter. "Come in. Or, I should say,come out," he added, as his visitor found his way through thedarkness of the living room. "A night like this is altogether toofine to spend under a roof." "Why in thunder don't you have a light?" said the visitor, witha loud freedom carefully calculated to give the effect of old andprivileged comradeship. But the laugh of hearty good fellowshipwhich followed his next remark was a trifle overdone "Ain't afraidof bombs, are you? Don't you know that the war is over yet?" The Interpreter obligingly laughed at the merry witticism, as heanswered, "There is light enough out here under the stars to thinkby. How are you, Adam Ward?" From where he stood in the doorway, Adam could see the dimfigure of the Interpreter's companion at the farther end of theporch. "Who is that with you?" demanded the Mill ownersuspiciously. "Only Billy Rand," replied the man in the wheel chairreassuringly. "Won't you sit down?" Before accepting the invitation to be seated, Adam advanced uponthe man in the wheel chair with outstretched hands, as if eagerlymeeting a most intimate friend whose regard he prized above allother relationships of life. Seizing the Interpreter's hand, heclung to it in an excess of cordiality, all the while pouring outbetween short laughs of pretended gladness, a hurried volume ofexcuses for having so long delayed calling upon his dear oldfriend. To any one at all acquainted with the man, it would havebeen very clear that he wanted something. "It seems ages since I saw you," he declared, as he seatedhimself at last. "It's a shame for a man to neglect an old friendas I have neglected you." The Interpreter returned, calmly, "The last time you called wasjust before your son enlisted. You wanted me to help you keep himat home." It was too dark to see Adam's face. "So it was, I remember now."There was a suggestion of nervousness in the laugh which followedhis words. "The time before that," said the Interpreter evenly, "was whenTom Blair was killed in the Mill. You wanted me to persuade Tom'swidow that you were in no way liable for the accident." The barometer of Adam's friendliness dropped another degree."That affair was finally settled at five thousand," he said, andthis time he did not laugh.
"The time before that," said the Interpreter, "was when your oldfriend Peter Martin's wife died. You wanted me to explain to theworkmen who attended the funeral how necessary it was for you totake that hour out of their pay checks." "You have a good memory," said the visitor, coldly, as hestirred uneasily in the dusk. "I have," agreed the man in the wheel chair; "I find it a greatblessing at times. It is the only thing that preserves my sense ofhumor. It is not always easy to preserve one's sense of humor, isit, Adam Ward?" When the Mill owner answered, his voice, more than his words,told how determined he was to hold his ground of pleasant, friendlycomradeship, at least until he had gained the object of hisvisit. "Don't you ever get lonesome up here? Sort of gloomy, ain'tit--especially at nights?" "Oh, no," returned the Interpreter; "I have many interestingcallers; there are always my work and my books and always, nightand day, I have our Mill over there." "Heh! What! Our Mill! Where? Oh, I see--yes--ourMill--that's good! Our Mill!" "Surely you will admit that I have some small interest in theMill where we once worked side by side, will you not, Adam?" "Oh, yes," laughed Adam, helping on the jest. "But let me see--Idon't exactly recall the amount of your investment--what was it youput in?" "Two good legs, Adam Ward, two good legs," returned the oldbasket maker. Again Adam Ward was at a loss for an answer. In the shadowypresence of that old man in the wheel chair the Mill owner was as awayward child embarrassed before a kindly master. When the Interpreter spoke again his deep voice was colored withgentle patience. "Why have you come to me like this, Adam Ward? What is it thatyou want?" Adam moved uneasily. "Why--nothing particular--I just thought Iwould call--happened to be going by and saw your light." There had been no light in the hut that evening. The Interpreterwaited. The surrounding darkness of the night seemed filled withwarring spirits from the gloomy Flats, the mighty Mill, theglittering streets and stores and the cheerfully lighted homes. Adam tried to make his voice sound casual, but he could notaltogether cover the nervous intensity of his interest, as he askedthe question that was so vital to the entire community. "Will theMill workers' union go out on a sympathetic strike?"
"No." The Mill owner drew a long breath of relief. "I judged you wouldknow." The Interpreter did not answer. Adam spoke with more confidence. "I suppose you know thisagitator Jake Vodell?" "I know who he is," replied the Interpreter. "He is a well-knownrepresentative of a foreign society that is seeking, through theworking people of this country, to extend its influence andstrengthen its power." "The unions are going too far," said Adam. "The people won'tstand for their bringing in a man like Vodell to preach anarchy andstir up all kinds of trouble." The Interpreter spoke strongly. "Jake Vodell no more representsthe great body of American union men than you, Adam Ward, representthe great body of American employers." "He works with the unions, doesn't he?" "Yes, but that does not make him a representative of the unionmen as a whole, any more than the fact that your work with thegreat body of American business men makes you theirrepresentative." "I should like to know why I am not a representative Americanbusiness man." It was evident from the tone of his voice that theMill owner controlled himself with an effort. The Interpreter answered, without a trace of personal feeling,"You do not represent them, Adam Ward, because the spirit andpurpose of your personal business career is not the spirit andpurpose of our business men as a whole--just as the spirit andpurpose of such men as Jake Vodell is not the spirit and purpose ofour union men as a whole." "But," asserted the Mill owner, "it is men like me who havebuilt up this country. Look at our railroads, our greatmanufacturing plants, our industries of all kinds! Look what I havedone for Millsburgh! You know what the town was when you first camehere. Look at it now!" "The new process has indeed wrought great changes inMillsburgh," suggested the Interpreter. "The new process! You mean that I have wrought greatchanges in Millsburgh. What would the new process have amounted toif it had not been for me? Why, even the poor old fools who ownedthe Mill at that time couldn't have done anything with it. I had toforce it on them. And then when I had managed to get it installedand had proved what it would do, I made them increase theircapitalization and give me a half interest--told them if theydidn't I would take my process to their competitors and put themout of business. Later I managed to gain the control and after thatit was easy." His voice changed to a tone of arrogant, triumphantboasting. "I may not be
a representative business man inyour estimation, but my work stands just the same. No manwho knows anything about business will deny that I built up theMill to what it is to-day." "And that," returned the Interpreter, "is exactly what Vodellsays for the men who work with their hands in cooeperation with menlike you who work with their brains. You say that you built theMill because you thought and planned and directed its building.Jake Vodell says the men whose physical strength materialized yourthoughts, the men who carried out your plans and toiled under yourdirection built the Mill. And you and Jake are both right toexactly the same degree. The truth is that you have alltogether built the Mill. You have no more right to think or tosay that you did it than Pete Martin has to think or to say that hedid it." When Adam Ward found no answer to this the Interpretercontinued. "Consider a great building: The idea of the structurehas come down through the ages from the first habitation ofprimitive man. The mental strength represented in the structure inits every detail is the composite thought of every generation ofman since the days when human beings dwelt in rocky caves and inhuts of mud. But listen: The capitalist who furnished the moneysays he did it; the architect says he did it; the stone mason sayshe did it; the carpenter says he did it; the mountains that gavethe stone say they did it; the forests that grew the timber saythey did it; the hills that gave the metal say they did it. "The truth is that all did it--that each individual worker,whether he toiled with his hands or with his brain, was dependentupon all the others as all were dependent upon those who lived andlabored in the ages that have gone before, as all are dependent atthe last upon the forces of nature that through the ages havelabored for all. And this also is true, sir, whether you like toadmit it or not; just as we--you and I and Pete Martin and theothers--all together built the Mill, so we all together built itfor all. You, Adam Ward, can no more keep for yourself alone thefruits of your labor than you alone and single-handed could havebuilt the Mill." The Interpreter paused as if for an answer. Adam Ward did not speak. A flare of light from, the stacks of the Mill, where the nightshift was sweating at its work, drew their eyes. Through thedarkness came the steady song of industry--a song that was chargedwith the life of millions. And they saw the lights of the businessdistrict, where Jake Vodell was preaching to a throng of idleworkmen his doctrine of class hatred and destruction. The Interpreter's manner was in no way aggressive when he brokethe silence. There was, indeed, in his deep voice an undertone ofsorrow, and yet he spoke as with authority. "You were driven hereto-night by your fear, Adam Ward. You recognize the menace to thiscommunity and to our nation in the influence and teaching of menlike Jake Vodell. Most of all, you fear for yourself and yourmaterial possessions. And you have reason to be afraid of thisdanger that you yourself have brought upon Millsburgh." "What!" cried the Mill owner. "You say that I amresponsible?--that I brought this anarchist agitator here?"
The Interpreter answered, solemnly, "I say that but for you andsuch men as you, Adam Ward, Jake Vodell could never gain a hearingin any American city." Adam Ward laughed harshly. But the old basket maker continued as if he had not heard."Every act of your business career, sir, has been a refusal torecognize those who have worked with you. Your whole life has beenan over assertion of your personal independence and a denial of thegreatest of all laws--the law of dependence, which is thevital principle of life itself. And so you have, through theseyears, upheld and exemplified to the working people the veryselfishness to which Jake Vodell appeals now with such sadeffectiveness. It is the class pride and intolerance which you havefostered in yourself and family that have begotten the class hatredwhich makes Vodell's plans against our government a dangerouspossibility. Your fathers fought in a great war for independence,Adam Ward. Your son must now fight for a recognition of thatdependence without which the independence won by yourfather will surely perish from the earth." At the mention of his son, the Mill owner moved impatiently andspoke with bitter resentment. "A fine mess you are making of thingswith your 'dependence.'" "It is a fine mess that you have made of things, Adam Ward, withyour 'independence,'" returned the Interpreter, sternly. "I can tell you one thing," said Adam. "Your unions will neverstraighten anything out with the help of Jake Vodell and his gangof murdering anarchists." "You are exactly right," agreed the Interpreter. "And I can tellyou a thing to match the truth of your statement. Your combinationsof employers will never straighten anything out with the help ofsuch men as McIver and his hired gunmen and his talk about drivingmen to work at the point of the bayonet. But McIver and hisprinciples are not endorsed by our American employers," continuedthe Interpreter, "any more than Jake Vodell and his methods areendorsed by our American union employees. The fact is that thegreat body of loyal American employers and employees, which is,indeed, the body of our nation itself, is fast coming to recognizethe truth that our industries must somehow be saved from thedestruction that is threatened by both the McIvers of capital andthe Vodells of labor. Our Mill, Adam Ward, that you and Pete Martinand I built together and that, whether you admit it or not, webuilt for all mankind, our Mill must be protected against bothemployers and employees. It must be protected, not because theownership, under our laws, happens to be vested in you as anindividual citizen, but because of that larger ownership which,under the universal laws of humanity, is vested in the people whoselives are dependent upon that Mill as an essential industry. TheMill must be saved, indeed, for the very people who would destroyit." "Very fine!" sneered Adam; "and perhaps you will tell me who isto save my Mill that is not my Mill for the very people who own itand who would destroy it?" The voice of the Interpreter was colored with the fire ofprophecy as he answered, "In the name of humanity, the sons of themen who built the Mill will save it for humanity. Your boy
John,Adam Ward, and Pete Martin's boy Charlie represent the unitedarmies of American employers and employees that stand in commonloyalty against the forces that are, through the destruction of ourindustries, seeking to bring about the downfall of our nation." Adam Ward laughed. "Tell that to your partner Billy Rand overthere; he will hear it as quick as the American people will." But the man in the wheel chair was not disturbed by Adam Ward'slaughing. "The great war taught the American people some mighty lessons,Adam Ward," he said. "It taught us that patriotism is not of oneclass or rank, but is common to every level of our national sociallife. It taught us that heroism is the birthright of both officeand shop. Most of all did the war teach us the lesson ofcomradeship--that men of every rank and class and occupation couldstand together, live together and die together, united in the bondsof a common, loyal citizenship for a common, human cause. And outof that war and its lessons our own national saviors are come. Theloyal patriot employers and the loyal patriot employees, who on thefields of war were brother members of that great union of sacrificeand death, will together free the industries of their own countryfrom the two equally menacing terrors--imperialistic capital andimperialistic labor. "The comradeship of your son with the workman Charlie Martin,the stand that John has taken against McIver, and the refusal ofthe Mill workers' union to accept Vodell's leadership--is theanswer to your question, 'Who is to save the Mill?'" "Rot!" exclaimed Adam Ward. "You talk as though every man whowent to that war was inspired by the highest motives. They were notall heroes by a good deal." "True," returned the Interpreter, "they were not all heroes. Butthere was the leaven that leavened the lump, and so the army itselfwas heroic." "What about the moral degeneracy and the crime wave that havefollowed the return of your heroic army?" demanded Adam. "True, again," returned the Interpreter; "it is inevitable thatmen whose inherited instincts and tendencies are toward crimeshould acquire in the school of war a bolder spirit--a morereckless daring in their criminal living. But again there is thesaving leaven that leavens the lump. If the war training makescriminals more bold, it as surely makes the leaven of nobility morepowerful. One splendid example of noble heroism is ten thousandtimes more potent in the world than a thousand revolting deeds ofcrime. No--no, Adam Ward, the world will not forget the lessons itlearned over there. The torch of Flanders fields has not fallen.The world will carry on." There was such a quality of reverent conviction in theconcluding words of the man in the wheel chair that Adam Ward wassilenced. For some time they sat, looking into the night where the hugebulk of the Mill with its towering stacks and overhanging cloudsseemed to dominate not only the neighboring shops and factories
andthe immediate Flats, but in some mysterious way to extend itselfover the business district and the homes of the city, and, like aruling spirit, to pervade the entire valley, even unto the distantline of hills. When the old basket maker spoke again, that note of strange andsolemn authority was in his voice. "Listen, Adam Ward! In theideals, the heroism, the suffering, the sacrifice of the war-inshell hole and trench and bloody No Man's Land, the sons of menhave found again the God that you and men like you had banishedfrom the Mill. Your boy and Pete Martin's boy, with more thousandsof their comrades than men of your mind realize, have come backfrom the war fields of France to enthrone God once more in theindustrial world. And it shall come that every forge and furnaceand anvil and machine shall be an organ to His praise--that everysuit of overalls shall be a priestly robe of ministering service.And this God that you banished from the Mill and that is to be byyour son restored to His throne and served by a priesthood ofunited employers and employees, shall bear a new name, Adam Ward,and that name shall be WORK." Awed by the strange majesty of the Interpreter's voice, AdamWard could only whisper fearfully, "Work--the name of God shall beWork!" "Ay, Adam Ward, WORK--and why not? Does not the work of theworld express the ideals, the purpose, the needs, the life, theoneness of the world's humanity, even as a flower expressesthe plant that puts it forth? And is not God the ultimate floweringof the human plant?" The Mill owner spoke with timid hesitation, "Could I--do youthink--could I, perhaps, help to, as you say, put God back into theMill?" "Your part in the building of the Mill is finished, Adam Ward,"came the solemn answer. "You have made many contracts with men,sir; you should now make a contract with your God." The owner of the new process sprang to his feet with anexclamation of fear. As one who sees a thing of horror in the dark,he drew back, trembling. That deep, inexorable voice of sorrowful authority went on,"Make a contract with your God, Adam Ward; make a contract withyour God." With a wild cry of terror Adam Ward fled into the night. The Interpreter in his wheel chair looked up at the stars. ***** It seems scarcely possible that the old basket maker could haveforeseen the tragic effect of his words--and yet--
Book III. The StrikeChapter XX. The People's America
At his evening meetings on the street, Jake Vodell with stirringoratory kindled the fire of his cause. In the councils of theunions, through individuals and groups, with clever arguments
andinflaming literature, he sought recruits. With stinging sarcasm andwithering scorn he taunted the laboring people--told them they werefools and cowards to submit to the degrading slavery of theircapitalist owners. With biting invective and blistering epithet hepictured their employer enemies as the brutal and ruthlessdestroyers of their homes. With thrilling eloquence he fanned theflames of class hatred, inspired the loyalty of his followers tohimself and held out to them golden promises of reward if theywould prove themselves men and take that which belonged tothem. But the Mill workers' union, as an organization, was steadfastin its refusal to be dominated by this agitator who was so clearlyantagonistic to every principle of American citizenship. JakeVodell could neither lead nor drive them into a strike that was soevidently called in the interests of his cause. And more and morethe agitator was compelled to recognize the powerful influence ofthe Interpreter. It was not long before he went to the hut on thecliff with a positive demand for the old basket maker's opensupport. "I do not know why it is," he said, "that a poor old cripplelike you should have such power among men, but I know it is so. Youshall tell this Captain Charlie and his crowd of fools that theymust help me to win for the laboring people their freedom. Youshall, for me, enlist these Mill men in the cause." The Interpreter asked, gravely, "And when you have accomplishedthis that you call freedom-when you have gained this equality thatyou talk about--how will your brotherhood be governed?" Jake Vodell scowled as he gazed at the man in the wheel chairwith quick suspicion. "Governed?" "Yes," returned the Interpreter. "Without organization of somesort nothing can be done. No industries can be carried on withoutthe concerted effort which is organization. Without the industrythat is necessary to human life the free people you picture cannotexist. Without government--which means law and the enforcement oflaw--organization of any kind is impossible." "There will have to be organization, certainly," answeredVodell. "Then, there will be leaders, directors, managers with authorityto whom the people must surrender themselves as individuals," saidthe Interpreter, quietly. "An organization without leadership isimpossible." The agitator's voice was triumphant, as he said, "Certainlythere will be leaders. And their authority will be unquestioned.And these leaders will be those who have led the people out of themiserable bondage of their present condition." The Interpreter's voice had a new note in it now, as he said,"In other words, sir, what you propose is simply to substituteyourself for McIver. You propose to the people that theyoverthrow their present leaders in the industries of their nationin order that you and your fellow agitators may become theirmasters. You demand that the citizens of America abolish theirnational
government and in its place accept you and your fellows astheir rulers? What assurance can you give the people, sir, thatunder your rule they will have more freedom for self-government,more opportunities for self-advancement and prosperity andhappiness than they have at present?" "Assurance?" muttered the other, startled by the Interpreter'smanner. The old basket maker continued, "Are you and yourself-constituted leaders of the American working people, gods? Areyou not as human as any McIver or Adam Ward of the very class youcondemn? Would you not be subject to the same temptations ofpower--the same human passions? Would you not, given the sameopportunity, be all that you say they are--or worse?" Jake Vodell's countenance was black with rage. He started torise, but a movement of Billy Rand made him hesitate. His voice washarsh with menacing passion. "And you call yourself a friend of thelaboring class?" "It is because I am a friend of my fellow American citizens thatI ask you what freedom your brotherhood can insure to us that wehave not now," the Interpreter answered, solemnly. "Look there,sir." He swept, in a gesture, the scene that lay within view of hisbalcony porch. "That is America--my America--theAmerica of the people. From the wretched hovels of theincompetent and unfortunate Sam Whaleys in the Flats down there toAdam Ward's castle on the hill yonder, it is our America.From the happy little home of that sterling workman, Peter Martin,to the homes of the business workers on the hillside over there, itis ours. From the business district to the beautiful farmsacross the river, it belongs to us all. And the Mill there--representing as it does the industries of our nation and standingfor the very life of our people--is our Mill. The troublesthat disturb us--the problems of injustice--the wrongs ofselfishness that arise through such employers as McIver and suchemployees as Sam Whaley, are our troubles, and we willsettle our own difficulties in our own way as loyal Americancitizens." The self-appointed apostle of the new freedom had by this timeregained his self-control. His only answer to the Interpreter was ashrug of his thick shoulders and a flash of white teeth in hisblack beard. The old basket maker with his eyes still on the scene that laybefore them continued. "Because I love my countrymen, sir, Iprotest the destructive teachings of your brotherhood. Yourambitious schemes would plunge my country into a bloody revolutionthe horrors of which defy the imagination. America will find abetter way. The loyal American citizens who labor in our industriesand the equally loyal American operators of these industries willnever consent to the ruthless murder by hundreds and thousands ofour best brains and our best manhood in support of your visionarytheories. My countrymen will never permit the unholy slaughter ofinnocent women and children, that would result from your efforts tooverthrow our government and establish a wholly impossible Utopiaupon the basis of an equality that is contrary to every law oflife. You preach freedom to the working people in order to rob themof the freedom they already have. With visions of impossible wealthand luxurious idleness you blind them to the greater happiness thatis within reach of their industry. In the name of an equality, thepossibility of which your own assumed leadership denies, you incitea class hatred and breed an intolerance
and envy that destroy thegood feeling of comradeship and break down the noble spirit of thatactual equality which we already have and which is our onlysalvation." "Equality!" sneered Jake Vodell. "You have a fine equality inthis America of capitalist-ridden fools who are too cowardly to saythat their souls are their own. It is the equality of Adam Ward andSam Whaley, I suppose." "Sam Whaley is a product of your teaching, sir," the Interpreteranswered. "The equality of which I speak is that of Adam Ward andPeter Martin as it is evidenced in the building up of the Mill. Itis the equality that is in the comradeship of their sons, John andCharlie, who will protect and carry on the work of their fathers.It is the equality of a common citizenship--of mutual dependence ofemployer and employee upon the industries, that alone can save ourpeople from want and starvation and guard our nation from thehorrors you would bring upon it." The man laughed. "Suppose you sing that pretty song to McIver,heh? What do you think he would say?" "He would laugh, as you are laughing," returned the Interpreter,sadly. "Tell it to Adam Ward then," jeered the other. "He willrecognize his equality with Peter Martin when you explain it,heh?" "Adam Ward is already paying a terrible price for denying it,"the Interpreter answered. Again Jake Vodell laughed with sneering triumph. "Well, then Iguess you will have to preach your equality to the deaf and dumbman there. Maybe you can make him understand it. The old basketmaker without any legs and the big husky who can neither hear nortalk--they are equals, I suppose, heh?" "Billy Rand and I perfectly illustrate the equality ofdependence, sir," returned the Interpreter. "Billy is as much mysuperior physically as I am his superior mentally. Without mythinking and planning he would be as helpless as I would be withouthis good bodily strength. We are each equally dependent upon theother, and from that mutual dependence comes our comradeship in theindustry which alone secures for us the necessities of life. Icould not make baskets without Billy's labor--Billy could not makebaskets without my planning and directing. And yet, sir, you andMcIver would set us to fighting each other. You would have Billydeny his dependence upon me and use his strength to destroy me,thus depriving himself of the help he must have if he would live.McIver would have me deny my dependence upon Billy and byantagonizing him with my assumed superiority turn his strength tothe destruction of our comradeship by which I also live. Yourteaching of class loyalty and class hatred applied to Billy and mewould result in the ruin of our basket making and in our consequentstarvation." Again the Interpreter, from his wheel chair, pointed withoutstretched arm to the scene that lay with all its varied gradesof life--social levels and individual interests--before them."Look," he said, "to the inequality that is there--inequalitiesthat are as great as the difference between Billy Rand and myself.And yet, every individual life is dependent upon all the otherindividual lives.
