The object for the attainment of which Lester had made so lamentable a sacrifice had ceased to be of interest to him. He no longer thought or cared anything about the marshalship. If by giving up his chance of winning it he could have regained the place that he had held in his own eyes before he took the theme and could have made himself secure against exposure, he would have made the surrender joyfully.
“If I ever do a crooked thing again as long as I live, I hope I may go to jail for it!” he exclaimed to himself.
He was alone in his room; he stood gazing out of the window at the quiet yard. Fellows were passing along the walks, happier, every one of them, than he. His roommate had gone out a few minutes after making the remark that had seemed to Lester ominous. Richard suspected him of some queer work about David’s theme; that was evident. And probably Richard would go to David and tell him of the discovery that he had made. Then there would have to be more lying, and in spite of it the suspicion would probably remain. And if David chose to reproduce the theme and hand it in, no further lying would avail. Lester would be convicted in spite of all his denials.
“If I had ever dreamed of what I was letting myself in for, I never would have done it,” he thought. “Nothing but one lie after another, getting in deeper all the time! It seems as if there were no end to it.”
He wondered whether Richard had really gone to consult with David about the fragment of the theme that he had found in the waste-basket. It was the natural thing for him to do. And when David said that he had never taken the theme into Lester’s room, or torn up a page of it, or thrown it into the waste-basket, what would they both think? What was he to say if they came to question him?
That evening, while Lester was trying to fix his mind on the French lesson for the next day, Richard came in and greeted him genially. “You seem to have got the study habit,” said Richard. “There aren’t any more exams for a couple of months, you know.”
“Yes, I know, but I’m going to try not to slide back again.”
Evidently Richard had not talked with David about the theme. Perhaps he had dismissed the whole thing from his thoughts, or perhaps he had even been impressed with the appeal, weak though it was, not to bother David about it. Anyway, Lester began to feel a little more hopeful of escaping detection. If only David would decide to write on a new subject!
Richard had not forgotten about the theme; nor had he been impressed with Lester’s appeal, except unfavorably. But he had decided that if Lester had done a mean thing he did not want to know it. He never had known Lester to do anything mean; he admired him more than he admired any other fellow in college, and he wanted to go on admiring him. It couldn’t help David at all to tell him of the discovery; and what was the use in acting as a detective against a friend? Richard disliked mischief-making; he had decided not to carry on any further investigations about David’s theme.
When another twenty-four hours had passed and Richard’s attitude remained as friendly and cheerful as ever, Lester felt encouraged. He had been apprehensive when he came out from one of his classes and encountered Richard and David walking together, but they had greeted him cordially in a manner that caused him to think that they were not making him the subject of discussion. And later in the day Richard’s cheerfulness confirmed Lester’s hopes. There remained only the danger of David’s rewriting the theme. Lester felt that he must know soon what David was going to do.
In the hope of finding out he went that evening to David’s room and, as it happened, immediately received the information that he desired. David was sitting at his desk, writing; a sheet of paper in front of him was half filled.
“Beat it!” said David. “Don’t you dare to disturb me. I’ve just caught an inspiration for that theme.”
Lester’s heart gave a leap. “All right, Dave; I’ll clear out. Might I ask what the subject is to be this time?”
“You. You and all your works.” Lester stood momentarily aghast until David explained. “Campaigning for office, electioneering, managing a candidate; I’m getting in all the cracks I can at you, your rivals, their managers, your managers, and at college politics in general.”
“That’s a good subject. Don’t be too hard on me.”
Outside David’s door, Lester could hardly restrain his joyful emotions. Never in the world had there been any one so lucky, so undeservedly lucky, as he. The last peril of discovery was past; no one would ever know the base thing that he had done; his reputation was safe. But he should never forget the shamefulness of his act and of the lying that had followed it; he could never think of it without a sickness of the heart. Surely he could never do anything mean and crooked again. Surely he would do what he could to prove to himself that he had some decency and honor. If the fellows chose to elect him marshal, he would accept the election because to decline without giving adequate reasons would be virtually impossible. But he would not lift a finger to win the election. He would stick quietly to his books and try by his studiousness and indifference to popularity and honors to win back some measure of self-respect and of faith in his own character.
