WHEN our unfortunate treasurer of the pitching cage fund entered the sickroom he was scarcely prepared for what he found there. The room, to his imagination, resembled an emergency hospital. The air was impregnated with the odors of arnica, and iodine and ether—decidedly sickly smells to one coming in suddenly and not accustomed to them.
On the table near the bed where Stockley was lying were a number of bottles, gauze, and sponges and the remains of a light breakfast. The boy was propped up with pillows, his broken arm in splints resting on one, while another was gently pressed against his fractured ribs.
Stockley was not an ill-featured boy. It is true that he had somewhat neglected his personal appearance of late, but there was nothing about him that was really repulsive, and now after his alcohol bath and with his hair well brushed from his forehead he appeared quite presentable. He had a fine mouth and his eyes were large and clear. His forehead was high and intelligent, and notwithstanding his faults one could not fail to recognize a sort of innate nobility in him, and Roy discovered something more than even this as he watched him. He saw on his face a softened, chastened look. His countenance showed that softening effect which appears in so peculiar yet unmistakable a way immediately after receiving one of the sacraments of the Church. His look was subdued and yet exalted. There was a species of radiance on the face which Roy felt he could not define, but yet was quite discernible. There was also a change of manner of speech. Stockley had been very close to the gates of death and that tremendous fact had changed his views, and the sacrament of Penance had the effect of softening his hitherto somewhat hard exterior conduct and manner and he was even now under the apprehension that it was quite doubtful whether he would recover from his injuries, although the physician had told him that unless most unexpected complications ensued there was no danger. He was nevertheless quite frightened, and was now very serious. It must not be understood, however, that the story he told was due to his fright, for he had quite a different motive in relating what he did.
Roy saw the change in the boy, yet he could not help but regard him with disfavor, although he determined to be perfectly just to him. He was anxious, also, to keep his wits about him in order to lose nothing of what might be said. In justice to himself he meant to get the whole story, although in his heart of hearts he had the sickening dread that this boy lying wounded and bruised before him would confirm his worst fears concerning his cousin Garrett.
Henning realized that the present moment was a critical one in his life; that now, or perhaps never, would all suspicion be removed. He felt that if this interview should result in nothing not already known, and he remain under the unjust and cruel suspicion, it would compel him to reconsider seriously his purpose of entering the seminary. Was there not also a possibility that the bishop would reject him—would be compelled to reject him—upon learning that his character for honesty was impugned?
All this and much more he saw as he stood by the bedside of the injured boy, waiting for him to speak. While waiting he offered a fervent prayer to the Sacred Heart for direction for himself, and that if it were in Stockley's power to do so, he might clear up everything.
To see Henning at this moment one would never imagine that he was very much excited. His two friends thought he was taking the matter very coolly. He stood at the bedside with his hands in the side pockets of his trousers, and with as much apparent nonchalance as if he were watching a ball-game.
Perceiving that Stockley would not, or at least did not begin the conversation, he remarked:
“I am sorry that you have met with so serious and so terrible an accident.”
There was no reply. Stockley put out his uninjured hand, but Roy did not take it. He felt that there was something in the character of the boy lying before him that was entirely antagonistic to his own character and disposition. They were the opposites of each other in almost everything. The one was animated with noble and generous impulses, with exalted ideals of life and duty and goodness. The other, as far as Roy had known him, was the antithesis of all this. Seeing that Stockley did not speak, he again made an attempt to open the conversation.
“The infirmarian tells me that you wish to say something to me.”
“Yes,” said the other in a low voice. He was really suffering a great deal of pain. “Yes, won't you all take chairs? Sit down, all of you.”
“Thanks, I prefer to stand,” said Roy, but the other two found seats.
“But it is rather a long story I have determined to tell. It will take some time.”
Roy sat down.
“That's right. It makes it easier for me to say what I am going to tell.”
Henning nodded his head, without venturing a reply.
“You seem rather sour with me.”
“No. Excuse me if I appear so. I am anxious to hear what you have to say.”
“By the way, where is Smithers? Why hasn't he been up here to see me? Where is he?”
“I know nothing about him. You know I have only arrived from home this morning. As yet I have no news of the yard.”