The Mill yonder is the basket making of thepeople. All alike must look to it for life itself. The industries,without which the people cannot exist, can be carried on only bythe comradeship of those who labor with their hands and those whowork with their brains. In the common dependence all are equal. "The only equality that your leadership, with its progress ofdestruction, can insure to American employers and employees is anequality of indescribable suffering and death." The old basket maker paused a moment before he added, solemnly,"I wonder that you dare assume the responsibility for such acatastrophe. Have you no God, sir, to whom you must eventuallyaccount?" The man's teeth gleamed in a grin of malicious sarcasm. "Ishould know that you believed in God. Bah! An old woman myth toscare fools and children. I suppose you believe in miraclesalso?" "I believe in the miracle of life," the Interpreter answered;"and in the great laws of life--the law of inequality anddependence, that in its operation insures the oneness of allthings." The agitator rose to his feet, and with a shrug of contempt,said, "Very pretty, Mr. Interpreter, very pretty. You watch nowfrom your hut here and you shall see what men who are not crippledold basket makers will do with that little bit of your America outthere. It is I who will teach Peter Martin and his comrades in theMill how to deal with your friend Adam Ward and his class." "You are too late, sir," said the Interpreter, as the man movedtoward the door. Jake Vodell turned. "How, too late?" Then as he saw Billy Randrising to his feet, his hand went quickly inside his vest. The old basket maker smiled as he once more held out arestraining hand toward his companion. "I do not mean anything likethat, sir. I told you some time ago that you were defeated in yourMillsburgh campaign by Adam Ward's retirement from the Mill. Youare too late because you are forced now to deal, not with Adam Wardand Peter Martin, but with their sons." "Oh, ho! and what you should say also, is that I am reallyforced to deal with an old basket maker who has no legs, heh? Well,we shall see about that, too, Mr. Interpreter, when the timecomes-we shall see."
Book III. The StrikeChapter XXI. Peter Martin's Problem
It was not long until the idle workmen began to feel the want oftheir pay envelopes. The grocers and butchers were as dependentupon those pay envelopes as were the workmen themselves. The winter was coming on. There was a chill in the air. In thehomes of the strikers the mothers and their little ones needed notonly food but fuel and clothing as well. The crowds at the eveningstreet meetings became more ominous. Through the long, idle daysgrim, sullen-faced
men walked the streets or stood in groups on thecorners watching their fellow citizens and muttering in low,guarded tones. Members of the Mill workers' union were openlybranded as cowards and traitors to their class. The suffering amongthe women and children became acute. But Jake Vodell was a master who demanded of his disciples mostheroic loyalty, without a thought of the cost--to them. McIver put an armed guard about his factory and boasted that hecould live without work. The strikers, he declared, could eitherstarve themselves and their families or accept his terms. The agitator was not slow in making capital of McIver'sstatements. The factory owner depended upon the suffering of the women andchildren to force the workmen to yield to him. Jake Vodell, theself-appointed savior of the laboring people, depended upon thesuffering of women and children to drive his followers to thedesperate measures that would further his peculiar and personalinterests. Through all this, the Mill workers' union still refused toaccept the leadership of this man whose every interest wasanti-American and foreign to the principles of the loyal citizenworkman. But the fire of Jake Vodell's oratory and argument was notwithout kindling power, even among John Ward's employees. As thefeeling on both sides of the controversy grew more bitter andintolerant, the Mill men felt with increasing force the pull oftheir class. The taunts and jeers of the striking workers werefelt. The cries of "traitor" hurt. The suffering of the innocentmembers of the strikers' families appealed strongly to theirsympathies. When McIver's imperialistic declaration was known, the numberwho were in favor of supporting Jake Vodell's campaign increasedmeasurably. Nearly every day now at some hour of the evening or night, Peteand Captain Charlie, with others from among their union comrades,might have been found in the hut on the cliff in earnest talk withthe man in the wheel chair. The active head of the union wasCaptain Charlie, as his father had been before him, but it was nosecret that the guiding counsel that held the men of the Millsteady cane from the old basket maker. For John Ward the days were increasingly hard. He could not butsense the feeling of the men. He knew that if Jake Vodell could winthem, such disaster as the people of Millsburgh had never seenwould result. The interest and sympathy of Helen, the comradeshipof Captain Charlie, and the strength of the Interpreter gave himcourage and hope. But there was nothing that he could do. He feltas he had felt sometimes in France when he was called upon to standand wait. It was a relief to help Mary as he could in her workamong the sufferers. But even this activity of mercy was turnedagainst him by both McIver and Vodell. The factory man blamed himfor prolonging the strike and thus working injury to the generalbusiness interests of Millsburgh. The strike leader charged himwith seeking to win the favor of the working class in order toinfluence his own employees against, what he called the fight fortheir industrial freedom.
The situation was rapidly approaching a crisis when Peter Martinand Captain Charlie, returning home from a meeting of their unionlaid one evening, found the door of the house locked. The way the two men stood facing each other without a wordrevealed the tension of their nerves. Captain Charlie's hand shookso that his key rattled against the lock. But when they were insideand had switched on the light, a note which Mary had left on thetable for them explained. The young woman had gone to the Flats in answer to a call forhelp. John was with her. She had left the note so that her fatherand brother would not be alarmed at her absence in case theyreturned home before her. In their relief, the two men laughed. They were a little ashamedof their unspoken fears. "We might have known," said Pete, and with the words seemed todismiss the incident from his mind. But Captain Charlie did not recover so easily. While his fatherfound the evening paper and, settling himself in an easy-chair bythe table, cleaned his glasses and filled and lighted his pipe, theyounger man went restlessly from room to room, turning on thelights, turning them off again-all apparently for no reasonwhatever. He finished his inspection by returning to the table andagain picking up Mary's note. When he had reread the message he said, slowly, "I thought Johnexpected to be at the office tonight." Something in his son's voice caused the old workman to look athim steadily, as he answered, "John probably came by on his way tothe Mill and dropped in for a few minutes." "I suppose so," returned Charlie. Then, "Father, do you think itwise for sister to be so much with John?" The old workman laid aside his paper. "Why, I don't know--Ihadn't thought much about it, son. It seems natural enough,considering the way you children was all raised together when youwas youngsters." "It's natural enough all right," returned Captain Charlie, and,with a bitterness that was very unlike his usual self, he added,"That's, the hell of it--it's too natural--too human--too right forthis day and age." Pete Martin's mind worked rather slowly but he was fully arousednow--Charlie's meaning was clear. "What makes you think that Maryand John are thinking of each other in that way, son?" "How could they help it?" returned Captain Charlie. "Sister isexactly the kind of woman that John would choose for a wife. Don'tI know what he thinks of the light-headed nonentities in the setthat he is supposed to belong to? Hasn't he demonstrated his ideasof class distinctions? It would never occur to him that there wasany reason why John Ward should not love Mary
Martin. As forsister--when you think of the whole story of their childhoodtogether, of how John and I were all through the war, of how he hasbeen in the Mill since we came home, of their seeing each otherhere at the house so much, of the way he has been helping her withher work among the poor in the Flats--well, how could any womanlike sister help loving him?" While the older man was considering his son's presentation ofthe case, Captain Charlie added, with characteristic loyalty, "Godmay have made finer men than John Ward, but if He did they don'tlive around Millsburgh." "Well, then, son," said Peter Martin, with his slow smile, "whatabout it? Suppose they are thinking of each other as you say?" Captain Charlie did not answer for a long minute. And thefather, watching, saw in that strong young face the shadow of ahurt which the soldier workman could not hide. "It is all so hopeless," said Charlie, at last, in a tone thattold more clearly than words could have done his own hopelessness."I--it don't seem right for Mary to have to bear it, too." "I'm sorry, son," was all that the old workman said, but CaptainCharlie knew that his father understood. After that they did not speak until they heard an automobilestop in front of the house. "That must be Mary now," said Pete, looking at his watch. "Theyhave never been so late before." They heard her step on the porch. The sound of the automobiledied away in the distance. When Mary came in and they saw her face, they knew that Charliewas right. She tried to return their greetings in her usual mannerbut failed pitifully and hurried on to her room. The two men looked at each other without a word. Presently Mary returned and told them a part of her evening'sexperience. Soon after her father and brother had left the housefor the meeting of their union, a boy from the Flats came with theword that the wife of one of Jake Vodell's followers was very ill.Mary, knowing the desperate need of the case but fearing to bealone in that neighborhood at night, had telephoned John at theMill and he had taken her in his car to the place. The woman, inthe agonies of childbirth, was alone with her three little girls.The husband and father was somewhere helping Jake Vodell in theagitator's noble effort to bring happiness to the laboring class.While Mary was doing what she could in the wretched home, John wentfor a doctor, and to bring fuel and blankets and food and otherthings that were needed. But, in spite of their efforts, thefighting methods of McIver and Vodell scored another point, thatthey each might claim with equal reason as in his favor--to Godknows what end. "I can't understand why you Mill men let them go on," Marycried, with a sudden outburst of feeling, as she finished herstory. "You could fight for the women and children during the
war.Whenever there is a shipwreck the papers are always full of theheroism of the men who cry 'women and children first!' Why can'tsome one think of the women and children in these strikes? They arejust as innocent as the women and children of Belgium. Why don'tyou talk on the streets and hold mass meetings and drive JakeVodell and that beast McIver out of the country?" "Jake Vodell and McIver are both hoping that some one will dojust that, Mary," returned Captain Charlie. "They would likenothing better than for some one to start a riot. You see, dear, anopen clash would result in bloodshed--the troops would be called inby McIver, which is exactly what he wants. Vodell would provoke anattack on the soldiers, some one would be killed, and we would haveexactly the sort of war against the government that he and hisbrotherhood are working for." The old workman spoke. "Charlie is right, daughter; thesetroubles will never be settled by McIver's way nor Vodell's way.They will be settled by the employers like John getting togetherand driving the McIvers out of business--and the employees likeCharlie here and a lot of the men in our union getting togetherwith John and his crowd and sending the Jake Vodells back towhatever country they came from." When her father spoke John'sname, the young woman's face colored with a quick blush. The nextmoment, unable to control her overwrought emotions, she burst intotears and started to leave the room. But at the door CaptainCharlie caught her in his arms and held her close until the firstviolence of her grief was over. When she had a little of her usual calmness, her brotherwhispered, "I know all about it, dear." She raised her head from his shoulder and looked at him withtearful doubt. "You know about-about John?" she said,wonderingly. "Yes," he whispered, with an encouraging smile, "I know--fatherand I were talking about it before you came home. I am going toleave you with him now. You must tell father, you know. Goodnight,dear--good-night, father." Slowly Mary turned back into the room. The old workman, sittingthere in his big chair, held out his arms. With a little cry sheran to him as she had gone to him all the years of her life. When she had told him all--how John that very evening on theirway home from the Flats had asked her to be his wife--and how she,in spite of her love for him, had forced herself to answer, "No,"Pete Martin sat with his head bowed as one deep in thought. Mary, knowing her father's slow way, waited. When the old workman spoke at last it was almost as though,unconscious of his daughter's presence, he talked to himself. "Yourmother and I used to think in the old days when you children weregrowing up together that some time perhaps the two families wouldbe united. But when we watched Adam getting rich and saw what hismoney was doing to him and to his home, we got to be rather gladthat you children were separated. We were so happy ourselves in ourown little home here that we envied no man. We did not want wealtheven for you and Charlie when we saw all that went with it. We didnot dream that Adam's success could ever stand in the way
of ourchildren's happiness like this. But I guess that is the way it is,daughter. I remember the Interpreter's saying once that no man hada right to make even himself miserable because no man could bemiserable alone." The old workman's voice grew still more reflective. "It was thenew process that made Adam rich. He was no better man at the benchthan I. I never considered him as my superior. He happened to beborn with a different kind of a brain, that is all. And he thoughtmore of money, while I cared more for other things. But there is agood reason why his money should not be permitted to stand betweenhis children and my children. There is a lot of truth, after all,in Jake Vodell's talk about the rights of men who work with theirhands. The law upholds Adam Ward in his possessions, I know. And itwould uphold him Just the same if my children were starving. Butthe law don't make it right. There should be some way to make a mando what is right--law or no law. You and John--" "Father!" cried Mary, alarmed at his words. "Surely you are notgoing to hold with Jake Vodell about such things. What do you meanabout making a man do what is right--law or no law?" "There, there, daughter," said the old workman, smiling. "I wasjust thinking out loud, I guess. It will be all right for you andJohn. Run along to bed now, and don't let a worry come, even intoyour dreams." "I would rather give John up a thousand times than have you likeJake Vodell," she said. "You shan't even think thatway." When she was gone, Peter Martin filled and lighted his pipeagain, and for another hour sat alone. Whether or not his thoughts bore any relation to the doctrinesof Jake Vodell, they led the old workman, on the following day, topay a visit to Adam Ward at his home on the hill.