That evening for the first time since he had taken the theme he was able to concentrate upon his work. He sat up studying until long after Richard had gone to bed and stopped only when his eyes closed with drowsiness.
The next day Lester and David walked together to the meeting of the class in English composition. They took their seats; Lester’s seat was immediately behind David’s.
Professor Worthington opened a theme. “Usually,” he said, “I acquiesce in the wishes of those who ask that their themes be not read to the class. But I shall venture to disregard one such request for the reason that the writer of the theme has taken a subject that is not in any way personal and that is of general undergraduate interest. I hope that he will not object. The title of the theme is ‘The Place of Athletics in College Life’.”
Lester’s brain swam; he felt faint and sick. Instinctively he tried to appear impassive, and when the reading began and David in the seat in front sat up with excitement and then turned and let his eyes rove questioningly over the faces of those behind him, Lester’s countenance was unmoved. But David’s eyes did not rest on Lester; with their puzzled and indignant expression they swept back and forth, but they did not so much as glance at any of his friends. Finally David turned and settled down into his seat while the reading proceeded.
Slowly Lester rallied from his mental collapse. What was he to do now? David would go to the desk at the end of the hour and tell Professor Worthington that he was the author of the theme. Expulsion from college was the penalty for cheating in examinations; expulsion from college was probably the penalty for stealing another fellow’s theme. To be expelled for any misdeed was bad enough, but to be expelled for cheating and theft—what could be more terrible! Lester felt that his mother and his father could not bear it; he could not go home to them branded in such a way by the college. He must somehow keep David from telling Professor Worthington about that theme.
The reading of it went on. At the end Professor Worthington said: “That is the kind of theme I should like to get more often than I do. It deals with a subject that is of undergraduate interest and one on which you must all have done some thinking and talking. The reader feels that it is written with a certain authority, that the writer, either from his close observation of athletics or participation in them, knows what he’s talking about. The first requisite to writing well about a thing is to know the subject thoroughly. There is no doubt that the writer of this theme knows athletics thoroughly.”
Professor Worthington let his glance fall on Lester with an approving and encouraging smile. He then took up another theme and resumed his reading.
Lester felt for an instant that Professor Worthington’s glance and smile had identified him for the class. Then he knew that this could not be, especially when the man on his left murmured to him, “Mighty good theme; wonder who wrote it.”
As the hour dragged on, Lester, inattentive to the reading and to the instructor’s comments, tried to formulate in his mind the appeal that he should make to David, turned from it in disgust, thought with bitterness of the cruel mischance of which, after having safely passed all the perils that had threatened him, he was now the victim, and turned again to the framing of his excuses and his plea.
When the bell rang at the end of the hour, in the instant confusion and clatter that arose as the members of the class got to their feet, Lester grasped David’s arm.
“Dave,” he whispered, “please don’t speak to Professor Worthington about that theme of yours till after I have a talk with you.”
At first David did not understand. “Which theme?” he said. “That about electioneering?”
“No. The one that he read to the class.”
David looked at him, amazed. “Did you do that, Lester?”
“Yes. Wait till I can tell you about it, Dave.” Lester’s face was pale, his eyes were pleading.
“All right; I’ll wait for you outside.”
They separated; Lester went to Professor Worthington’s desk, and David passed out of the door. There were three other students waiting at the desk to speak to Professor Worthington, but he noticed Lester approaching and reached out the theme to him.
“That’s a fine piece of work, Mr. Wallace,” he said. “Do another as good. You’ll excuse me, I know, for reading it to the class. I was sure they’d be interested.”
“Yes, sir,” said Lester quietly and turned away with the theme. The other fellows waiting at the desk looked at him with interest.
In the corridor of the building David was awaiting him. Lester put the theme into his hands. “There’s your theme, Dave. You can see what I did to it.”
David glanced at the outside sheet, which bore Lester’s name. He said nothing until after they had descended the steps of the building. Then his voice was not unsympathetic as he asked, “How did it happen, Lester?”