“Well, he might have come, seeing how thick we have been. But there! I'm not going to say anything about him, or about anybody but myself.”
Roy nodded his head in approbation.
“Ah! that suits you. You pious fellows are so particular about what is said about one's neighbor. I must be careful. You are right, of course, and besides I received a pretty close call, up there on the hillside, so I am going to try to undo some of the harm I have done. The chaplain has urged me, too.”
“Yes, be careful, please. But what is your story?”
“I was brought up,” he began in a low voice, “in a strange, unwholesome way. I suppose heredity, or at least environment, must have something to do with my tendencies and disposition. The only piece of good fortune I have had was in being sent to St. Cuthbert's, but, now when it is too late, I see how I have missed my chances here. Ever since I can remember, my father has been a heavy drinker and our home has been one of squalid discomfort, and I became more or less soured with everything and everybody and found myself doing many a mean thing. Do you know who it was who put the suspicion of theft on you? Three of us worked that, or strictly speaking, two; It was I and Smithers, and occasionally—once in a great while—your cousin Garrett.”
“So I have thought all along; in fact I knew it,” said Henning, “but why on earth did you do such a thing? Do you not know how much I have suffered from this? And you must know how terribly hard this was to bear.”
“I know very well. Why did we do it? I, for one, was thoroughly envious of your popularity. I was angry, as a good many others were, at your refusal to play baseball or football. I did not, and to tell you the truth, do not like you, and I wanted to do something to vex you. Of course I see these things now in a different light after confession. You know I have been to confession, don't you.”
“I suspected as much. I am glad of that. So you started the cowardly rumor against my honesty all the time knowing I was innocent.”
Henning was determined to be diplomatic, so the question was not put as in anger, or with any apparent excitement or resentment, but rather as if he were helping the boy make a full confession by suggesting to him facts known to both.
“Yes, I acted this way knowing you to be innocent," answered Stockley.
“Did you realize that you might have ruined me for life?”
“To be honest, I never dreamed of such a result. It was done simply to annoy you, and for no other reason, on my part.”
“Did you suggest this to Garrett or he to you?" asked Roy.
“To do him justice, I must say that we, Smithers and I, suggested it to him. We had a hard job to bring him over, in fact he never did really come over. He would never let the letter be circulated.”
“Letter! What letter? What do you mean?”
“Don't you know? That was my biggest card and it fell flat. Don't know? Oh, well, if you don't know about the letter, you must ask your cousin. He wouldn't give it up. I guess he's got it yet.”
Roy was much mystified. He could not imagine what the letter could be, or what bearing it had on the case.
“Stockley, you have told us some things of importance. Now will you not go farther? You know I am innocent of the robbery, and of any possible connection with it?”
“No doubt about that,” said the other.
“Now to make your story complete, and of immense value to me, will you not reiterate your statement before Bracebridge and Beecham here that you know me to be innocent of all the charges which have been circulated about me in the yard?”
“Why, yes. I repeat emphatically that you are guiltless of them all.”
“Thanks! thanks! You are sure of what you say?”
“Quite sure. You are scot-free.”
“Thanks again. Now, Stockley, as you are quite sure, do you not see the only way in which you can convince others that you are correct is to admit you know the thief?”
The boy on the bed laughed.
“Well, Henning, I suppose you think you have caught me nicely. You think I have either said too much or too little. If I had not been to confession I should not have allowed you to drive me into this corner, but I did not intend to stop at this. Yes, I will tell you the name of the thief.”
“Who is he?”asked Roy, as calmly as he could, although he felt himself half choking with suppressed excitement.
“I must continue my story. When I have done you will know. What time is it?”
“Twenty minutes to ten,” answered Roy.
“You've got it yet,” said the boy, pointing his finger at Roy's watch, which he still held in his hand.
“What? The watch? Oh! yes.”It was a rather small gold hunting-case watch.
“That watch was the cause of the robbery,” said Stockley dramatically. Henning clicked the watch shut with a start, and put it back in his pocket.
“This watch the cause of the robbery! What on earth are you talking about? Your senses must be leaving you——”
“Just wait. You'll soon see I'm not wandering. Why should there be such an unequal distribution of wealth, and of the good things of the world? Why can you have all that heart can desire, and why must I get along with a mere pittance, just enough to make me wince under my own indigence? Look at my father and yours; my home and your home. Your father is a wealthy and honored lawyer with a home like a palace; mine, as I said before, one of squalid discomfort. My father gave me five dollars to get through the school year with, yours probably gave you a hundred.”