Book III. The StrikeChapter XXII. Old Friends
It was Sunday morning and the church bells were ringing over thelittle city as the old workman climbed the hill to Adam Ward'sestate. There was a touch of frost in the air. The hillside back of theinterpreter's hut was brown. But the sun was bright and warm and inevery quarter of the city the people were going to their appointedplaces of worship. The voice of the Mill was silenced. Pete wondered if he would find Adam at home. He had not thoughtabout it when he left the cottage--his mind had been so filled withthe object of his visit to the man who had once been his workingcomrade and friend. But Adam Ward was not at church. The Mill owner's habits of worship were very simply regulated.If the minister said things that pleased him, and showed a properlyhumble gratification at Adam's presence in the temple of
God, Adamattended divine services. If the reverend teacher in the pulpit sofar forgot himself as to say anything that jarred Adam's peculiarspiritual sensitiveness, or failed to greet this particular memberof his flock with proper deference, Adam stayed at home and stoppedhis subscription to the cause. Nor did he ever fail to inform hispastor and the officers of the congregation as to the reason forhis nonattendance; always, at the time, assuring them that wheneverthe minister would preach the truths that he wanted to hear, hisweekly offerings to the Lord would be renewed. Thus Adam Ward wasjust and honest in his religious life as he was in his businessdealings. He was ready always, to pay for that which he received,but, as a matter of principle, he was careful always to receiveexactly what he paid for. This Sunday morning Adam Ward was at home. When Pete reached the entrance to the estate the heavy gateswere closed. As Mary's father stood in doubt before the ironbarrier a man appeared on the inside. "Good-morning, Uncle Pete," he said, in hearty greeting, when hesaw who it was that sought admittance. "Good-morning, Henry--and what are you doing in there?" returnedthe workman, who had known the man from his boyhood. The other grinned. "Oh, I'm one of the guards at thisinstitution now." Pete looked at him blankly. "Guards? What are you guarding,Henry?" Standing close to the iron bars of the gate, Henry glanced overhis shoulder before he answered in a low, cautious tone,"Adam." The old workman was shocked. "What! you don't mean it!" He shookhis grizzly head sadly. "I hadn't heard that he was that bad." Henry laughed. "We're not keepin' the old boy in, UnclePete--not yet. So far, our orders are only to keep people out.Dangerous people, I mean--the kind that might want to run away withthe castle, or steal a look at the fountain, or sneak a smell ofthe flowers or something--y' understand." Pete smiled. "How do you like your job, Henry?" "Oh, it's all right just now when the strike is on. But was youwantin' to come in, Uncle Pete, or just passing' by?" "I wanted to see Adam if I could." The man swung open the gate. "Help yourself, Uncle Pete, just soyou don't stick a knife into him or blow him up with a bomb orpoison him or something." He pointed toward that part of thegrounds where Helen had watched her father from the arbor. "You'llfind him over there
somewhere, I think. I saw him headed that way afew minutes ago. The rest of the family are gone to church." "Is Adam's life really threatened, Henry?" asked Pete, as hestepped inside and the gates were closed behind him. "Search me," returned the guard, indifferently. "I expect if thetruth were known it ought to be by rights. He sure enough thinks itis, though. Why, Uncle Pete, there can't a butterfly flit overthese grounds that Adam ain't a yellin' how there's an aeroplane asailin' around lookin' fer a chance to drop a monkey wrench on hishead or something." "Poor Adam!" murmured the old workman. "What a way to live!" "Live?" echoed the guard. "It ain't livin' at all--it's justbein' in hell before your time, that's what it is--if you askme." ***** When Peter Martin, making his slow way through the beautifulgrounds, first caught sight of his old bench mate, Adam was pacingslowly to and fro across a sunny open space of lawn. As he walked,the Mill owner was talking to himself and moving his arms and handsin those continuous gestures that seemed so necessary to anyexpression of his thoughts. Once Pete heard him laugh. Andsomething in the mirthless sound made the old workman pause. It wasthen that Adam saw him. There was no mistaking the sudden fear that for a moment seemedto paralyze the man. His gray face turned a sickly white, his eyeswere staring, his jaw dropped, his body shook as if with a chill.He looked about as if he would call for help, and started as if toseek safety in flight. "Good-morning, Adam Ward," said Pete Martin. And at the gentle kindliness in the workman's voice Adam'smanner, with a suddenness that was startling, changed. With anelaborate show of friendliness he came eagerly forward. His grayface, twitching with nervous excitement, beamed with joyouswelcome. As he hurried across the bit of lawn between them, hewaved his arms and rubbed his hands together in an apparent ecstasyof gladness at this opportunity to receive such an honored guest.His voice trembled with highpitched assurance of his happiness inthe occasion. He laughed as one who could not contain himself. "Well, well, well--to think that you have actually come to seeme at last." He grasped the workman's hand in both his own with agrip that was excessive in its hearty energy. With affectionatefamiliarity he almost shouted, "You old scoundrel! I can't believeit is you. Where have you been keeping yourself? How are Charlieand Mary? Lord, but it's good to see you here in my own home likethis."
While Pete was trying to make some adequate reply to thiseffusive and startling reception, Adam looked cautiously about tosee if there were any chance observers lurking near. Satisfied that no one was watching, he said, nervously, "Comeon, let's sit over here where we can talk." And with his hand onPete's arm, he led his caller to lawn chairs that were in the open,well beyond hearing of any curious ear in the shrubbery. Giving the workman opportunity for no more than an occasionalmonosyllable in reply, he poured forth a flood of information abouthis estate: The architectural features of his house--the cost; theloveliness of his trees--the cost; the coloring of his flowers--thecost; the magnificence of his view, And all the while he studiedhis caller's face with sharp, furtive glances, trying to find someclew to the purpose of the workman's visit. Peter Martin's steady eyes, save for occasional glances at theobjects of Adam's interest as Adam pointed them out, were fixed onthe Mill owner with a half-wondering, half-pitying expression.Adam's evident nervousness increased. He talked of his Mill--how hehad built it up from nothing almost, to its present magnitude--ofthe city and what he had done for the people. The old workman listened without comment. At last, apparently unable to endure the suspense a momentlonger, Adam Ward said, nervously, "Well, Pete, out with it! Whatdo you want? I can guess what you are here for. We might as wellget done with it." In his slow, thoughtful manner of speech that was so differentfrom the Mill owner's agitated expressions, the old workman said,"I have wanted for nothing, Adam. We have been contented and happyin our little home. But now," he paused as if his thoughts wereloath to form themselves into words. The last vestige of pretense left Adam Ward's face as suddenlyas if he had literally dropped a mask. "It's a good thing you havebeen satisfied," he said, coldly. "You had better continue to be.You know that you owe everything you have in the world to me! Youneed not expect anything more." "Have you not made a big profit on every hour's work that I havedone in your Mill, Adam?" "Whatever profit I have or have not made on your work is none ofyour business, sir," retorted Adam. "I have given you a job allthese years. I could have thrown you out. You haven't a thing onearth that you did not buy with the checks you received from me. Ihave worn myself out-made an invalid of myself--building up thebusiness that has enabled you and the rest of my employees to makea living. Every cent that I ever received from that new process Iput back into the Mill. You have had more out of it than I everdid." Peter Martin looked slowly about at the evidence of Adam Ward'swealth. When he again faced the owner of the estate he spoke as ifdoubting that he had heard him clearly. "But the Mill is yours,Adam?" he said, at last. "And all this is yours. How--where did itcome from?"
"Certainly the Mill is mine. Didn't I make it what it is? As forthe place here--it came from the profits of my business, of course.You know I was nothing but a common workman when I startedout." "I know," returned Pete. "And it was the new process thatenabled you to get control of the Mill-to buy it and build itup--wasn't it? If you hadn't happened to have had the process theMill would have made all this for some one else, wouldn't it? Wenever dreamed that the process would grow into such a big thing foranybody when we used to talk it over in the old days, did we,Adam?" Adam Ward looked cautiously around at the shrubbery thatencircled the bit of lawn. There was no one to be seen withinhearing distance. When he faced his companion again the Mill owner's eyes wereblazing, but he controlled his voice by a supreme effort of will."Look here, Pete, I'm not going even to discuss that matter withyou. I have kept you on at the Mill and taken care of you all theseyears because of our old friendship and because I was sorry foryou. But if you don't appreciate what I have done for you, if youattempt to start any talk or anything I'll throw you and Charlieout of your jobs to-morrow. And I'll fix it, too, so you will nevereither of you get another day's work in Millsburgh. That process ismy property. No one has any interest in the patents in any way. Ihave it tied up so tight that all the courts in the world couldn'ttake it away from me. Law is law and I propose to keep what the lawsays is mine. I have thousands of dollars to spend in defense of mylegal rights where you have dimes. You needn't whine about moralobligations either. The only obligations that are of any force inbusiness are legal! If you haven't brains enough to look after yourown interests you can't expect any one else to look after them foryou." When Adam Ward finished his countenance was distorted with hateand fear. Before this simple, kindly old workman, in whose honestsoul there was no shadow of a wish to harm any one in any way, theMill owner was like a creature of evil at bay. "I did not come to talk of the past, Adam Ward," said Pete,sadly. "And I didn't come to threaten you or to ask anything formyself." At the gentle sadness of his old friend's manner and words,Adam's eyes gleamed with vicious triumph. "Well, out with it!" hedemanded, harshly. "What are you here for?" "Your boy and my girl love each other, Adam." An ugly grin twisted the gray lips of Pete's employer. But Mary's father went on as though he had not seen. "Thechildren were raised together, Adam. I have always thought of Johnalmost as if he were my own son. It seems exactly right that heshould want Mary and that she should want him. There is no man inthe world I would rather it would be." Adam listened, still grinning, as the old workman continued inhis slow, quiet speech.
"I never cared before for all that the new process made for you.You wanted money--I didn't. But it don't seem right that what youhave--considering how you got it--should stand in the way of Mary'shappiness. I understand that there is nothing I can do about it,but I thought that, considering everything, you might be willingto--" Adam Ward laughed aloud--laughed until the tears of his insaneglee filled his eyes. "So that's your game," he said, at last, whenhe could speak. "You hadn't brains enough to protect yourself tostart out with and you have found out that you haven't a chance inthe world against me in the courts. So you try to make it bysetting your girl up to catch John." "You must stop that sort of talk, Adam Ward." Peter Martin wason his feet, and there was that in his usually stolid countenancewhich made the Mill owner shrink back. "I was a fool, as you say.But my mistake was that I trusted you. I believed in your pretendedfriendship for me. I thought you were as honest and honorable asyou seemed to be. I didn't know that your religion was all such arotten sham. I have never cared that you grew rich while I remainedpoor. All these years I have been sorry for you because I have hadso much of the happiness and contentment and peace that you havelost. But you must understand, sir, that there are some things thatI will do in defense of my children that I would not do in defenseof myself." Adam, white and trembling, drew still farther away. "Becareful," he cried, "I can call half a dozen men before you canmove." Pete continued as if the other had not spoken. "There is noreason in the world why John and Mary should not marry." Adam Ward's insane hatred for the workman and his evil joy overthis opportunity to make his old comrade suffer was stronger eventhan his fear. With another snarling laugh he retorted, viciously,"There is the best reason in the world why they will never marry.I am the reason, Pete Martin! And I'd like to see you try todo anything about it." Mary's father answered, slowly, "I do not understand your hatredfor me, Adam. All these years I have been loyal to you. I havenever talked of our affairs to any one--" Adam interrupted him with a burst of uncontrollable rage."Talk, you fool! Talk all you please. Tell everybodyanything you like. Who will believe you? You will only get yourselflaughed at for being the short-sighted idiot you were. That processis patented in my name. I own it. You don't need to keep still onmy account, but I tell you again that if you do try to startanything I'll ruin you and I'll ruin your children." Suddenly, asif in fear that his rage would carry him too far, his mannerchanged and he spoke with forced coldness. "I am sorry that Icannot continue this interview, Pete. You have all that you willever get from me--children or no children. Go on about yourbusiness as usual and you may hold your job in the Mill as long asyou are able to do your work. I had thought that I might give yousome sort of a little pension when you got too old to keep up yourend with the rest of the men."
And then Adam Ward added the crowning insolent expression of hisinsane and arrogant egotism. With a pious smirk of his gray,twitching face, he said, "I want you to know, too, Pete, that youcan approach me any time without any feeling of humiliation." He turned abruptly away and a moment later the old workman,watching, saw him disappear behind some tall bushes. As Pete Martin went slowly back to the entrance gate he did notknow that the owner of the estate was watching him. From bush tobush Adam crept with the stealthy care of a wild creature,following its prey--never taking his eyes from his victim, save forquick glances here and there to see that he himself was notobserved. Not until Pete had passed from sight down the hill roaddid Adam appear openly. Then, going to the watchman at the gate, heberated him for admitting the old workman and threatened him withthe loss of his position if he so offended Again. ***** When Peter Martin arrived home he found Jake Vodell and Charliediscussing the industrial situation. The strike leader had comeonce more to try to enlist the support of the old workman and hisson in his war against the employer class.
Book III. The StrikeChapter XXIII. A Last Chance
Jake Vodell greeted the old workman cordially. "You have been tochurch this fine morning, I suppose, heh?" he said, with a sneeringlaugh that revealed how little his interview with Captain Charliewas contributing to his satisfaction. "No," returned Pete. "I did not attend church this morning--I dogo, though, generally." "Oh-ho! you worship the God of your good master Adam Ward, Isuppose." But Pete Martin was in no way disturbed by the man's sarcasm."No," he said, slowly, "I do not think that Adam and I worship thesame God." "Is it so? But when the son goes to war so bravely and fightsfor his masters one would expect the father to say his prayers tohis masters' God, heh?" Captain Charlie retorted, sharply, "The men who fought in thewar fought for this nation--for every citizen in it. We fought forMcIver just as we fought for Sam Whaley. Our loyalty in thisindustrial question is exactly the same. We will save theindustries of this country for every citizen alike because ournational life is at stake. Did you ever hear of a sailor refusingto man the pumps on a sinking ship because the vessel was not hispersonal property?" "Bah!" growled Jake Vodell. "Your profession of loyalty to yourcountry amuses me. Your country! It is McIver'scountry--Adam Ward's country, I tell you. It is my little band oflive, aggressive heroes who are the loyal ones. We are the ones whowill save the industries, but we
will save them for the laboringpeople alone. And you shirkers in your Mill workers' union arewilling to stand aside and let us do your fighting for you. Haveyou no pride for your class at all?" "Oh, yes," returned Captain Charlie, "we have plenty of classpride. Only you see, Vodell, we don't consider ourselves in yourclass. You are no more loyal to the principles of our Americanunions than you are to the principles of our government. You don'trepresent our unions. You represent something foreign to theinterests of every American citizen. You are trying to use ourunions in your business, that is all. And because you manage to gethold of a few poor fellows like Sam Whaley, you think you can leadthe working people. If you really think our loyalty to our countryis a joke, drop in at an American Legion meeting someevening--bring along your foreign flag and all your foreignfriends. I'll promise you a welcome that will, I think, convinceyou that we have some class pride after all." The agitator rose heavily to his feet. "It is your friendshipwith this John Ward that makes you turn from your own class. I haveknown how it would be with you. But it is no matter. You shall see.We will make a demonstration in Millsburgh that will win the men ofyour union in spite of you and your crippled old basket maker. Ifyou had a personal grievance against Adam Ward as so many othershave you would be with me fast enough. But he and his son have madeyou blind with their pretended kindness." Pete Martin spoke now with a dignity and pride that movedCaptain Charlie deeply. "Mr. Vodell, you are wrong. My son is toobig to be influenced in this matter by any personal consideration.Whatever there is that is personal between Charlie and John orbetween Adam Ward and myself will never be brought into thiscontroversy." Jake Vodell shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Very well--I will gonow. You will see that in the end the working people will know whoare for their interests and who are against them, and we will know,too, how to reward our friends and punish our enemies. I am sorry.I have given you to-day your last chance. You have a pretty littleplace here, heh?" There was a look in his dark face, as he gazed aboutappraisingly, that made Captain Charlie go a step toward him."You have given us our last chance? Is this a sample of thefreedom that you offer so eloquently to the people? Instead of theimperialist McIver we are to have the imperialist Vodell, are we?Between the two of you I prefer McIver. He is at least sane enoughto be constructive in his imperialism. My father and I have livedhere all our lives, as most of our neighbors have. The majority ofthe workmen in this community own their homes just as we do. We area part of the life of this city. What have you at stake? Where isyour home and family? What is your nationality? What is your recordof useful industry? Before you talk about giving a last chance toworkmen like my father you will need to produce the credentials ofyour authority. We have your number, Jake Vodell. You may as wellgo back to the land where you belong, if you belong anywhere onearth. You will never hang your colors in the union Mill workers'hall. We have a flag there now that suits us. The chance you offer,last or first, is too darned big a chance for any sane Americanworkman to monkey with."
Jake Vodell answered harshly as he turned to go. "At least Iknow now for sure who it is that makes the Mill workers suchtraitors to their class." He looked at Pete. "Your son has made hisposition very clear. We shall see now how bravely the noble Captainwill hold his ground. As for you, well--always the old father canpray to his God for his son. It is so, heh?" Quickly the man passed through the white gate and disappeareddown the street toward the Flats. "I am afraid that fellow means trouble, son," said Pete,slowly. "Trouble," echoed Captain Charlie, "Jake Vodell has never meantanything but trouble." ***** Adam Ward did not join his family when they returned fromchurch. A nervous headache kept him in his room. In the afternoon John went for a long drive into the country. Hefelt that he must be alone--that he must think things out, for bothMary and himself. As he looked back on it all now, it seemed to him that he hadalways loved this girl companion of his old-house days. In hisboyhood he had accepted her as a part of his daily life just as hehad accepted his sister. Those years of his schooling had beencareless, thoughtless years, and followed, as they were, by his warexperience, they seemed now to have had so small a part in thewhole that they scarcely counted at all. His renewed comradeshipwith Charlie in the army had renewed also, through the letters thatCharlie always shared with him, his consciousness of Mary. In themonths just passed his love had ripened and become a definitething, fixed and certain in his own mind and heart as the fact oflife itself. He had no more thought of accepting as final Mary'sanswer than he had of turning the management of the Mill over toJake Vodell or to Sam Whaley. But still there were things that hemust think out. On that favorite hillside spot where he and Charlie had spent somany hours discussing their industrial problems, John facedsquarely the questions raised by Mary's "no." Through the chill of the fall twilight John went home to spendthe evening with his mother. But he did not speak to her of Mary.He could not, somehow, in the house that was so under the shadow ofthat hidden thing. His father was still in his room. On his way to his own apartment after his mother had retired,John stopped at his father's door to knock gently and ask if therewas anything that he could do. The answer came, "No, I will be all right--let me alone." Later Helen returned from somewhere with McIver. Then John heardMcIver leaving and Helen going to her mother for their usualgood-night visit.
Seeing the light under his door, as she passed, she tapped thepanel and called softly that it was tune all good little boys werefast asleep. It was an hour, perhaps, after John had gone to bed that he wasawakened by the sound of some one stealing quietly into his room.Against the dim night light in the hall, he caught the outline ofan arm and shoulder as the intruder carefully closed the door.Reaching out to the lamp at the head of his bed, he snapped on thelight and sprang to his feet. "Father!" "Sh--be careful, John, they will hear you!" Adam Ward's grayface was ghastly with nervous excitement and fear, and he wasshaking as with a chill. "No one must know I told you," he whispered, "but the newprocess is the source of everything we have--the Mill andeverything. If it wasn't for my patent rights we would havenothing. You and I would be working in the Mill just like Pete andhis boy." John spoke soothingly. "Yes, father, I understand, but it willbe all right--I'll take care of it." Adam chuckled. "They're after it. But I've got it all sewed upso tight they can't touch it. That old fool, Pete, was here to feelme out to-day." "Pete--here!" Adam grinned. "While you folks were at church." "But what did he want, father?" "They've got a new scheme now. They've set Mary after you. Theyfigure that if the girl can land you they'll get a chance at what Ihave made out of the process that way. I told him you was too smartto be caught like that. But you've got to watch them. They'll doanything." In spite of his pity for his father, John Ward drew from him,overcome by a feeling of disgust and shame which he could notwholly control. Adam, unconscious of his son's emotions, went on. "I've made itall in spite of them, John, but I've had to watch them. They'll beafter you now that I have turned things over to you, just as theyhave been after me. They'll never get it, though. They'll never geta penny of it. I'll destroy the Mill and everything before I'llgive up a dollar of what I've made." John Ward could not speak. It was too monstrous--too horrible.As one in a hideous dream, he listened. What was back of it all?Why did his father in his spells of nervous excitement always raveso about the patented process? Why did he hate Pete Martin sobitterly? What was this secret thing that was driving Adam Wardinsane?