“I wasn’t able to write the theme because I was studying for the examinations in the other courses. Then when they were all over, the last night before the theme was due, I was pretty much all in. I couldn’t write; I couldn’t think of anything to write about. Then I decided to go down to your room and see whether you could help me with a subject. You were out, but I saw your theme on your desk, and I sat down and read it. Then the thought just came to me that with your record it wouldn’t matter much if you missed that theme, and that if I could hand it in as mine, it would save me from probation and all that sort of thing. I thought I’d try again in the morning to do the work myself, but if I couldn’t I might use your work. So I took the theme and the rough draft to my room and put them into my desk. Then I went to bed, and I slept until after nine the next morning. That gave me too little time to do the writing in, though I did try; I even went without breakfast, trying. And it wasn’t till just a little while before you came and told Richard and me about losing the theme that I’d copied off the last page and written my name on the back and destroyed the first draft.”
“It’s too bad,” murmured David. He had been walking with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him; he did not want to embarrass his friend with his gaze. “I wish I’d never found it out. Come up to my room, Lester, where we can talk.”
They ascended the stairs of the dormitory in silence. David threw open the door of his room, and Lester entered. Then David closed and locked the door. “Sit down, old man.” He looked at Lester for the first time and saw how ashen white he was, and pity overflowed in David’s heart. “Why, you poor old boy,” he said and put his arm affectionately inside Lester’s arm, “sit down and don’t look like that.”
Then Lester tried to smile, but failed utterly. Tears sprang into his eyes and began to run down his cheeks. “David,” he cried, “I’m ashamed, so ashamed! I hate myself!” His voice broke; he sank into the chair at David’s desk and, throwing out his arms, hid his face in them.
David patted him on the back and talked soothingly. “Don’t think of it any more, Lester. We’ll never think of it again. It will be just between us two; and you mustn’t let it break you all up like this. I know how sorry you are. And you really weren’t yourself when you did it; you were all worn out.” He stroked the back of Lester’s head gently.
“Dave,” Lester said in a trembling voice when at last he raised his head, “you’re the whitest man I know. When I think how I stole from you and lied to you—and then you treat me like this!” Again the sob came into his throat, and he could not go on.
David squeezed and kneaded the muscles of Lester’s arm. “You’re all right, Lester,” he said. “All you need is a little more muscle in another place than this. And you’re getting it.”
“I know I’m weak, weak as water,” said Lester. “But I never thought I was dishonest. Not even back in school, when I did that rotten thing to Mr. Dean—cribbing the lessons in class when he was blind. This is the first crooked thing I’ve done since then, and it’s worse, because I’m older; and I went from one mean and crooked thing to another—there seemed no end to it. Dave, do you think it will be that way with me always? Do you think that every once in so often I’ll give way and do some perfectly rotten, dishonorable thing?”
“Of course you won’t. You’ll never do anything of the sort again as long as you live. And now, old fellow, you’ve got it out of your system, and let’s not ever speak of it again. And everything will be as it was before, just as if it had never happened.”
“I don’t believe there’s another fellow in the world who could say that or think it,” said Lester. “But nothing can be quite as it was before, Dave. For instance, what ought I to do about running for marshal? Ever since I did this thing I’ve known that I’m the most unfit man in the class to be marshal. And I suppose there’s a chance of my being elected. What ought I to do?”
“I can’t see that you ought to do anything. I think you just ought to attend to your own affairs and let the election take its course.”
“But if I should happen to be elected I couldn’t enjoy the honor a bit.”
“That would be part of your punishment. But you can’t reject the honor before it comes to you, or even afterwards.”
“Don’t you think you ought to let it be known quietly that you’ve found I’m not the man for it, and that I think so, too, and would prefer not to have the fellows vote for me?”
“No, I don’t think so. It would start a lot of talk and gossip and inquiry, and what would be the use? Why not let the class go ahead and elect whomever they will? If it happens to be you, why, just put the best face you can on it.”
Lester thought for a moment. “You’re probably right. But I hope they won’t elect me; and you can be sure that I’ll not act any more in a way to catch votes. I’m afraid I was doing that before I did this worse thing.” He rose and took David’s hand. “You certainly are a good friend, Dave. And I’ve been a pretty useless one to you.”
“You’ve always been a source of pride to me,” said David. Lester winced. “And you will be again,” David added hastily. “And if the class elects you marshal, I shan’t feel that they’ve made such a fearful mistake. I’ll enjoy the honor for you.”
He unlocked the door, laughing, and gave Lester an affectionate slap on the back as he passed out.