Henning began to pity the boy. Laying his hand gently on Stockley he said:
“Hold on. I begin to catch your view, but you are getting on too fast. I am going to tell you something which I have never breathed to a living soul. Do you know how much money I had to spend this year?”
“As I said,” replied the other, “about a hundred, or perhaps much more.”
“You are mistaken. I had just twenty-five dollars—not one cent more—and you see that's a very small amount for me, because I am supposed—just as you suppose now—to have plenty.”
“Oh! Come off! You gave Smithers nearly ten,”
“I know it, and it left me fifteen.”
Jack and Ambrose were never so surprised in their lives—and felt like cheering. Stockley remained silent. This was a revelation to him. He had supposed that a rich man's son, because he was a rich man's son, always had all the money he wanted. He was sharp enough to realize Roy's position during the year.
“My, that must have been hard on you,”
“It was hard,” replied Roy.
Another long pause. The injured boy was thinking new thoughts.
“I'VE been thinking,” said Stockley, at length breaking the silence. “I've been thinking that if I had known last Christmas what you have told me now things might have happened very differently. I guess I am not the only fellow who has seen hard lines here. Yes, things would have been different.”
“How so?”asked Henning.
“It's this way. I told you that it was your gold watch that was the cause—or the occasion—of all the trouble that came to you. It happened this way. For some time before Christmas I envied you, your good clothes, this gold watch, and—and your popularity. Along by Christmas my father neglected me. He sent me no money, which he might easily have done had he given me one thought. The more nearly broke I was at holiday time the deeper my envy. I knew, for I watched you closely, that you were collecting a pretty sum for the cage. I saw where you kept the money. The idea of securing a gold watch for myself took strong hold upon me. It did not take long or many attempts to loosen one of the outside window bars. Then on the Richelieu night when everybody was full of thoughts of the play, when the prefects were hurrying the boys to bed, I entered through the window and secured the money.”
“And it wasn't—it wasn't—”Roy choked up.
“Who? It wasn't anybody but myself. Smithers had no hand in it then.”
Roy Henning's heart gave a great bound of relief. It was not his cousin, after all. Thank God, thank God! The family honor was saved! How glad he was now of his silence! Was ever silence so golden? What irretrievable damage a hasty word could have done. The thief known, on his own confession, and before witnesses. His cousin exonerated! Thank God, thank God! Of course Roy was curious now to know all the details and it was with the utmost difficulty that he restrained his excitement sufficiently to be able to speak in a natural tone.
“How did you manage to do it?”
“Umph! This information which you have been seeking for the last five months does not seem to affect you much.”
“With that we can deal later. Now I am curious to know how you did it. Please tell me.”
“As you take the matter so coolly, I will. I laid my plans well. I determined, if caught in lifting the grating, to be hunting for a ball, which I had previously dropped down there. I watched my time. I made the entry while the boys were in the chapel at night prayers. I settled with myself that if I were caught coming out, to bring the money to you to prove to you how foolish you were to leave it in a common table drawer. In the dark it took only a minute to lift the grating. You know that it is thick iron with small holes. Three boys did actually walk over the grating that night while I was crouching beneath it with the money in my pocket.”
Henning startled both Stockley and his companions by saying, dramatically:
“I saw you that night there.”
“What, you saw me! Oh, I say, that's a likely story—and didn't say a word all this time,”
“How?”
“Why did you wear Garrett's blue sweater?”
“Guess you did see me then, for I wore it. I wanted a disguise. If any one saw me near that window with Garrett's sweater on they would take me for him, provided I hid my face well—which I did. No one would suspect Garrett of thieving.”
Again Henning was thankful that he had kept his resolution of silence. It was not for Garrett's sake he had made it. Why it was made, and kept in the face of such suspicious circumstances, the reader will learn ere long.
“Did you purchase the gold watch you wanted with your—your ill-gotten gains?”