Thinking to find an answer to these perplexing questions, ifthere was any answer other than the Mill owner's mental condition,John forced himself to the pretense of sharing his father's fears.He agreed with Adam's arraignment of Pete, echoed his father'sexpression of hatred for the old workman, thanked Adam for warninghim, boasted of his own ability to see through their tricks andschemes and to protect the property his father had accumulated. In this vein they talked in confidential whispers until Johnfelt that he could venture the question, "Just what is it about theprocess that they are after, father? If I knew the exact history ofthe thing I would be in a much better position to handle thesituation as you want, wouldn't I?" Adam Ward's manner changed instantly. With a look of sly cunninghe studied John's face. "There is nothing about the process, son,"he said, steadily. "You know all there is to know about itnow." But when John, thinking that his father had regained hisself-control, urged him to go back to his bed, Adam's painfulagitation returned. For some moments he paced to and fro as if in nervousindecision, then, going close to John, he said in a low, halfwhisper, "John, there is something else I wanted to ask you. Youhave been to college and over there in the war, you must have seena lot of men die--" He paused. "Yes, yes, you must have been closeto death a good many times. Tell me, John, do you believe thatthere is anything after--I mean anything beyond this life? Does aman's conscious existence go on when he is dead?" "Yes," said John, wondering at this apparent change in hisfather's thought. "I believe in a life beyond this. You believe init, too, don't you, father?" "Of course," returned Adam. "We can't know, though, for sure,can we? But, anyway, a man would be foolish to risk it, wouldn'the?" "To risk what, father?" "To risk the chance of there being no hell," came the startlinganswer. "My folks raised me to believe in hell, and the preachersall teach it. And if there should be such a place of eternaltorment a man would be a fool not to fix up some way to get out ofit, wouldn't he?" John did not know what to say. Adam Ward leaned closer to his son and with an air of secrecywhispered, "That's exactly what I've done, John--I've worked out ascheme to tie God up in a contract that will force Him to save me.The old Interpreter gave me the idea. You see if it should turn outthat there is no hell my plan can't do any harm and if there is ahell it makes me safe anyway." He chuckled with insane satisfaction. "They say that God knowseverything--that nobody can figure out a way to beat Him, but Ihave--I have worked out a deal with God that is bound to give methe best of it. I've got Him tied up so tight that He'll be boundto save me. Some people think
I'm crazy, but you wait, myboy--they'll find out how crazy I am. They'll never get me intohell. I have been figuring on this ever since the Interpreter toldme I had better make a contract with God. And after Pete left thismorning I got it all settled. A man can't afford to take anychances with God and so I made this deal with Him. Hell or no hell,I'm safe. God don't get the best of me,--And you are safe, too,son, with the new process, if you look after your own interests, asI have done, and don't overlook any opportunities. I wanted to tellyou about this so you wouldn't worry about me. I'll go back to bednow. Don't tell mother and Helen what we have been talking about.No use to worry them--they couldn't understand anyway. And don'tforget, John, what Pete told me about Mary. Their scheme won't workof course. I know you are too smart for them. But just the sameyou've got to be on your guard against her all the time. Never takeany unnecessary chances. Don't talk over a deal with a man when anyone can hear. If you are careful to have no witnesses when youarrange a deal you are absolutely safe. It is what you can slipinto the written contract that counts--once you get your man'ssignature. That's always been my way. And now I have even put oneover on God." He stole cautiously out of the room and back to his ownapartment. Outside his father's door John waited, listening, until he wasconvinced that sleep had at last come to the exhausted man. Late that same Sunday evening, when the street meeting held byJake Vodell was over, there was another meeting in the room back ofthe pool hall. The men who sat around that table with the agitatorwere not criminals--they were workmen. Sam Whaley and two otherswere men with families. They were all American citizens, but theywere under the spell of their leader's power. They had beenprepared for that leadership by the industrial policies of McIverand Adam Ward. This meeting of that inner circle was in no way authorized bythe unions. The things they said Sam Whaley would not have dared tosay openly in the Mill workers' organization. The plans theyproposed to carry out in the name of the unions they were compelledto make in secret. In their mad, fanatical acceptance of the dreamsthat Vodell wrought for them; in their blind obedience to theleadership he had so cleverly established; in their recklessdisregard of the consequences under the spell of his promisedprotection, they were as insane, in fact, as the owner of the Millhimself. The supreme, incredible, pitiful tragedy of it all was this:That these workmen committed themselves to the plans of Jake Vodellin the name of their country's workmen.
Book III. The StrikeChapter XXIV. The Flats
Helen Ward knew that she could not put off much longer givingMcIver a definite answer. When she was with him, the things that sodisturbed her mind and heart were less real--she was able to seethings clearly from the point of view to which she had beentrained. Her father's mental condition was nothing more than anervous trouble resulting from overwork--John's ideals were highlycreditable to his heart and she loved him dearly for them, but theywere wholly impossible in a world where certain class standardsmust be maintained--the Mill took again its old vague, indefiniteplace in her life--the workman Charlie Martin must live only in hergirlhood memories,
those secretly sad memories that can have nopart in the grown-up present and must not be permitted to enterinto one's consideration of the future. In short, the presence ofMcIver always banished effectually the Helen of the old house: withhim the daughter of Adam Ward was herself. And Helen was tempted by this feeling of relief to speak thedecisive word that would finally put an end to her indecision andbring at least the peace of certainty to her troubled mind. In thelight of her education and environment, there was every reason whyshe should say, "Yes" to McIver's insistent pleadings. There was noshadow of a reason why she should refuse him. One word and theHelen of the old house would be banished forever--the princess ladywould reign undisturbed. And yet, for some reason, that word was not spoken. Helen toldherself that she would speak it. But on each occasion she put itoff. And always when the man was gone and she was alone, in spiteof the return in full force of all her disturbing thoughts andemotions, she was glad that she had not committed herselfirrevocably--that she was still free. She had never felt the appeal of all that McIver meant to her asshe felt it that Sunday. She had never been more disturbed andunhappy than she was the following day when John told her a littleof his midnight experience with their father and how Adam'sexcitement had been caused by Peter Martin's visit. All of whichled her, early in the afternoon, to the Interpreter. ***** She found the old basket maker working with feverish energy.Billy Rand at the bench in the corner of the room was as busy withhis part of their joint industry. It was the Interpreter's habit, when Helen was with him, to layaside his work. But of late he had continued the occupation of hishands even as he talked with her. She had noticed this, as womenalways notice such things--but that was all. On this day, when theold man in the wheel chair failed to give her his undividedattention, something in his manner impressed the trivial incidentmore sharply on her mind. He greeted her kindly, as always, but while she was conscious ofno lack of warmth in his welcome, she felt in the deep tones ofthat gentle voice a sadness that moved her to quick concern. Thedark eyes that never failed to light with pleasure at her comingwere filled with weary pain. The strong face was thin and tired. Ashe bent his white head over the work in his lap he seemed to havegrown suddenly very weak and old. With an awakened mind, the young woman looked curiously aboutthe room. She had never seen it so filled with materials and with finishedbaskets. The table with the big lamp and the magazines and papershad been moved into the far corner against the book shelves, asthough he had now neither time nor thought for reading. The floorwas covered thick with a litter of chips and shavings. Even silentBilly's face was filled with anxiety and troubled care as he lookedfrom Helen to his old companion in the wheel chair and slowlyturned back to his work on the bench.
"What is the matter here?" she demanded, now thoroughlyaroused. "Matter?" returned the Interpreter. "Is there anything wronghere, Helen?" "You are not well," she insisted. "You look all worn out--as ifyou had not slept for weeks--what is it?" "Oh, that is nothing," he answered, with a smile. "Billy and Ihave been working overtime a little-that is all." "But why?" she demanded, "why must you wear yourself out likethis? Surely there is no need for you to work so hard, day andnight." He answered as if he were not sure that he had heard her aright."No need, Helen? Surely, child, you cannot be so ignorant of thewant that exists within sight of your home?" She returned his look wonderingly. "You mean the strike?" Bending over his work again, the old basket maker answered,sorrowfully, "Yes, Helen, I mean the strike." There was something in the Interpreter's manner--something inthe weary, drooping figure in that wheel chair--in the tired,deep-lined face--in the pain-filled eyes and the gentle voice thatwent to the deeps of Helen Ward's woman heart. With her, as with every one in Millsburgh, the strike was atopic of daily conversation. She sympathized with her brother inhis anxiety. She was worried over the noticeable effect of theexcitement upon her father. She was interested in McIver's talk ofthe situation. But in no vital way had her life been touched by theindustrial trouble. In no way had she come in actual contact withit. The realities of the situation were to her vague, intangible,remote from her world, as indeed the Mill itself had been, beforeher visit with John that day. To her, the Interpreter was of allmen set apart from the world. In his little hut on the cliff, withhis books and his basket making, her gentle old friend's life, itseemed to her, held not one thing in common with the busy worldthat lay within sight of the balcony-porch. The thought that theindustrial trouble could in any way touch him came to her with adistinct shock. "Surely," she protested, at last, "the strike cannot affect you.It has nothing to do with your work." "Every strike has to do with all work everywhere, child,"returned the man in the wheel chair, while his busy fingers wovethe fabric of a basket. "Every idle hand in the world, Helen,whatever the cause of its idleness, compels some other's hand to doits work. The work of the world must be done, child--somehow, bysome one--the work of the world must be done. The little Maggiesand Bobbies of the Flats down there must be fed, you know--andtheir mother too--yes, and Sam Whaley himself must be cared for.And so you see, because of the strike, Billy and I must workovertime."
Certainly there was no hint of rebuke in the old basket maker'skindly voice, but the daughter of Adam Ward felt her cheeks flushwith a quick sense of shame. That her old friend in the wheel chairshould so accept the responsibility of his neighbor's need and givehimself thus to help them, while she-"Is there," she faltered, "is there really so much sufferingamong the strikers?" Without raising his eyes from his work, he answered, "The womenand children--they are so helpless." "I--I did not realize," she murmured. "I did not know." "You were not ignorant of the helpless women and children whosuffered in foreign lands," he returned. "Why should you not knowof the mothers and babies in Millsburgh?" "But McIver says--" she hesitated. The Interpreter caught up her words. "McIver says that byfeeding the starving families of the strikers the strike isprolonged. He relies upon the hunger and cold and sickness of thewomen and children for his victory. And Jake Vodell relies upon thesuffering in the families of his followers for that desperatefrenzy of class hatred, without which he cannot gain his end. DoesMcIver want for anything? No! Is Jake Vodell in need? No! It is notthe imperialistic leaders in these industrial wars who pay theprice. It is always the little Bobbies and Maggies who pay. Thepeople of America stood aghast with horror when an unarmedpassenger ship was torpedoed or a defenseless village was bombed byorder of a ruthless Kaiser; but we permit these Kaisers of capitaland labor to carry on their industrial wars without a thought ofthe innocent ones who must suffer under their ruthlesspolicies." He paused; then, with no trace of bitterness, but only sadnessin his voice, he added, "You say you do not know, child--and yet,you could know so easily if you would. Little Bobby and Maggie donot live in a far-off land across the seas. They live right overthere in the shadow of your father's Mill--the Mill which suppliesyou, Helen, with every material need and luxury of your life." As if she could bear to hear no more, Helen rose quickly andwent from the room to stand on the balcony-porch. It was not so much the Interpreter's words--it was rather thespirit in which they were spoken that moved her so deeply. By herown heart she was judged. "For every idle hand," he had said. Herhands were idle hands. Her old white-haired friend in his wheelchair was doing her work. His crippled body drooped with wearinessover his task because she did nothing. His face was lined with carebecause she was careless of the need that burdened him. His eyeswere filled with sadness and pain because she wasindifferent--because she did not know--had not cared to know. *****
The sun was almost down that afternoon when Bobby Whaley cameout of the wretched house that was his home to stand on the frontdoorstep. The dingy, unpainted buildings of the Flats--the untidyhovels and shanties--the dilapidated fences and brokensidewalks--unlovely at best, in the long shadows of the failingday, were sinister with the gloom of poverty. High above the Mill the twisting columns of smoke from the tallstacks caught the last of the sunlight and formed slow, changingcloud-shapes--rolling hills of brightness with soft, shadowyvalleys and canons of mysterious depths between--towering domes andcrags and castled heights--grim, foreboding, beautiful. The boy who stood on the steps, looking so listlessly about, wasnot the daring adventurer who had so boldly led his sister up thezigzag steps to the Interpreter's hut. He was not the Bobby who hadridden in such triumph beside the princess lady so far into theunknown country. His freckled face was thin and pinched. The skinwas drawn tight over the high cheek bones and the eyes were wideand staring. His young body that had been so sturdy was gaunt andskeletonlike. The dirty rags that clothed him were scarcely enoughto hide his nakedness. The keen autumn air that had put the flushof good red blood into the cheeks of the golfers at the countryclub that afternoon whirled about his bare feet and legs withstinging cruelty. His thin lips and wasted limbs were blue withcold. Turning slowly, he seemed about to reenter the house, butwhen his hand touched the latch he paused and once more uncertainlyfaced toward the street. There was no help for him in his home. Heknew no other place to go for food or shelter. As the boy again looked hopelessly about the wretchedneighborhood, he saw a woman coming down the street. He could tell,even at that distance, that the lady was a stranger to the Flats.Her dress, simple as it was, and her veil marked her as a residentof some district more prosperous than that grimy community in theshadow of the Mill. A flash of momentary interest lighted the hungry eyes of thelad. But, no, it could not be one of the charity workers--thecharity ladies always came earlier in the day and always inautomobiles. Then he saw the stranger stop and speak to a boy in front of ahouse two doors away. The neighbor boy pointed toward Bobby and thelady came on, walking quickly as if she were a little frightened atbeing alone amid such surroundings. At the gap where once had been a gate in the dilapidated fence,she turned in toward the house and the wondering boy on the frontstep. She was within a few feet of the lad when she stoppedsuddenly with a low exclamation. Bobby thought that she had discovered her mistake in coming tothe wrong place. But the next moment she was coming closer, and heheard, "Bobby, is that really you! You poor child, have you beenill?" "I ain't been sick, if that's what yer mean," returnedthe boy. "Mag is, though. She's worse today."
His manner was sullenly defiant, as if the warmly dressedstranger had in some way revealed herself as his enemy. "Don't you know me, Bobby?" "Not with yer face covered up like that, I don't." She laughed nervously and raised her veil. "Huh, it's you, is it? Funny--Mag's been a-talkin' about herprincess lady all afternoon. What yer doin' here?" Before this hollow-cheeked skeleton of a boy Helen Ward feltstrangely like one who, conscious of guilt, is brought suddenlyinto the presence of a stern judge. "Why, Bobby," she faltered, "I--I came to see you and Maggie--Iwas at the Interpreter's this afternoon and he told me--I meansomething he said made me want to come." "The Interpreter, he's all right," said the boy. "So's MaryMartin." "Aren't you just a little glad to see me, Bobby?" The boy did not seem to hear. "Funny the way Mag talks about yerall the time. She's purty sick all right. Peterson's baby, itdied." "Can't we go into the house and see Maggie? You must be nearlyfrozen standing out here in the cold." "Huh, I'm used to freezin'--I guess yer can come on inthough--if yer want to. Mebbe Mag 'd like to see yer." He pushed open the door, and she followed him into the ghastlybarrenness of the place that he knew as home. Never before had the daughter of Adam Ward viewed such naked,cruel poverty. She shuddered with the horror of it. It was sounreal--so unbelievable. A small, rusty cookstove with no fire--a rude table with nocloth--a rickety cupboard with its shelves bare save for a fewdishes--two broken-backed chairs--that was all. No, it was notall--on a window ledge, beneath a bundle of rags that filled theopening left by a broken pane, was a small earthen flowerpotholding a single scraggly slip of geranium. Helen seemed to hear again the Interpreter saying, "A girl withtrue instincts for the best things of life and a capacity for greathappiness." At Bobby's call, Mrs. Whaley came from another room.
The boy did not even attempt an introduction but stood sullenlyaside, waiting developments, and the mother in her pitiful distressevidently failed to identify their visitor when Helen introducedherself. "I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am," she said, mechanically, andgazed at the young woman with a stony indifference, as though hermind, deadened by fearful anxiety and physical suffering, refusedeven to wonder at the stranger's presence in her home. Helen did not know what to say--in the presence of this livingtragedy of motherhood she felt so helpless, so overwhelmed with theuselessness of mere words. What right had she, a stranger fromanother world, to intrude unasked upon the privacy of this home?And yet, something deep within her--something more potent in itsauthority than the conventionalities that had so far ruled herlife--assured her that she had the right to be there. "I--I called to see Bobby and Maggie," she faltered. "I metthem, you know, at the Interpreter's." As if Helen's mention of the old basket maker awakened a sparkof life in her pain-deadened senses, the woman returned, "Yes,ma'am--take a chair. No, not that one--it's broke. Here--this onewill hold you up, I guess." With nervous haste she dusted the chair with her apron. "You'dbest keep your things on. We don't have no fire except to cookby--when there's anything to cook." She found a match and lighted a tiny lamp, for it was growingdark. "Bobby tells me that little Maggie is ill," offered Helen. Mrs. Whaley looked toward the door of that other room and wrungher thin, toil-worn hands in the agony of her mother fear. "Yes,ma'am--she's real bad, I guess. Poor child, she's been ailin' forsome time. And since the strike--" Her voice broke, and her eyes,dry as if they had long since exhausted their supply of tears, werefilled with hopeless misery. "We had the doctor once before things got so bad; about the timemy man quit his work in the Mill to help Jake Vodell, it was. Andthe doctor he said all she needed was plenty of good food and warmclothes and a chance to play in the fresh country air." She looked grimly about the bare room. "We couldn't have thedoctor no more. I don't know as it would make any difference if wecould. My man, he's away most of the time. I ain't seen him sinceyesterday mornin'. And to-day Maggie's been a lot worse. I--I'mafraid--" Helen wanted to cry aloud. Was it possible that she had askedthe Interpreter only a few hours before if there was really muchsuffering in the families of the strikers? "You can see Maggie ifyou want," said the mother. "She's in there." She rose as if to show her visitor to the room.