“I did not. I was afraid to do so. I saw at once if I did I should compromise myself. I saw that I should have to tell where I got the money for such a purpose. Everybody, and especially the faculty, knew that I did not have overmuch pocket-money. My common-sense, after all, told me I could not use the money here. So I made myself a felon for nothing. What is left—most of it—is now with the President.”
Stockley paused a minute, and then continued:
“Don't think this is an easy task for me, boys. I promised the chaplain to straighten things out, and as you had to have the essentials, you might as well have the details also. I shall never face the boys again, for as soon as I can be moved I am to be sent home. Anyway, Henning, I like the way you received the story.”
“I am very thankful to you that you make it so clear and circumstantial.”
“You remember in the early spring there was a good deal of money spent by the boys. If I remember rightly you yourself bought a number of books, bats, balls, and shoes. Well, at that time I ventured to spend some, but I was horribly suspicious all the time. Somehow I imagined that every dollar I spent was marked in some invisible way and would be traced back to me. No, I tell you that has done me no good, given me not one moment of satisfaction, and has only added an extra burden to my conscience.”
“Did Smithers have a hand in this thievery?" asked Roy.
“Leave others out. You said that to me just now, and now you are trying to get some one else incriminated.”
“No, I am not. I am merely acting in self-defense. You have cleared me of all suspicion. I must, if he was implicated in this wretched affair, have him clear me also.”
“You need not bother about Smithers,” said Bracebridge; “that charming and courageous individual departed for unknown pastures between two suns. You will see him no more. The boys say he is daffy on account of the storm. Let it go at that, Roy.”
Henning was surprised at this news, but not altogether pleased. Matters had thus far gone so propitiously that he wanted every knot in the tangle straightened out.
“That's all right, Roy,” said Bracebridge. “There will be no more trouble from that quarter.”He then turned to Stockley, saying:
“I must say that we are obliged to you for your candor. It is rather a manly acknowledgment after all.”
“You see, I went to confession last night, and——”
“I understand. You are properly trying to undo the wrong you have done. You will never be able to undo the mental torture you have inflicted on Henning all these months.”
“I never shall. I am sorry for all that now, and I ask your pardon, Henning.”
The three boys were discovering that there was something manly in Stockley after all.
“That's all right,” said Roy heartily. “It's all over now. Try and keep straight for the future.”
“Now,” said Bracebridge, “there is only one thing more to be done. Of course you will sign a paper exonerating Henning from all possible implication, now you have acknowledged your own guilt. Our word as witnesses would be sufficient, but it would come with better grace from you, don't you think so?”
“There's not much gracefulness in the whole wretched business, I'm thinking, but I'll sign.”
That afternoon, with the permission of the prefect, there was posted on the bulletin board a notice which created more intense excitement than anything since the loss of the money during the Christmas holidays. It ran as follows:
“This is to certify that I, of my own free will and without coercion, admit that I stole the seventy-two dollars last Christmas week, and that no one now at the college had the least thing to do with planning or carrying out the theft except myself.”
“John Stockley.”
UNPLEASANT as the interview had been to Roy, he no sooner left the sickroom than he found his spirits rise with a great bound. At last! At last he was cleared! Now the way was smoothed for him. All aspersions on his character would be scattered like the morning mist before the sun, as soon as the contents of the precious paper were made known.
The three boys left the infirmary at about half an hour after eleven o'clock. In a quarter of an hour classes would be dismissed for the day, it being a customary half-holiday.
Jack Beecham was eager to post the notice on the bulletin board at once. They took the wiser and safer course. They decided to see the prefect first, as nothing appeared on the board without his sanction, and when it did it was regarded as official.
“Come in,” they heard him call in response to their rap at the door.
“Great news, Mr. Shalford,” shouted Jack Beecham before he entered the room. “Everything's settled. Roy's all right now. The head of the clique has done it this time—in black and white, too; see, sir.”
Mr. Shalford arose, smiling, and extended his hand to Henning.
“I am very glad. It has been an ugly business. It has caused no end of anxiety. The rumors and charges were always so intangible that I never could trace one to its source. But let me see the paper.”
This boys' true friend gave a low whistle as he read Stockley's acknowledgment.