But Helen said, quickly, "In just a moment. Mrs. Whaley, won'tyou tell me first--is there--is there no one to help you?" Sheasked the question timidly, as if fearing to offend. The other woman answered, hopelessly, "The charity ladies do alittle, and the Interpreter and Mary Martin do all they can. Butyou see, ma'am, there's so many others just like us that thereain't near enough to go 'round." The significance of the woman's colorless words went to Helen'sheart with appalling force--"so many others just like us." Thisstricken home was not then an exception. With flashing vividnessher mind pictured many rooms similar to the cold and barrenapartment where she sat. She visioned as clearly as she saw Mrs.Whaley the many other wives and mothers with Bobbies and Maggieswho were caught helplessly in the monstrous net of the strike, asthese were caught. She knew now why the Interpreter and Billy Randworked so hard. And again she felt her cheeks burn with shame aswhen the old basket maker had said, "For every idle hand--" Helen Ward had been an active leader in the foreign relief workduring the war. Her portrait had even been published in the papersas one who was devoted to the cause of the stricken women andchildren abroad. But that had all been impersonal, whilethis--Already in her heart she was echoing the old familiar cry ofthe comparative few, "If only the people knew! If only they couldbe made to see as she had been made to see! The people are not socruel. They simply do not know. They are ignorant, as she wasignorant." Aloud she was saying to Bobby, as she thrust her purse in theboy's hand, "You must run quickly, Bobby, to the nearest store andget the things that your mother needs first, and have some onetelephone for a doctor to come at once." To the mother she added, hurriedly, as if fearing a protest,"Please, Mrs. Whaley, let me help. I am so sorry I did not knowbefore. Won't you forgive me and let me help you now?" "Gee!" exclaimed Bobby, who had opened the purse. "Look-ee, mom!Gee!" As one in a dream, the mother turned from the money in the boy'shand to Helen. "You ain't meanin', ma'am, for us to use allthat?" "Yes--yes--don't be afraid to get what you need--there will bemore when that is gone." The poor woman did not fill the air with loud cries ofhysterical gratitude and superlative prayers to God for Hisblessing upon this one who had come so miraculously to her relief.For a moment she stood trembling with emotion, while her tearlesseyes were fixed upon Helen's face with a look of such gratitudethat the young woman was forced to turn away lest her own feelingescape her control. Then, snatching the money from the boy's hands,she said, "I had better go myself, ma'am--Bobby can come along tohelp carry things. If you"--she hesitated, with a look toward thatother room--"if you wouldn't mind stayin' with Maggie till we getback?" A minute later and Helen was alone in that wretched house in theFlats--alone save for the sick child in the next room.
The door to the street had scarcely closed when a wave of terrorswept over her. She started to her feet. She could not do it. Shewould call Mrs. Whaley back. She would go herself for the neededthings. But there was a strength in Helen Ward that few of her mostintimate friends, even, realized; and before her hand touched thelatch of the door she had command of herself once more. In much thesame spirit that her brother John perhaps had faced a lonely nightwatch in Flanders fields, Adam Ward's daughter forced herself to dothis thing that had so unexpectedly fallen to her. For some minutes she walked the floor, listening to the noisesof the neighborhood. Anxiously she opened the door and looked outinto the fast, gathering darkness. No one of her own people knewwhere she was. She had heard terrible things of Jake Vodell and hiscreed of terrorism. McIver had pressed it upon her mind that thestrikers were all alike in their lawlessness. What if Sam Whaleyshould return to find her there? She listened--listened. A faint, moaning sound came from the next room. She went quicklyto the doorway, but in the faint light she could see only theshadowy outline of a bed. Taking the lamp she enteredfearfully. Save for the bed, an old box that served as a table, and onechair, this room was as bare as the other. With the lamp in herhand Helen stood beside the bed. The tiny form of little Maggie was lost under the ragged anddirty coverlet. The child's face in the tangled mass of her unkempthair was so wasted and drawn, her eyes, closed under their darklids, so deeply sunken, and her teeth so exposed by the thinfleshless lips, that she seemed scarcely human. One bony arm withits clawlike hand encircled the rag doll that she had held that daywhen Helen took the two children into the country. As Helen looked all her fears vanished. She had no thought, now,of where she was or how she came there. Deep within her she feltthe awakening of that mother soul which lives in every woman. Shedid not shrink in horror from this hideous fruit of Jake Vodell'sactivity. She did not cry out in pity or sorrow. She uttered noword of protest. As she put the lamp down on the box, her hand didnot tremble. Very quietly she placed the chair beside the bed andsat down to watch and wait as motherhood in all ages has watchedand waited. While poor Sam Whaley was busy on some mission assigned to himby his leader, Jake Vodell, and his wife and boy were gone for thefood supplied by a stranger to his household, this woman, of theclass that he had been taught to hate, held alone her vigil at thebedside of the workman's little girl. A thin, murmuring voice came from the bed. Helen leaned closer.She heard a few incoherent mutterings--then, "No--no--Bobby, yerwouldn't dast blow up the castle. Yer'd maybe kill the princesslady--yer know yer couldn't do that!" Again the weak little voice sank into low, meaning less murmurs.The tiny, clawlike fingers plucked at the coverlet. "Tain't so, theprincess lady will find her jewel of happiness, I tell yer,Bobby, jest like the Interpreter told us--cause her heart iskind--yer know her heart is--kind-kind--"
Silence again. Some one passed the house. A dog howled. A childin the house next door cried. Across the street a man's voice wasraised in anger. Suddenly little Maggie's eyes opened wide. "An' the princesslady is a-comin' some day to take Bobby and me away up in the skyto her beautiful palace place where there's flowers and birds an'everythin' all the time an'--an'--" The big eyes were fixed on Helen's face as the' young womanstooped over the bed, and the light of a glorious smile transformedthe wasted childish features. "Why--why--yer--yer've come!"
Book III. The StrikeChapter XXV. McIver's Opportunity
When the politician stopped at the cigar stand late thatafternoon for a box of the kind he gave his admirers, thephilosopher, scratching the revenue label, remarked, "I see by thepapers that McIver is still a-stayin'." "Humph!" grunted the politician with careful diplomacy. The bank clerk who was particular about his pipe tobacco chimedin, "McIver is a stayer all right when it comes to that." "Natural born fighter, sir," offered the politiciantentatively. "Game sport, McIver is," agreed the undertaker, taking the placeat the show case vacated by the departing bank clerk. The philosopher, handing out the newcomer's favorite smoke,echoed his customer's admiration. "You bet he's a game sport." Hepunched the cash register with vigor. "Don't give a hang what itcosts the other fellow." The undertaker laughed. "I remember one time," said the philosopher, "McIver and a bunchwas goin' fishin' up the river. They stopped here early in themorning and while they was gettin' their smokes the judge-who'salways handin' out some sort of poetry stuff, you know--he says:'Well, Jim, we're goin' to have a fine day anyway. No matterwhether we catch anything or not it will be worth the trip just toget out into the country.' Mac, he looked at the judge a minute asif he wanted to bite him--you know what I mean--then he says inthat growlin' voice of his, 'That may do for you all right, judge,but I'm here to tell you that when I go fishin' I go forfish.'" The cigar-store philosopher's story accurately described thedominant trait in the factory man's character. To him business wasa sport, a game, a contest of absorbing interest. He entered intoit with all the zest and strength of his virile manhood. Mind andbody, it absorbed him. And yet, he knew nothing of that truesportsman's passion which plays the game for the joy of the gameitself.
McIver played to win; not for the sake of winning, but forthe value of the winnings. Methods were good or bad only as theywon or lost. He was incapable of experiencing those larger triumphswhich come only in defeat. The Interpreter's philosophy of the"oneness of all" was to McIver the fanciful theory of animpracticable dreamer, who, too feeble to take a man's part inlife, contented himself by formulating creeds of weakness thatbefitted his state. Men were the pieces with which he played hisgame--they were of varied values, certainly, as are the pieces on achess table, but they were pieces on the chess table and nothingmore. All of which does not mean that Jim McIver was cruel orunkind. Indeed, he was genuinely and generously interested in manyworthy charities, and many a man had appealed to him, and not invain, for help. But to have permitted these humanitarian instinctsto influence his play in the game of business would have been, tohis mind, evidence of a weakness that was contemptible. The humanelement, he held, must, of necessity, be sternly disregarded if onewould win. While his fellow townsmen were discussing him at the cigarstand, and men everywhere in Millsburgh were commenting on hisdetermination to break the strikers to his will at any cost,McIver, at his office, was concluding a conference with a littlecompany of his fellow employers. It was nearly dark when the conference finally ended and the menwent their several ways. McIver, with some work of specialimportance waiting his attention, telephoned that he would not behome for dinner. He would finish what he had to do and would dineat the club later in the evening. The big factory inside the high, board fence was silent. Thenight came on. Save for the armed men who guarded the place, theowner was alone. Absorbed in his consideration of the business before him, theman was oblivious of everything but his game. An hour went by. Heforgot that he had had no dinner. Another hour--and another. He was interrupted at last by the entrance of a guard. "Well, what do you want?" he said, shortly, when the man stoodbefore him. "There's a woman outside, sir. She insists that she must seeyou." "A woman!" "Yes, sir." "Who is she?" "I don't know." "Well, what does she look like?" "I couldn't see her face, she's got a veil on."
The factory owner considered. How did any one outside of hishome know that he was in his office at that hour? These times weredangerous. "Vodell is likely to try anything," he said, aloud."Better send her about her business." "I tried to," the guard returned, "but she won't go--says she isa friend of yours and has got to see you to-night." "A friend! Huh! How did she get here?" "In a taxi, and the taxi beat it as soon as she got out." Again McIver considered. Then his heavy jaw set, and he growled,"All right, bring her in--a couple of you--and see that you standby while she is here. If this is a Vodell trick of some sort, I'llbeat him to it." Helen, escorted by two burly guards, entered the office. McIver sprang to his feet with an exclamation of amazement, andhis tender concern was unfeigned and very comforting to the youngwoman after the harrowing experience through which she had justpassed. Sending the guards back to their posts, he listened gravelywhile she told him where she had been and what she had seen. "But, Helen," he cried, when she had finished, "it was sheermadness for you to be alone in the Flats like that--at Whaley'splace and in the night, too! Good heavens, girl, don't you realizewhat a risk you were taking?" "I had to go, Jim," she returned. "You had to go?" he repeated. "Why?" "I had to see for myself if--if things were as bad as theInterpreter said. Oh, can't you understand, Jim, I could notbelieve it--it all seemed so impossible. Don't you see that I hadto know for sure?" "I see that some one ought to break that meddlesome old basketmaker's head as well as his legs," growled McIver indignantly. "Theidea of sending you, Adam Ward's daughter, of all people, aloneinto that nest of murdering anarchists." "But the Interpreter didn't send me, Jim," she protested. "Hedid not even know that I was going. No one knew." "I understand all that," said McIver. "The Interpreter didn'tsend you--oh, no--he simply made you think that you ought to go.That's the way the tricky old scoundrel does everything, from whatI am told."
She looked at him steadily. "Do you think, Jim, theInterpreter's way is such a bad way to get people to dothings?" "Forgive me," he begged humbly, "but it makes me wild to thinkwhat might have happened to you. It's all right now, though. I'lltake you home, and in the future you can turn such work over to theregular charity organizations." He was crossing the room for hishat and overcoat. "Jove! I can't believe yet that you have actuallybeen in such a mess and all by your lonesome, too." She was about to speak when he stopped, and, as if struck by asudden thought, said, quickly, "But Helen, you haven't told me--howdid you know I was here?" She explained hurriedly, "The doctor sent a taxi for me and Itelephoned your house from a drug store. Your man told me youexpected to be late at the office and would dine at the club. Iphoned the club and when I learned that you were not there I camestraight on. I--I had to see you tonight, Jim. And I was afraid ifI phoned you here at the office you wouldn't let me come." McIver evidently saw from her manner that there was stillsomething in the amazing situation that they had not yet touchedupon. Coming back to his desk, he said, "I don't think Iunderstand, Helen. Why were you in such a hurry to see me? Besides,don't you know that I would have gone to you, at once,anywhere?" "I know, Jim," she returned, slowly, as one approaching adifficult subject, "but I couldn't tell you what I had seen. Icouldn't talk to you about these things at home." "I understand," he said, gently, "and I am glad that you wantedto come to me. But you are tired and nervous and all unstrung, now.Let me take you home and to-morrow we will talk things over." As if he had not spoken, she said, steadily, "I wanted to tellyou about the terrible, terrible condition of those poor people,Jim. I thought you ought to know about them exactly as they are andnot in a vague, indefinite way as I knew about them before I wentto see for myself." The man moved uneasily. "I do know about the condition of thesepeople, Helen. It is exactly what I expected would happen." She was listening carefully. "You expected them to--to be hungryand cold and sick like that, Jim?" "Such conditions are always a part of every strike like this,"he returned. "There is nothing unusual about it, and it is the onlything that will ever drive these cattle back to their work. Theysimply have to be starved to it." "But John says--"
He interrupted. "Please, Helen--I know all about what John says.I know where he gets it, too--he gets it from the Interpreter whogave you this crazy notion of going alone into the Flats toinvestigate personally. And John's ideas are just about aspractical." "But the mothers and children, Jim?" "The men can go back to work whenever they are ready," heretorted. "At your terms, you mean?" she asked. "My terms are the only terms that will ever open this plantagain. The unions will never dictate my business policies, if everyfamily in Millsburgh starves." She waited a moment before she said, slowly, "I must be surethat I understand, Jim--do you mean that you are actually dependingupon such pitiful conditions as I have seen to-night to give you avictory over the strikers?" The man made a gesture of impatience. "It is the principle ofthe thing that is at stake, Helen. If I yield in this instance itwill be only the beginning of a worse trouble. If the working classwins this time there will be no end to their demands. We might aswell turn all our properties over to them at once and be done withit. This strike in Millsburgh is only a small part of the generalindustrial situation. The entire business interests of the countryare involved." Again she waited a little before answering. Then she said,sadly, "How strange! It is hard for me to realize, Jim, that theentire business interests of this great nation are actuallydependent upon the poor little Maggie Whaleys." "Helen!" he protested, "you make me out a heartless brute." "No, Jim, I know you are not that. But when you insist that whatI saw to-night--that the suffering of these poor, helpless mothersand their children is the only thing that will enable you employersto break this strike and save the business of the country--it--itdoes seem a good deal like the Germans' war policy of frightfulnessthat we all condemned so bitterly, doesn't it?" "These things are not matters of sentiment, Helen. Jake Vodellis not conducting his campaign by the Golden Rule." "I know, Jim, but I could not go to Jake Vodell as I have cometo you--could I? And I could not talk to the poor, foolish strikerswho are so terribly deceived by him. Don't you suppose, Jim, thatmost of the strikers think they are right?" The man stirred uneasily. "I can't help what they think. I canconsider only the facts as they are." "That is just what I want, Jim," she cried. "Only it seems to methat you are leaving out some of the most important facts. I can'thelp believing that if our great captains of industry and kings offinance and teachers of economics and labor leaders would considerall the facts they could find
some way to settle thesedifferences between employers and employees and save the industriesof the country without starving little girls and boys and theirmothers." "If I could have my way the government would settle thedifficulty in a hurry," he said, grimly. "You mean the soldiers?" "Yes, the government should put enough troops from the regulararmy in here to drive these men back to their jobs." "But aren't these working people just as much a part of ourgovernment as you employers? Forgive me, Jim, but your plan soundsto me too much like the very imperialism that our soldiers foughtagainst in France." "Imperialism or not!" he retorted, "the business men of thiscountry will never submit to the dictatorship of Jake Vodell andhis kind. It would be chaos and utter ruin. Look what they aredoing in other countries." "Of course it would," she agreed, "but the Interpreter says thatif the business men and employers and the better class of employeeslike Peter Martin would get together as--as John and Charlie Martinare--that Jake Vodell and his kind would be powerless." He did not answer, and she continued, "As I understand brotherand the Interpreter, this man Vodell does not represent the unionsat all--he merely uses some of the unions, wherever he can, throughsuch men as Sam Whaley. Isn't that so, Jim?" "Whether it is so or not, the result is the same," he answered."If the unions of the laboring classes permit themselves to be usedas tools by men like Jake Vodell they must take theconsequences." He rose to his feet as one who would end an unprofitablediscussion. "Come, Helen, it is useless for you to make yourselfill over these questions. You are worn out now. Come, you reallymust let me take you home." "I suppose I must," she answered, wearily. He went to her. "It is wonderful for you to do what you havedone to-night, and for you to come to me like this. Helen--won'tyou give me my answer--won't you--?" She put out her hands with a little gesture of protest. "Please,Jim, let's not talk about ourselves to-night. I--I can't." Silently he turned away to take up his hat and coat. Silentlyshe stood waiting. But when he was ready, she said, "Jim, there is just one thingmore." "What is it, Helen?"
"Tell me truly: you could stop this strike, couldn't you?I mean if you would come to some agreement with your factory men,all the others would go back to work, too, wouldn't they?" "Yes," he said, "I could." She hesitated--then falteringly, "Jim, if I--if I promise to beyour wife will you--will you stop the strike? For the sake of themothers and children who are cold and hungry and sick, Jim--willyou-will you stop the strike?" For a long minute, Jim McIver could not answer. He wanted thiswoman as a man of his strength wants the woman he has chosen. Atthe beginning of their acquaintance his interest in Helen had beenlargely stimulated by the business possibilities of a combinationof his factory and Adam Ward's Mill. But as their friendship hadgrown he had come to love her sincerely, and the more materialconsideration of their union had faded into the background. Menlike McIver, who are capable of playing their games of businesswith such intensity and passion, are capable of great and enduringlove. They are capable, too, of great sacrifices to principle. Ashe considered her words and grasped the full force of her questionhis face went white and his nerves were tense with the emotionalstrain. At last he said, gently, "Helen, dear, I love you. I want youfor my wife. I want you more than I ever wanted anything. Nothingin the world is of any value to me compared with your love. But,dear girl, don't you see that I can't take you like this? Youcannot sell yourself to me--even for such a price. I cannot buyyou." He turned away. "Forgive me, Jim," she cried. "I did not realize what I wassaying. I--I was thinking of little Maggie--I--I know you would notdo what you are doing if you did not think you were right. Take mehome now, please, Jim." ***** Silently they went out to his automobile. Tenderly he helped herinto the car and tucked the robe about her. The guards swung openthe big gates, and they swept away into the night. Past the bigMill and the Flats, through the silent business district and up thehill they glided swiftly-steadily. And no word passed betweenthem. They were nearing the gate to the Ward estate when Helensuddenly grasped her companion's arm with a low exclamation. At the same moment McIver instinctively checked the speed of hiscar. They had both seen the shadowy form of a man walking slowly pastthe entrance to Helen's home. To Helen, there was something strangely familiar in the dimoutlines of the moving figure. As they drove slowly on, passing theman who was now in the deeper shadows of the trees and
busheswhich, at this spot grew close to the fence, she turned her head,keeping her eyes upon him. Suddenly a flash of light stabbed the darkness. A shot rang out.And another. Helen saw the man she was watching fall. With a cry, she started from her seat; and before McIver, whohad involuntarily stopped the car, could check her, she had leapedfrom her place beside him and was running toward the fallenman. With a shout "Helen!" McIver followed. As she knelt beside the form on the ground McIver put his handon her shoulder. "Helen," he said, sharply, as if to bring her toher senses, "you must not--here, let me--" Without moving from her position she turned her face up to him."Don't you understand, Jim? It is Captain Charlie." Two watchmen on the Ward estate, who had heard the shots, camerunning up. McIver tried to insist that Helen go with him in his roadster tothe house for help and a larger car, but she refused. When he returned with John, the chauffeur and one of the bigWard machines, after telephoning the police and the doctor, Helenwas kneeling over the wounded man just as he had left her. She did not raise her head when they stood beside her and seemedunconscious of their presence. But when John lifted her up and sheheard her brother's voice, she cried out and clung to him like afrightened child. The doctor arrived just as they were carrying Captain Charlieinto the room to which Mrs. Ward herself led them. The police camea moment later. While the physician, with John's assistance, was caring for hispatient, McIver gave the officers what information he could andwent with them to the scene of the shooting. He returned to the house after the officers had completed theirexamination of the spot and the immediate vicinity just in time tomeet John, who was going out. Helen and her mother were with thedoctor at the bedside of the assassin's victim. McIver wondered at the anguish in John Ward's face. But CaptainCharlie's comrade only asked, steadily, "Did the police findanything, Jim?" "Not a thing," McIver answered. "What does the doctor say,John?"
John turned away as if to hide his emotion and for a moment didnot answer. Then he spoke those words so familiar to the men ofFlanders' fields, "Charlie is going West, Jim. I must bring hisfather and sister. Would you mind waiting here until I return?Something might develop, you know." "Certainly, I will stay, John--anything that I can do--commandme, won't you?" "Thank you, Jim--I'll not be long." ***** While he waited there alone, Jim McIver's mind went back overthe strange incidents of the evening: Helen's visit to the Whaleyhome and her coming to him. Swiftly he reviewed their conversation.What was it that had so awakened Helen's deep concern for thelaboring class? He had before noticed her unusual interest in thestrike and in the general industrial situation--but tonight--hehad never dreamed that she would go so far. Why had she continuedto refuse an answer to his pleading? What was Charlie Martin doingin that neighborhood at that hour? How had Helen recognized him soquickly and surely in the darkness? The man, as these and manyother unanswerable questions crowded upon him, felt a strangeforeboding. Mighty forces beyond his understanding seemed stirringabout him. As one feels the gathering of a storm in the night, hefelt the mysterious movements of elements beyond his control. He was disturbed suddenly by the opening of an outer door behindhim. Turning quickly, he faced Adam Ward. Before McIver could speak, the Mill owner motioned him to besilent. Wondering, McIver obeyed and watched with amazement as themaster of that house closed the door with cautious care and stolesoftly toward him. To his family Adam Ward's manner would not haveappeared so strange, but McIver had never seen the man under one ofhis attacks of nervous excitement. "I'm glad you are here, Jim," Adam said, in a shaking whisper."You understand these things. John is a fool--he don't believe whenI tell him they are after us. But you know what to do. You have theright idea about handling these unions. Kill the leaders; and ifthe men won't work, turn the soldiers loose on them. You said theright thing, 'Drive them to their jobs with bayonets.' PeteMartin's boy was one of them, and he got what was coming to himto-night. And John and Helen brought him right here into my house.They've got him upstairs there now. They think I'll stand for it,but you'll see--I'll show them! What was he hanging around my placefor in the night like this? I know what he was after. But he gotwhat he wasn't looking for this time and Pete will get his too, ifhe--" "Father!"
Unnoticed, Helen had come into the room behind them. In pacingthe open door she had seen her father and had realized instantlyhis condition. But the little she had heard him say was not at allunusual to her, and she attached no special importance to hiswords. Adam Ward was like a child, abashed in her presence. She looked at McIver appealingly. "Father is excited andnervous, Jim. He is not at all well, you know." McIver spoke with gentle authority, "If you will permit me, Iwill go with him to his room for a little quiet talk. And then,perhaps, he can sleep. What do you say, Mr. Ward?" "Yes--yes," agreed Adam, hurriedly. Helen looked her gratitude and McIver led the Mill owneraway. When they were in Adam's own apartment and the door was shutMcIver's manner changed with startling abruptness. With all themasterful power of his strong-willed nature he faced his tremblinghost, and his heavy voice was charged with the force of hisdominating personality. "Listen to me, Adam Ward. You must stop this crazy nonsense. Ifyou act and talk like this the police will have the handcuffs onyou before you know where you are." Adam cringed before him. "Jim--I--I--do they think that I--" "Shut up!" growled McIver. "I don't want to hear another word. Ihave heard too much now. Charlie Martin stays right here in thishouse and your family will give him every attention. His father andsister will be here, too, and you'll not open your mouth againstthem. Do you understand?" "Yes--yes," whispered the now thoroughly frightened Adam. "Don't you dare even to speak to Mrs. Ward or John or Helen asyou have to me. And for God's sake pull yourself together andremember--you don't know any more than the rest of us about thisbusiness--you were in your room when you heard the shots." "Yes, of course, Jim--but I--I--" "Shut up! You are not to talk, I tell you--even to me." Adam Ward whimpered like a child. For another moment McIver glared at him; then, "Don't forgetthat I saw this affair and that I went over the ground with thepolice. I'm going back downstairs now. You go to bed where youbelong and stay there."
He turned abruptly and left the room. But as he went down the stairway McIver drew his handkerchieffrom his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "What in God's name," he asked himself, "did Adam Ward's excitedfears mean? What terrible thing gave birth to his mad words? Whatawful pattern was this that the unseen forces were weaving? Andwhat part was he, with his love for Helen, destined to fill in itall?" That his life was being somehow woven into the design he feltcertain--but how and to what end? And again the man in all hisstrength felt that dread foreboding. ***** When Peter Martin and his daughter arrived with John at the bighouse on the hill, Mrs. Ward met them at the door. The old workman betrayed no consciousness of the distance theyears of Adam Ward's material prosperity had placed between thesetwo families that in the old-house days had lived in suchintimacy. Mary hesitated. It must have been that to the girl, who saw itbetween herself and the happy fulfillment of her womanhood, thedistance seemed even greater than it actually was. But her hesitation was only for an instant. One full look intothe gentle face that was so marked by the years of uncomplainingdisappointment and patient unhappiness and Mary knew that in theheart of John Ward's mother the separation had brought no change.In the arms of her own mother's dearest friend the young womanfound, even as a child, the love she needed to sustain her in thathour. When they entered the room where Captain Charlie layunconscious, Helen rose from her watch beside the bed and held outher hands to her girlhood playmate. And in her gesture there was afull surrender--a plea for pardon. Humbly she offered--lovingly sheinvited--while she held her place beside the man who was slowlypassing into that shadow where all class forms are lost, as if sheclaimed the right before a court higher than the petty courts ofhuman customs. No word was spoken--no word was needed. The daughterof Peter Martin and the daughter of Adam Ward knew that the bond oftheir sisterhood was sealed. In that wretched home in the Flats, little Maggie Whaley smiledin her sleep as she dreamed of her princess lady. The armed guards at their stations around McIver's dark andsilent factory kept their watch. The Mill, under the cloud of smoke, sang the deep-voiced song ofits industry as the night shift carried on. In the room back of the pool hall, Jake Vodell whispered withtwo of his disciples.
In the window of the Interpreter's hut on the cliff a lampgleamed starlike above the darkness below.
Book III. The StrikeChapter XXVI. At the Call of the Whistle
Everywhere in Millsburgh the shooting of Captain Charlie was theone topic of conversation. As the patrons of the cigar stand cameand went they talked with the philosopher of nothing else. Thedry-goods pessimist delivered his dark predictions to a group ofhis fellow citizens and listened with grave shakes of his head tothe counter opinions of the real-estate agent. The grocerquestioned the garage man and the lawyer discussed the knowndetails of the tragedy with the postmaster, the hotel keeper andthe politician. The barber asked the banker for his views andreviewed the financier's opinion to the judge while a farmer and apreacher listened. The milliner told her customers about it and thestenographer discussed it with the bookkeeper. In the homes, on thestreets, and, later in the day, throughout the country, the shockof the crime was felt. Meanwhile, the efforts of the police to find the assassin werefruitless. The most careful search revealed nothing in the natureof a clew. Millsburgh had been very proud of Captain Martin and the honorshe had won in France, as Millsburgh was proud of Adam Ward and hissuccess--only with a different pride. The people had known Charliefrom his birth, as they had known his father and mother all theiryears. There had been nothing in the young workman's life--as everyone remarked--to lead to such an end. It is doubtful if in the entire community there was a singlesoul that did not secretly or openly think of the tragedy as beingin some dark way an outcome of the strike. And, gradually, as theday passed, the conjectures, opinions and views crystallized intotwo opposing theories--each with its natural advocates. One division of the people held that the deed was committed bysome one of Jake Vodell's followers, because of the workman's knownopposition to a sympathetic strike of the Mill workers' union.Captain Charlie's leadership of the Mill men was recognized by all,and it was conceded generally that it was his active influence,guided by the Interpreter's counsel, that was keeping John Ward'semployees at work. Without the assistance of the Mill men thestrike leader could not hope for victory. With Captain Charlie'spersonal influence no longer a factor, it was thought that theagitator might win the majority of the Mill workers and so forcethe union into line with the strikers. This opinion was held by many of the business men and by themore thoughtful members of the unions, who had watched with graveapprehension the increasing bitterness of the agitator's hatred ofCaptain Charlie, because of the workman's successful opposition tohis schemes. The opposing theory, which was skillfully advanced by JakeVodell himself and fostered by his followers, was that themysterious assassin was an agent of McIver's and that the deed
wascommitted for the very purpose of charging the strikers with thecrime and thus turning public sympathy against them. This view, so plausible to the minds of the strikers, prepared,as they were, by hardship and suffering, found many champions amongthe Mill men themselves. Not a few of those who had stood withCharlie in his opposition to the agitator and against their unionjoining the strike now spoke openly with bitter feeling against theemployer class. The weeks of agitation--the constant pounding ofVodell's arguments--the steady fire of his oratory and thecontinual appeal to their class loyalty made it easy for them tostand with their fellow workmen, now that the issue was being soclearly forced. So the lines of the industrial battle were drawn closer--theopposing forces were massed in more definite formation--the feelingwas more intense and bitter. In the gloom and hush of the impendingdesperate struggle that was forced upon it by the emissary of analien organization, this little American city waited the coming ofthe dark messenger to Captain Charlie. It was felt by all alikethat the workman's death would precipitate the crisis. And through it all the question most often asked was this, "Whywas the workman, Charlie Martin, at the gate to Adam Ward's estateat that hour of the night?" To this question no one ventured even the suggestion of asatisfactory answer. All that long day Helen kept her watch beside the wounded man.Others were there in the room with her, but she seemed unconsciousof their presence. She made no attempt, now, to hide her love.There was no pretense--no evasion. Openly, before them all, shesilently acknowledged him-her man--and to his claim upon hersurrendered herself without reserve. James McIver called but she would not see him. When they urged her to retire and rest, she answered always withthe same words: "I must be here when he awakens--I must." And they, loving her, understood. It was as if the assassin's hand had torn aside the curtain ofmaterial circumstances and revealed suddenly the realities of theirinner lives. They realized now that this man, who had in theiroldhouse days won the first woman love of his girl playmate, hadheld that love against all the outward changes that had taken herfrom him. John and his mother knew, now, why Helen had never said"Yes" to Jim McIver. Peter Martin and Mary knew why, in CaptainCharlie's heart, there had seemed to be no place for any woman savehis sister. At intervals the man on the bed moved uneasily, muttering lowwords and disconnected fragments of speech. Army words--some ofthem were--as if his spirit lived for the moment again in thefields of France. At other times the half-formed phrases were ofhis work--the strike--his home. Again he spoke his sister's name ormurmured, "Father," or "John." But not once did Helen
catch theword she longed to hear him speak. It was as if, even in hisunconscious mental wanderings, the man still guarded the name thatin secret he had held most dear. Three times during the day he opened his eyes and lookedabout--wonderingly at first--then as though he understood. As onecontented and at peace, he smiled and drifted again into theshadows. But now at times his hand went out toward her with alittle movement, as though he were feeling for her in the dark. About midnight he seemed to be sleeping so naturally that theypersuaded Helen to rest. At daybreak she was again at her post. Mrs. Ward and Mary had gone, in their turn, for an hour or twoof sorely needed rest. Peter Martin was within call downstairs.John, who was watching with his sister, had left the room for themoment and Helen was at the bedside alone. Suddenly through the quiet morning air came the deep-toned callof the Mill whistle. As a soldier awakens at the sound of the morning bugle, CaptainCharlie opened his eyes. Instantly she was bending over him. As he looked up into herface she called his name softly. She saw the light of recognitioncome into his eyes. She saw the glory of his love. "Helen," he said--and again, "Helen." It was as if the death that claimed him had come also forher. For the first time in many months the voice of the Mill was notheard by the Interpreter in his little hut on the cliff. Above thesilent buildings the smoke cloud hung like a pall. From his wheelchair the old basket maker watched the long procession movingslowly down the hill. There were no uniforms in that procession--no military band withmuffled drums led that solemn march--no regimental colors in honorof the dead. There were no trappings of war--no martial ceremony.And yet, to the Interpreter, Captain Charlie died in the service ofhis country as truly as if he had been killed on the field ofbattle. Long after the funeral procession had passed beyond his sight,the Interpreter sat there at the window, motionless, absorbed inthought. Twice silent Billy came to stand beside his chair, but hedid not heed. His head was bowed. His great shoulders stooped. Hishands were idle. There was a sound of some one knocking at the door. The Interpreter did not hear. The sound was repeated, and this time he raised his headquestioningly. Again it came and the old basket maker called, "Come in."
The door opened. Jim McIver entered.
Book III. The StrikeChapter XXVII. Jake Vodell's Mistake
Since that night of the tragedy McIver had struggled to graspthe hidden meaning of the strange series of incidents. But the morehe tried to understand, the more he was confused and troubled. Norhad he been able, strong-willed as he was, to shake off the feelingthat he was in the midst of unseen forces--that about himmysterious influences were moving steadily to some fixed andcertain end. In constant touch, through his agents, with the strikesituation, he had watched the swiftly forming sentiment of thepublic. He knew that the turning point of the industrial war wasnear. He did not deceive himself. He knew Jake Vodell's power. Heknew the temper of the strikers. He saw clearly that if theassassin who killed Captain Charlie was not speedily discovered thecommunity would suffer under a reign of terror such as the peoplehad never conceived. And, what was of more vital importance toMcIver, perhaps, if the truth was not soon revealed, Jake Vodell'scharges that the murder was inspired by McIver himself wouldbecome, in the minds of many, an established fact. With the fullrealization of all that would result to the community and tohimself if the identity of the murderer was not soon established,McIver was certain in his own mind that he alone knew the guiltyman. To reveal what he believed to be the truth of the tragedy wouldbe to save the community and himself--and to lose, for all time,the woman he loved. McIver did not know that through the tragedyHelen was already lost to him. In his extremity the factory owner had come at last to the manwho was said to wield such a powerful influence over the minds ofthe people. He had never before seen the interior of that hut onthe cliff nor met the man who for so many years had been confinedthere. Standing just outside the door, he looked curiously aboutthe room with the unconscious insolence of his strength. The man in the wheel chair did not speak. When Billy looked athim he signaled his wishes in their silent language, and, watchinghis visitor, waited. For a long moment McIver gazed at the old basket maker as ifestimating his peculiar strength, then he said with anunintentional touch of contempt in his heavy voice, "So youare the Interpreter." "And you," returned the man in the wheel chair, gently, "areMcIver." McIver was startled. "How did you know my name?" "Is McIver's name a secret also?" came the strange reply. McIver's eyes flashed with a light that those who sat oppositehim in the game of business had often seen. With perfectself-control he said, coolly, "I have been told often that I shouldcome to see you but--" he paused and again looked curiously aboutthe room.
The Interpreter, smiling, caught up the unfinished sentence."But you do not see how an old, poverty-stricken and crippled makerof baskets can be of any use to you." McIver spoke as one measuring his words. "They tell me you helppeople who are in trouble." "Are you then in trouble?" asked the Interpreter, kindly. The other did not answer, and the man in the wheel chaircontinued, still kindly, "What trouble can the great and powerfulMcIver have? You have never been hungry--you have never felt thecold--you have no children to starve--no son to be killed." "I suppose you hold me personally responsible for the strike andfor all the hardships that the strikers have brought uponthemselves and their families?" said McIver. "You fellows who teachthis brotherhood-of-man rot and never have more than one meal aheadyourselves always blame men like me for all the suffering in theworld." The Interpreter replied with a dignity that impressed evenMcIver. "Who am I that I should assume to blame any one? Who areyou, sir, that assume the power implied by either your acceptanceor your denial of the responsibility? You are only a part of thewhole, as I am a part. You, in your life place, are no less acreature of circumstances--an accident--than I, here in my wheelchair--than Jake Vodell. We are all--you and I, Jake Vodell, AdamWard, Peter Martin, Sam Whaley--we are all but parts of the greatoneness of life. The want, the misery, the suffering, theunhappiness of humanity is of that unity no less than is theprosperity, peace and happiness of the people. Before we can hopeto bring order out of this industrial chaos we must recognize ourmutual dependence upon the whole and acknowledge the equality ofour guilt in the wretched conditions that now exist." As the Interpreter spoke, James McIver again felt the movementof those unseen forces that were about him. His presence in thatlittle hut on the cliff seemed, now, a part of some plan that wasnot of his making. He was awed by the sudden conviction that he hadnot come to the Interpreter of his own volition, but had been ledthere by something beyond his understanding. "Why should your fellow workmen not hate you, sir?" continuedthe old basket maker. "You hold yourself apart, superior, of aclass distinct and separate. Your creed of class is intolerance.Your very business policy is a declaration of class war. Your boastthat you can live without the working people is madness. You can nomore live without them than they can live without you. You can nomore deny the mutual dependence of employer and employee withsafety to yourself than Samson of old could pull down the pillarsof the temple without being himself buried in the ruins." By an effort of will McIver strove to throw off the feeling thatpossessed him. He spoke as one determined to assert himself. "Wecannot recognize the rights of Jake Vodell and his lawlessfollowers to dictate to us in our business. It would mean ruin, notonly of our industries, but of our government."
"Exactly so," agreed the Interpreter. "And yet, sir, you claimfor yourself the right to live by the same spirit of imperialismthat animates Vodell. You make the identical class distinction thathe makes. You appeal to the same class intolerance and hatred. Youand Jake Vodell have together brought about this industrial war inMillsburgh. The community itself--labor unions and business menalike--is responsible for tolerating the imperialism that you andthis alien agitator, in opposition to each other, advocate. Thecommunity is paying the price." The factory owner flushed. "Of course you would say these thingsto Jake Vodell." "I do," returned the Interpreter, gently. "Oh, you are in touch with him then?" "He comes here sometimes. He is coming this afternoon--at fouro'clock. Will you not stay and meet him, Mr. McIver?" McIverhesitated. He decided to ignore the invitation. With more respectin his manner than he had so far shown, he said, courteously, "MayI ask why Jake Vodell comes to you?" The Interpreter replied, sadly, as one who accepts the fact ofhis failure, "For the same reason that McIver came." McIver started with surprise. "You know why I came to you?" The man in the wheel chair looked steadily into his visitor'seyes. "I know that you are not personally responsible for the deathof the workman, Captain Martin." McIver sprang to his feet. He fairly gasped as the flood ofquestions raised by the Interpreter's words swept over him. "You--you know who killed Charlie Martin?" he demanded atlast. The old basket maker did not answer. "If you know," cried McIver, "why in God's name do you not tellthe people? Surely, sir, you are not ignorant of the danger thatthreatens this community. The death of this union man has givenVodell just the opportunity he needed and he is using it. If youdare to shield the guilty man-whoever he is--you will--" "Peace, McIver! This community will not be plunged into thehorrors of a class war such as you rightly fear. There are yetenough sane and loyal American citizens in Millsburgh to extinguishthe fire that you and Jake Vodell have started." ***** When Jake Vodell came to the Interpreter's hut shortly afterMcIver had left, he was clearly in a state of nervousexcitement.
"Well," he said, shortly, "I am here--what do you want--why didyou send for me?" The Interpreter spoke deliberately with his eyes fixed upon thedark face of the agitator. "Vodell, I have told you twice that yourcampaign in Millsburgh was a failure. Your coming to this communitywas a mistake. Your refusal to recognize the power of the thingthat made your defeat certain was a mistake. You have now made yourthird and final mistake." "A mistake! Hah--that is what you think. You do not know. I tellyou that I have turned a trick that will win for me the game.Already the people are rallying to me. I have put McIver at last ina hole from which he will not escape. The Mill workers are readynow to do anything I say. You will see--to-morrow I willhave these employers and all their capitalist class eating out ofmy hand. To me they shall beg for mercy. I--I will dictate theterms to them and they will pay. You may take my word--they willpay." The man paced to and fro with the triumphant air of a conqueror,and his voice rang with his exultation. "No, Jake Vodell," said the Interpreter, calmly. "You aredeceiving yourself. Your dreams are as vain as your mistake isfatal." The man faced the old basket maker suddenly, as if arrested by apossible meaning in the Interpreter's words that had not at firstcaught his attention. "And what is this mistake that I have made?" he growled. The answer came with solemn portent. "You have killed the wrongman." The agitator was stunned. His mouth opened as if he would speak,but no word came from his trembling lips. He drew back as if toescape. The old man in the wheel chair continued, sadly, "I amthe one you should have killed--I am the cause of your failure togain the support of the Mill workers' union." The strike leader recovered himself with a shrug of his heavyshoulders. "So that is it," he sneered; "you would accuse me of shootingyour Captain Charlie, heh?" "You have accused yourself, sir." "But how?" "By the use you are making of Captain Charlie's death. If youdid not know who committed the crime--if you did not feel sure thatthe identity of the assassin would remain a mystery to thepeople--you would not dare risk charging the employers withit."
With an oath the other returned, "I tell you that McIver or hishired gunmen did it so they could lay the blame on the strikers andso turn the Mill workers' union against us. That is what the Millmen believe." "That is what you want them to believe. It is an old trick,Vodell. You have used it before." The agitator's eyes narrowed under his scowling brows. "Lookhere," he growled, "I do not like this talk of yours. Perhaps youhad better prove what you charge, heh?" "Please God, I will prove it," came the calm answer. Jake Vodell, as he looked down upon the seemingly helpless oldman in the wheel chair, was thinking, "It would be safer if thisold basket maker were not permitted to speak these things toothers--his influence, after all, is a thing to consider." "No, Jake Vodell," said the Interpreter gently, "you won't doit. Billy Rand is watching us. If you make a move to do what youare thinking, Billy will kill you." The Interpreter raised his hand and his silent companion camequickly to stand beside his chair. With a shrug of his shoulders Vodell drew back a few stepstoward the door. "Bah! Why should I waste my time with a crippled old basketmaker--I have work to do. If you watch from the window of yourshanty you will see to-morrow whether or not the Mill workers arewith me. I will make for you a demonstration that will be knownthrough the country. I told you at the first that the workingpeople would find out who is their friend. Now you shall see whatthey will do to the enemies of their class. Who can say, Mr.Interpreter, perhaps your miserable hut so high up here would makea good torch to signal the beginning of the show, heh?" When the door had closed behind Jake Vodell, the Interpretersaid, aloud, "So he has set tomorrow night for his demonstration.We must work fast, Billy--there is no time to lose." With his hands he asked his companion for paper and pencil. WhenBilly brought them he wrote a few words and folding the messagegave it to the big man who stood waiting. For a few minutes they talked together in their silent way. ThenBilly Rand put the Interpreter's message carefully in his pocketand hurriedly left the hut. ***** That evening Jake Vodell addressed the largest crowd that hadyet assembled at his street meetings. With characteristic eloquencethe agitator pictured Captain Charlie as a martyr to theunprincipled schemes of the employer class.
"McIver and his crew are charging the strikers with this crimein order to set our union brothers against us," he shouted. "Theythink that by setting up a division among us they can win. Theyknow that if the working people stand together, true to theirclass, loyal to their comrades, they will rule the world. Why don'tthe police produce the murderer of Captain Charlie? I will tell youthe answer, my brother workmen: it is because the law and theofficers of the law are under the control of those who do not wantthe murderer produced--that is why. They dare not produce him. Thelife of a poor working man--what is that to these masters of crimewho acknowledge no law but the laws they make for themselves. Youworkers have no laws. A slave knows no justice but the whim of hismaster. Think of the mothers and children in your homes--you slaveswho create the wealth of your lords and masters. And now they havetaken the life of one of your truest and most loyal union leaders.Where will they stop? If you do not stand like men against thesecruel outrages what have you to hope for? You know as well as Ithat no workman in Millsburgh would raise his hand against such afellow worker as Captain Charlie Martin." While the agitator was speaking, Billy Rand moved quickly hereand there through the crowd, as if searching for some one. After the mass meeting on the street there was a meeting of theMill workers' union. Later, Vodell's inner circle met in the room back of Dago Bill'spool hall. It was midnight when Billy Rand finally returned to the waitingInterpreter. Evidently he had failed in the mission entrusted to him by theold basket maker. The next morning, Billy Rand again went forth with theInterpreter's message.
Book III. The StrikeChapter XXVIII. The Mob and the Mill
On the morning following the day of the funeral scarcely half ofthe usual force of workmen appeared at the Mill. The men who didchoose to work were forced to pass a picket line of strikers whowith jeers and threats and arguments sought to turn them from theirpurpose. The death of Captain Charlie, by defining more clearly the twolines of public sentiment, had increased Jake Vodell's strengthmaterially, but the Mill workers' union had not yet officiallydeclared for the sympathetic strike that would deliver thecommunity wholly into the hands of the agitator. The Mill men, whowere still opposed to Jake Vodell's leadership and coolly refusedto hold the employers guilty of the death of Captain Charlie uponthe mere unsupported assertions of the strike leader, weretherefore free to continue their work. This action of the membersof the Mill workers' union who were loyal to John, however, quitenaturally increased the feeling of their comrades who had acceptedVodell's version of the murder. Thus, the final crisis of theindustrial battle centered about the Mill. Every hour that John Ward could keep the Mill running lessenedVodell's chances of final victory. The strike leader knew that ifthese days immediately following Captain Charlie's death passedwithout closing the Mill, his cause was lost. The workmen were nowaroused to the highest
pitch of excitement. The agitator realizedthat if they were not committed by some action to his cause beforethe fever of their madness began to abate, his followers would, dayby day, in ever increasing numbers go back to work under John. Thesuccessful operation of the Mill was a demonstration to the publicthat Vodell's campaign against the employers was not endorsed bythe better and stronger element of employees. To the mind of thestrike leader a counter demonstration was imperative. To thatimmediate end the man now bent every effort. All day the members of the agitator's inner circle were active.When evening came, a small company of men gathered in a vacantstore building not far from the Mill. There was little talk amongthem. When one did speak it was to utter a mere commonplace orperhaps to greet some newcomer. They were as men who meet at agiven place by agreement to carry out some definite and carefullylaid plan. Moment by moment the company grew in numbers until thegathering assumed such proportions that it overflowed the buildingand filled the street. And now, scattered through the steadilygrowing crowd, the members of that inner circle were busy withexhortations and arguments preparing the workmen for what was tofollow. Presently from the direction of the strike headquarters cameanother company with Jake Vodell himself in their midst. These hadassembled at the strike headquarters. Without pausing they swept ondown the street toward the Mill, taking with them the crowd thatwas waiting at the old store. Scarcely had they reached the frontof the large main building when they were joined by still anothercrowd that had been gathering in the neighborhood of McIver'sfactory. Thus, with startling suddenness, a great company ofworkmen was assembled at the Mill. But a large part of that company had yet to be molded toVodell's purpose. Many had gone to the designated places inresponse to the simple announcement that a labor meeting would beheld there. Only those of the agitator's trusted inner circle hadknown of the plan to unite these smaller gatherings in one greatmass meeting. Only these chosen few knew the real purpose of thatmeeting. There were hundreds of workmen in that throng who wereopposed to Vodell and his methods, but they were unorganized, withno knowledge of the strike leader's plans. And so it had been easyfor the members of that inner circle to lead these separate smallergatherings to the larger assembly in front of the Mill. To accomplish the full purpose of his demonstration against theemployer class, the strike leader must make it appear to the publicas the united action of the working people of Millsburgh. Therequirements of his profession made Jake Vodell a master of mobpsychology. With the leaven of his chosen inner circle and thetemper of the many strikers whose nerves were already strained tothe breaking point by their weeks of privation, the agitator wasconfident that he could bend the assembled multitude to his will.Those who were opposed to his leadership and to hismethods--disorganized and taken by surprise as they were--would behelpless. At the same time their presence in the mob would appearto give their sanction and support to whatever wasaccomplished. Quickly word of the gathering spread throughout the community.From every direction--from the Flats, from the neighborhood of theMartin home--and from the more distant parts of the city-men weremoving toward the Mill. With every moment the crowd increased insize. Everywhere among the mass of men Vodell's helpers werebusy.
A block away an automobile stopped at the curb in front of adeserted house. A man left the car, and, keeping well out of thelight from the street lamps, walked swiftly to the outskirts of themob. With his face hidden by the turned-up collar of his overcoatand the brim of his hat pulled low, he moved here and there in thethin edge of the multitude. The agitator, standing on a goods box on the street opposite thebig doors of the main Mill building, began his address. As one man,the hundreds of assembled workmen turned toward the leader of thestrike. A hush fell over them. But there was one in that greatcrowd to whom the words of Jake Vodell meant nothing. Silent BillyRand, pushing his way through the press of men, searched face afterface with simple, untiring purpose. A squad of police arrived. Vodell, calling attention to them,facetiously invited the guardians of the law to a seat of honor onthe rostrum. The crowd laughed. At that moment Billy Rand caught sight of the face he wasseeking. When the Interpreter's messenger grasped his arm, the man,who was standing well back in the edge of the crowd, started withfear. Billy thrust the note into his hand. As he read the messagehe shook so that the paper rattled in his fingers. Helplessly helooked about. He seemed paralyzed with horror. Again Billy Randgrasped his arm and this time drew him aside, out of the crowd. Helpless and shaken, the man made no effort to resist, as theInterpreter's deaf and dumb companion hurried him away down thestreet. At the foot of the zigzag stairway Billy's charge sank down onthe lower step, as if he had no strength to go on. Without amoment's pause Billy lifted him to his feet and almost carried himup the stairs and into the hut to place him, cowering andwhimpering, before the man in the wheel chair. ***** John and Helen had gone to the Martin cottage that evening tospend an hour with the old workman and his daughter. They had justarrived when the telephone rang. It was the watchman at the Mill. He had called John at the Wardhome, and Mrs. Ward had directed him to call the cottage. In a few words John told the others of the crowd at the Mill. Hemust go at once. "But not alone, boy," said Peter Martin. "This is no more yourjob than 'tis mine." As they were leaving, John said hurriedly to Helen, "TelephoneTom to come for you at once and take Mary home with you. Mother mayneed you, and Mary must not be left here alone. I'll bring UnclePete home with me." A moment later the old workman and the general manager, inJohn's roadster, were on their way to the Mill.
When Tom arrived at the cottage with Helen's car the two youngwomen were ready. They were entering the automobile when Billy Randappeared. It was evident from his labored breathing that he hadbeen running, but his face betrayed no excitement. With a pleasedsmile, as one who would say, "Luckily I got here just in time," hehanded a folded paper to Mary. By the light of the automobile lamp she read the Interpreter'smessage aloud to Helen." "Telephone John to come to me at once with a big car. If youcan't get John tell Helen." For an instant they looked at each other questioningly. ThenHelen spoke to the chauffeur. "To the Interpreter's, Tom." Sheindicated to Billy Rand that he was to go with them. ***** It was not Jake Vodell's purpose to call openly in his addressto the assembled workmen for an attack on the Mill. Such ademonstration against the employer class was indeed the purpose ofthe gathering, but it must come as the spontaneous outburst fromthe men themselves. His speech was planned merely to lay thekindling for the fire. The actual lighting of the blaze wouldfollow later. The conflagration, too, would be startedsimultaneously from so many different points in the crowd that noone individual could be singled out as having incited the riot. The agitator was still speaking when John and Peter Martinarrived on the scene. Quietly and carefully John drove through theoutskirts of the crowd to a point close to the wall and not farfrom the main door of the building, nearly opposite the speaker.Stopping the motor the two men sat in the car listening to Vodell'saddress. The agitator did not call attention to the presence of themanager of the Mill as he had to the police, nor was there anynoticeable break in his speech. But throughout the great throngthere was a movement--a ripple of excitement--as the men lookedtoward John and the old workman, and turned each to his neighborwith low-spoken comments. And then, from every part of the crowd,the agitator saw individuals moving quietly toward the manager'scar until between the two men in the automobile and the main bodyof the speaker's audience a small compact group of workmen stoodshoulder to shoulder. They were the men of the Mill workers' unionwho had refused to follow Jake Vodell. And every man, as he tookhis place, greeted John and the old workman with a low word, or anod and a smile. The agitator concluded his address, and amid theshouts and applause left his place on the goods box to move aboutamong his followers. Presently, a low murmur arose like a growling undertone. Now andthen a voice was raised sharply in characteristic threat or epithetagainst the employer class. The murmur swelled into a heavymenacing roar. The crowd, shaken by some invisible inner force,swayed to and fro. A shrill yell rang out and at the signal scoresof hoarse voices were raised in shouts of mad defiance--threats andcalls for action. As the whirling waters of a maelstrom are drawnto the central point, the mob was massed before the doors of theMill. The little squad of police was struggling forward. John Wardsprang to his feet. The loyal union men about the car stoodfast.
At the sound of the manager's voice the mob hesitated. In allthat maddened crowd there was not a soul in ignorance of JohnWard's comradeship with his fellow workmen. In spite of JakeVodell's careful teaching--in spite of his devilish skill in usingMcIver as an example in his appeals and arguments inciting theirhatred against all employers as a class, they were checked in theirmadness by the presence of Captain Charlie's friend. But it was only for the moment. The members of Vodell's innercircle were at work among them. John had spoken but a few sentenceswhen he was interrupted by voices from the crowd. "Tell us where your old man got this Mill that he says ishis?" "Where did Adam get his castle on the hill?" "We and our families live in shanties." "Who paid for your automobile, John?" "We and our children walk." As the manager, ignoring the voices, continued his appeal, theinterruptions came with more frequency, accompanied now by groans,shouts, hisses and derisive laughter. "You're all right, John, but you're in with the wrongbunch." "We're going to run things for a while now and give you a chanceto do some real work." The police pleaded with them. The mob jeered, "Go get a job withMcIver's gunmen. Go find the man who murdered Captain Charlie." Once more the growling undertones swelled into a roar. "Comeon--come on--we've had enough talk--let's do something." As the crowd surged again toward the Mill doors, there was aforward movement of the closepacked group of workmen about theear. John, leaning over them, said, sharply, "No--no--notthat-men, not that!" Then suddenly the movement of the mob toward the Mill was againchecked as Peter Martin raised his voice. "If you won't listen toMr. Ward," said the old man, when he had caught their attention,"perhaps you'll not mind hearin' me." In the stillness of the uncertain moment, a voice answered, "Goahead, Uncle Pete!" Standing on the seat of the automobile, the kindly old workmanlooked down into the grim faces of his comrades. And, as they sawhim there and thought of Captain Charlie, a deep breath of feelingswept over the throng.
In his slow, thoughtful way the veteran of the Mill spoke."There'll be no one among you, I'm thinkin', that'll dare say ashow I don't belong to the workin' class. An' there'll be no manthat'll deny my right to be heard in any meeting of Millsburghworking men. I helped the Interpreter to organize the first unionthat was ever started in this city--and so far we've managed tocarry on our union work without any help from outsiders who have noreal right to call themselves American citizens even--much less todictate to us American workmen." There was a stir among Vodell's followers. A voice rose but wassilenced by the muttered protest which it caused. Jake Vodell,quick to grasp the feeling of the crowd, was making his way towardhis goods box rostrum. Here and there he paused a moment to whisperto one of his inner circle. The old workman continued, "You all know the principles that myboy Charlie stood for. You know that he was just as much againstemployers like McIver as he was against men like this agitator whois leading you into this trouble here to-night. Jake Vodell hasmade you believe that my boy was killed by the employer class. ButI tell you men that Charlie had no better friend in the world thanhis employer, John Ward. And I tell you that John and Charlie wereworking together here for the best interests of us all--just asthey were together in France. You know what my boy would say if hewas here to-night. He would say just what I am saying. He wouldtell you that we workmen have got to stand by the employers whostand by us. He would tell you that we American union workmen mustprotect ourselves and our country against this anarchy andlawlessness that has got you men here to-night so all excited andbeside yourselves that you don't know what you're doing. In CaptainCharlie's name I ask you men to break up this mob and go quietly toyour homes where you can think this thing over. We--" From his position across the street Jake Vodell suddenlyinterrupted the old workman with a rapid fire of questions andinsinuations and appeals to the mob. Peter Martin, poorly equipped for a duel of words with such amaster of the art, was silenced. Slowly the mob swung again to the agitator. Under the spell ofhis influence they were responding once more to his call, when abig automobile rolled swiftly up to the edge of the crowd andstopped. John Ward was the first to recognize his sister's car. With aword to the men near him he sprang to the ground and ran forward.The loyal workmen went with him. In the surprise of the moment, not knowing what was about tohappen, Jake Vodell stood silent. In breathless suspense every eyein the crowd was fixed upon that little group about Helen'scar. Another moment and the assembled workmen witnessed a sight thatthey will never forget. Down the lane that opened as if by magicthrough the mass of men came the loyal members of the Mill workers'union. High on their shoulders they carried the Interpreter.
In a silence, deep as the stillness of death, they bore himthrough those close-packed walls of humanity, straight to the bigdoors of the Mill. With their backs against the building they heldhim high--face to face with Jake Vodell and the mob that theagitator was swaying to his will. The old basket maker's head was bare and against the darkbackground of the dingy walls his venerable face with its crown ofsilvery hair was as the face of a prophet. They did not cheer. In silent awe they stood with tense,upturned faces. A voice, low but clear and distinct, cut the stillness. "Hats off!" As one man, they uncovered their heads. The Interpreter's deep voice--kindly but charged with strangeauthority--swept over them. "Workmen--what are you doing here? Are you toys that you giveyourselves as playthings into the hands of this man who chooses touse you in his game? Are you children to be led by his idle wordsand moved by his foolish dreams? Are you men or are you cattle tobe stampeded by him, without reason, to your own destruction? Wouldyou, at this stranger's bidding, dig a pit for your fancied enemiesand fall into it yourselves?" Not a man in that great crowd of workmen moved. In breathlesssilence they stood awed by the majesty of the old basket maker'spresence--hushed by the sorrowful authority of his voice. Solemnly the Interpreter continued, "The one who took the lifeof your comrade workman, Captain Charlie, was not a tool in thehands of your employers as you have been led to believe. Neitherwas that dreadful act inspired by the workmen of Millsburgh.Captain Charlie was killed by a poor, foolish weakling who wasunder the same spell that to-night has so nearly led you into thisblind folly of destroying that which should be your glory and yourpride. Sam Whaley has confessed to me. He has surrendered himselfto the proper authorities. But the instigator of the crime--the onewho planned, ordered and directed it--the leader who dominated anddrove his poor tool to the deed is this man Jake Vodell." The sound of the Interpreter's voice ceased. For a moment longerthat dead silence held--then as the full import of the old basketmaker's words went home to them, the crowd with a roar of furyturned toward the spot where the agitator had stood when thearrival of the Interpreter interrupted his address. But Jake Vodell had disappeared.
Book III. The StrikeChapter XXIX. Contracts
They had carried the Interpreter back to his wheel chair in thehut on the cliff.
John, Peter Martin and the two young women were bidding the oldbasket maker goodnight when suddenly they were silenced by thedull, heavy sound of a distant explosion. A moment they stood gazing at one another, then John voiced thethoughts that had gripped the minds of every one in that littlegroup: "The Mill!" Springing to the door that opened on to the balcony porch, Johnthrew it open and they went out, taking the Interpreter in hischair. In breathless silence they strained their eyes toward thedark mass of the Mill with its forest of stacks and its manylights. "Everything seems to be all right there," murmured John. But as the last word left his lips a chorus of exclamations camefrom the others. Farther up the river a dull red glow flushed thesky. "McIver's!" "The factory!" The Interpreter said, quietly, "Jake Vodell." With every second the red glow grew brighter--reaching higherand higher--spreading wider and wider over the midnight sky. Thenthey could see the flames--threadlike streaks and flashes in thedark cloud of smoke at first but increasing in volume, climbing andclimbing in writhing, twisting columns of red fury. The wild,long-drawn shriek of the fire whistles, the clanging roar of theengines, the frantic rush of speeding automobiles awoke the echoesof the cliffs and aroused the sleeping creatures on the hillsides.The volume of the leaping, whirling mass of flames increased untilthe red glare shut out the stars. The officers of the law who were hunting Jake Vodell heard thatexplosion and telephoned their stations for orders. The businessmen of the little city, awakened from their sleep, looked fromtheir windows, muttered drowsy conjectures and returned to theirbeds. Mothers and children in their homes heard and turned uneasilyin their dreams. The dwellers in the Flats heard and wonderedfearfully. Before morning dawned the telegraph wires would carry the wordthroughout the land. In every corner of our country the peoplewould read, as they have all too often read of similar explosions.They would read, offer idle comments, perhaps, and straightwayforget. That is the wonder and the shame of it--that with thesefrequent warnings ringing in our ears we are not warned. With thesethings continually forced upon our attention we do not heed. Withthe demonstration before our eyes we are not convinced. We are notaroused to the meaning of it all. In his cell in the county jail, Sam Whaley heard that explosionand knew what it was.
The Interpreter was right when he said, "Jake Vodell." It was an hour, perhaps, after the Interpreter's friends hadleft the hut when the old basket maker, who was still sitting atthe window watching the burning factory, heard an automobileapproaching at a frightful pace from the direction of the fire. Thenoise of the speeding machine ceased with startling suddenness atthe foot of the stairway, and the Interpreter heard some onerunning up the steps with headlong haste. Without pausing to knock,Adam Ward burst into the room and stood panting and shaking withmad excitement before the man in the wheel chair. The Mill owner's condition was pitiful. By his eyes that wereglittering with wild, unnatural light, by the gray, twitchingfeatures, the grotesque gestures, the trembling, jerking limbs, theInterpreter knew that the last flickering gleam of reason had goneout. The hour toward which the man himself had looked with suchdread had come. Adam Ward was insane. With a leering grin of triumph the madman went closer to the oldbasket maker. "I got away again. They were right after me but theycouldn't catch me. That roadster of mine is the fastest car in thecounty--cost me four thousand dollars. I knew if I could get here Iwould be safe. They wouldn't think of looking for me here in yourshanty, would they? They can't get in anyway if they should come.You wouldn't--you wouldn't let them get me, would you?" "Peace, Adam Ward! You are safe here." The insane man chuckled. "The folks at the house think I am inmy room asleep. They don't know that I never sleep. I'll tell yousomething. If a man sleeps he goes to hell--hell--hell--" His voicerose almost to a scream and he shook with terror. "Did you see it? Did you see when hell broke out to-night overthere where McIver's factory used to be? I did--I was there and Iheard them roaring in the fibres of torment and screaming in theflames. They called for me but I laughed and came here. They'llnever get Adam Ward into hell. They don't know it yet, but I've gota contract with God. I fixed it up myself just like you told me toand God signed it without reading it just as Peter Martin did. I'llshow them! It'll take more than God to get the best of Adam Ward ina deal." He walked about the room, waving his arms and laughing inhideous triumph, muttering mad boasts and mumbling to himself ortaunting the phantom creatures of his disordered brain. The helpless Interpreter could only wait silently for whateverwas to follow. At last the madman turned again to the old basket maker. Placinga chair close in front of the Interpreter, he seated himself and ina confidential whisper said, "Did you know that everybody thinks Iam going insane? Well, I am not. Nobody knows it, but it's not methat's crazy--it's John. He's been that way ever since he got homefrom France. The poor boy thinks the world is still at war and thathe can run the Mill just as he fought the Germans over there.There's another thing that you ought to know, too--you are crazyyourself. Don't be afraid, I won't tell anybody else. But you oughtto know it. If a man knows it when he is going crazy it gives him achance to fix
things up with God so they can't get him into hellfor all eternity, you see. So I thought I had better tell you." The Interpreter spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. "Thankyou, Adam, I appreciate your kindness." "I was there at the Mill tonight," Adam continued, "and I heardyou tell them who killed Charlie Martin. And then those crazy foolswent tearing off to hunt Jake Vodell." He chuckled and laughed."What difference does it make who killed Charlie Martin? I own thepatented process. I am the man they want. But they can't touch me.I hired the best lawyers in the country and I've got it sewed uptight. I put one over on Pete Martin in that deal and I've put oneover on God, too. I've got God sewed up tight, I tell you, justlike I sewed up Peter Martin. They can howl their heads off butthey'll never get me into hell." He leaned back in his chair with the satisfied air of a businessman crediting himself with having closed a successfultransaction. Then, with a manner and voice that was apparently normal, hesaid, "Did I ever tell you about how I got that patented process ofmine, Wallace?" The Interpreter knew by his use of that name, soseldom heard in these later years, that Adam's mind was back in theold days when, with Peter Martin, they had worked side by side atthe same bench in the Mill. Hoping to calm him, the old basket maker returned indifferently,"No, Adam, I don't remember that you ever told me, but don't youthink some other time would be better perhaps than to-night? It isgetting late and you--" The other interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Oh, that's allright. It's safe enough to talk about it now. Besides," he added,with a cunning leer, "nobody would believe you if you should tellthem the truth. You're nothing but a crazy old basket maker and Iam Adam Ward, don't forget that for a minute." He glaredthreateningly at the man in the wheel chair, and the Interpreter,fearing another outburst, said, soothingly, "Certainly, Adam, Iunderstand. I will not forget." With the manner of one relating an interesting story in which hehimself figured with great personal credit, Adam Ward said: "It was Pete Martin, you see, who actually discovered the newprocess. But, luckily for me, I was the first one he told about it.He had worked it all out and I persuaded him not to say a thing toany one else until the patents were secured. Pete didn't reallyknow the value of what he had. But I knew--I saw from the firstthat it would revolutionize the whole business, and I knew it wouldmake a fortune for the man that owned the patents. "Pete and I were pretty good friends in those days, butfriendship don't go far in business. I never had a friend in mylife that I couldn't use some way. So I had Pete over to my houseevery evening and made a lot over him and talked over his newprocess and made suggestions how he should handle it, until finallyhe offered to give me a half interest if I would look after thebusiness details. That, of course, was exactly what I was playingfor. And all this time, you see, I took
mighty good care that not asoul was around when Pete and I talked things over. So we fixed itall up between us--with no one to hear us, mind you--that we wereto share equally--half and half--in whatever the new processbrought. "After that, I went ahead and got all the patents good and tightand then I fixed up a nice little document for Pete to sign. But Iwaited and I didn't say a word to Pete until one evening when heand his wife were studying and figuring out the plans for the housethey were going to build. I sat and planned with them a while untilI saw how Pete's mind was all on his new house, and then all atonce I put my little document down on the table in front of him andsaid, 'By the way, Pete, those patents will be coming along prettysoon and I have had a little contract fixed up just as a matter ofform--you know how we planned it all. Here's where you sign--'" Adam Ward paused to laugh with insane glee. "Pete did just whatI knew he'd do--he signed that document without even reading a lineof it and went on with his house planning and figuring as ifnothing had happened. But something had happened--something big hadhappened. Instead of the way we had planned it together when wewere talking alone with nobody to witness it, Pete signed to meoutright for one dollar all his rights and interests in that newpatented process." Again the madman laughed triumphantly. "Pete never even foundout what he'd done until nearly a year later. And then he wouldn'tbelieve it until the lawyers made him. He couldn't do anything ofcourse. I had it sewed up too tight. That process is mine, I tellyou--mine by all the laws in the country. What if I did takeadvantage of him! That's business. A man ought to have sense enoughto read what he puts his signature to. You don't catch me trustinganybody far enough to sign anything he puts before me withoutreading it. Why--why--what are you crying for?" Adam Ward was not mistaken--the Interpreter's eyes were wet withtears. The sight of the old basket maker's grief sent the insane manoff on another tangent. "Don't you worry about me. Helen and Johnand their mother worry a lot about me. They think I'm going tohell." He sprang to his feet with a hoarse inarticulate cry. "They'llnever get me into hell! God has got to keep His contracts and I'vefixed it all up so He'll have to save me whether He wants to ornot. The papers are all signed and everything. My lawyer has gotthem in his safe. God can't help Himself. You told me I'd better doit and I have. I'm not afraid to meet God now! I'll show Him justlike I showed Pete." He rushed from the room as abruptly as he had entered. TheInterpreter heard him plunging down the stairs. The roar of hisautomobile died away in the distance. In an early morning extra edition, the Millsburgh Clarionannounced the death of two of the most prominent citizens. James McIver was killed in the explosion that burned hisfactory.
Adam Ward's body was found in a secluded corner of his beautifulestate. He died by his own hand. The cigar-store philosopher put his paper down and reached intothe show case for the box that the judge wanted. "It looks likeMcIver played the wrong cards in his little game with Jake Vodell,"he remarked, as the judge made a careful selection. "I am afraid so," returned the judge. The postmaster took a handful from the same box and said, as hedropped a dollar on the top of the show case, "I see Sam Whaley hasconfessed that the blowing up of the factory was all set as part oftheir program. Their plan was to wreck the Mill first then McIver'splace. Where do you suppose Jake Vodell got away to?" "Hard to guess," said the judge. The philosopher put the proper change before them. "There's onething sure--the people of these here United States had better getgood and busy findin' out where he is." It was significant that neither the philosopher nor hiscustomers mentioned the passing of Adam Ward.
Book IV. The Old HouseChapter XXX. "Jest Like the Interpreter Said"
"Tell them, O Guns, that we have heard their call, That we have sworn, and will not turn aside, That we willonward till we win or fall, That we will keep the faith for which they died." It is doubtful if in all Millsburgh there was a soul who felt apersonal loss in the passing of their "esteemed citizen" Adam Ward.During the years that followed his betrayal of Peter Martin'sfriendship the man had never made a friend who loved him forhimself--who believed in him or trusted him. In business circleshis reputation for deals that were always carefully legal but oftenobviously dishonest had caused the men he met to accept him only sofar as their affairs made the contact necessary. Because of thepower he had through his possession of the patented process he wasknown. His place in the community had been fixed by what he tookfrom the community. His habit of boasting of his possessions, ofhis power, and of his business triumphs, and his way of consideringthe people as his personal debtors had been a never-failing subjectof laughing comment. Men spoke of his death in a jocular vein--madejests about it--wondering what he was really worth. But one and allinvariably concluded their comments with some word of sinceresympathy for his family.
Because of the people's estimation of the Mill owner'scharacter, the publication of his will created a sensation the likeof which was never before known in the community. One half of his estate, including the Mill, Adam Ward gave tohis family. The other half he gave to his old workman friend, PeterMartin. Millsburgh was stunned, stupefied with amazement and wonder. Butno one outside the two families, save the Interpreter, ever knewthe real reason for the bequest. The old basket maker aloneunderstood that this was Adam Ward's deal with God--it was thecontract by which he was to escape the hell of his religiousfears--the horrors of which he had so often suffered in his dreamsand the dread of which had so preyed upon his diseased mind. When the necessary time for the legal processes in thesettlement of Adam Ward's estate had passed, John called the Millworkers together. In his notice of the meeting, the manager statedsimply that it was to consider the mutual interests of theemployers and employees by safeguarding the future of the industry.When the workmen had assembled, they wondered to see on theplatform with their general manager, Helen and her mother, Mary andPeter Martin, the city mayor, with representative men from thelabor unions and from the business circles of the community, and,sitting in his wheel chair, the Interpreter. To the employees in the Mill and to the representatives of thepeople the announcement of the final disposition of Adam Ward'sestate was made. The house on the hill with the beautiful grounds surrounding itbecame in effect the property of the people--with an endowmentfixed for its maintenance. It was to be converted into a center ofcommunity interest, one feature of which was to be an institute forthe study of patriotism. "We have foundations for the promotion of the sciences, of artand of business," said the legal gentleman who made theannouncements. "Why not an institution for the study and promotionof patriotism--research in the fields of social and industrial lifethat are peculiarly American-lectures, classes, and literature onthe true Americanization of those who come to us from foreigncountries--the promotion of true American principles and standardsof citizenship in our public schools and educational institutionsand among our people--the collection and study of authentic datafrom the many industrial and social experiments that are beingcarried on--these are some of the proposed activities." This Institute of American Patriotism would be under theleadership of the Interpreter and would stand as a memorial to thememory of Captain Charlie Martin. When the mayor, in behalf of the people, had made a fittingresponse to this presentation, John told the Mill men that theiremployer, Pete Martin, would make an announcement. The old workman was greeted with cheers. Some one in the crowdcalled, good-naturedly, "How does it feel to be an owner, UnclePete?" Everybody laughed and the veteran himself grinned.
"I guess I'm too old to change my feelings much, Bill Sewold,"he answered. "And that's about what I was going to tell you. Thelawyers say that I own half of our Mill here and that I can do whatI please with it. But I can't some way make it seem any more minethan it always was. Mary and I are agreed that we'd like to do whatwe know Charlie would be in for if he was here, and we've talked itover with John and his folks and they feel just like we do aboutit. "The lawyers can explain the workin's of the plan to you betterthan I can; but this is the main idea: The whole thing has beenmade over into a company with John and his mother and sister owningone half and me the other. What John wants me to tell you is thathe and his folks are turning one half of their interest and Maryand me are turning one half of our interest back to you workmen. Sothat from now on all the employees of the Mill will beemployers--and all the employers will be employees. With John andme and our folks owning one half, you can see that we're figuringon keeping the management in the proper hands, John will be in theoffice where he belongs and the rest of us will be where we belong.Considering our recent demonstration, I guess you'll all agree thata lot of us need to be protected by the rest of us from all of us.And now all we have to do is to work. And I'd like to see JakeVodell or any other foreign agitator try to start anotherindustrial war in Millsburgh." It was the Interpreter who asked the assembled workmen toendorse a petition to the governor asking clemency for Sam Whaley.The ground upon which the petition was based was that the guiltyprincipal in the crime was still at liberty--that others, stillunknown, were involved with him--that Sam Whaley by his confessionhad saved the Mill and the community from the full horrors plannedby the agitator, and that under the new standard of industrialcitizenship the former follower of the anarchist might in timebecome a useful member of society. A solemn hush fell over the company when Peter Martin, Mary,John and Helen were the first to sign the petition. The old house is no longer empty, deserted and forlorn. Repairedand repainted from the front gate to the back-yard fence--withwell-kept lawn, flowers and garden--it impresses the passer-by withits air of modest home happiness. To Helen and her mother who livethere, to John and his wife, Mary, and to the old workman who livein the cottage next door, the spirit of the old days hasreturned. The neighbors in passing always stop for a word with thegray-haired woman who works among her flowers just as she used todo before the discovery of the new process, or with her sweetfaceddaughter. The workmen going to or from the Mill always have a smileor a word of greeting for the mother and the sister of theircomrade manager. Nor is there a man or woman in all the city or in the countryround about who does not know and love this Helen of the old house,who is giving herself so without reserve to the people's need, whohas, as the Interpreter says, "found herself in service." But when the deep tones of the Mill whistle sound over the city,the valley and the hillsides, there is a look in Helen's eyes thatonly those who know her best understand.
And often in these days the neighborhood of the old house ringswith the merry voices of Bobby and Maggie and their playmates. Fromthe Flats--from the tenement houses--from the homes of thelaborers, they come, these children, to this beautiful woman wholoves them all and who calls them, somewhat fancifully, her "jewelsof happiness." "Yer see," explained little Maggie, "the princess lady, she jestcouldn't help findin' them there happiness jewels--'cause her heartwas so kind--jest like the Interpreter said." THE END