“So you are cleared, Henning; and the thief is known? That's capital. Poor boy! Isn't it too bad, boys, to find a student—one of us—a thief, a burglar, a felon! Oh, the pity of it! Well, pray for him, boys, pray for him. Leave this note with me, Henning. I'll see that it does its work. Congratulations, all of you. Whatever you have, Roy, you have some loyal friends. Congratulations, congratulations, all of you,”
The note was immediately posted. Then the excitement began, at first among half-a-dozen around the board, then among other groups, and in a very short time throughout the college. George McLeod and Ernest Winters simply went wild, and in less than an hour they could scarcely speak at all, so hoarse were they from shouting.
Where was Henning? A rush was made to the Philosophy classroom. He was not there. Perhaps he was with the rector or the prefect of studies. Both these places were invaded by excited boys, but Roy was not forthcoming.
Just as the big bell rang for dinner, George McLeod made a rush for the chapel, sure that he would find his friend there. And there he did find the three, Jack, Ambrose, and Roy, pouring out their thanksgiving with grateful hearts for the happy turn events had taken.
“Come, Roy; it's dinner. The big bell has rung; come on.”
Roy did not move, nor did his companions. He evidently intended to avoid the crowd, waiting until they should all be at dinner, knowing that in the refectory they would have to remain quiet.
This time he miscalculated entirely. No sooner did he make his appearance than the whole of the students of the senior refectory rose to their feet and gave three hearty cheers for Roy Henning. The prefect made no attempt to stop the demonstration, while Ernest Winters, out in the middle of the room, was fairly dancing with joy and excitement.
At a given signal from Mr. Shalford all cheering ceased. Every one resumed his seat—except Ernest, who danced on in his glee, to the intense amusement of all, and to his own utter confusion when he discovered that he was the only boy now making any noise in the refectory.
Before the laugh at his expense had subsided the prefect whispered to Roy:
“Shall I give talking at table in honor of the event?”
“To-morrow, please, sir,” replied Roy, “now I want to think a little.”
Mr. Shalford gave a look and a nod to the reader, and the meal, save for the reader's voice, was finished in silence.
If the boys were not allowed to talk for a little while, there was no lack of signs and signals. Harry Gill was frantic to signal across the room his congratulations, and had a fit of coughing for trying to eat his dinner and at the same time send a series of telegraphic messages to Roy.
Henning was pleased to see that Andrew Garrett was quite demonstrative of good will. Andrew, for a long time tried to catch his cousin's eye. When he did so, he dropped his knife and fork and imitated a handshaking. Roy did the same to his cousin, and was repaid by seeing a look of intense pleasure spread over Andrew's face.
Of course all these signs and signals and other unusual occurrences were breaches of discipline which, at any other time would not have gone unchecked and unpunished. But Mr. Shalford knew exactly “how it was.”He had been a real boy himself once, and knew exactly when not to see too much. He believed in the scriptural motto, “Be not over just.”
And after dinner! What a scene the yard presented for a few minutes! The delighted boys shook Roy's hand until his arm fairly ached. His arm ached because he allowed it to be shaken by others, instead of himself shaking every hand extended. In this business he was unexperienced.
In the midst of the enthusiasm, which resembled that which follows an important and successful baseball game, only more intense, Harry Gill jumped upon a long bench by the wall and shouted:
“Listen, gentlemen. I have good news for you. Hi, there! listen. Listen there, boys, listen, listen! Roy Henning has promised to pitch for the rest of the year! Did—you—hear that—boys?”
Roy suddenly remembered that he had intended to give Gill the credit for this. He jumped on the bench in a second. Raising his hand, the hero of the hour obtained silence in a much shorter time than Gill had done.
“If I pitch for the rest of the year,” he said, “it is all Gill's fault. I simply could not resist his importunities. Oh, he's a sly one,”
“It isn't,” said Gill laughing.
“It is.”
“It is not.”
“It is.”
Then there was a cheer which could be heard down at Cuthberton.
After a time Roy, Jack, Ambrose, and Rob Jones extricated themselves from the throng of happy boys, and with Gill and Andrew Garrett repaired to the Philosophy classroom, or Hilson's parlor, as it was called, which the other members of the class considerately left at their disposal for the time being.
“Oh, what a day we're having,” sighed Jack Beecham as he sank into a chair.
“Glorious, isn't it?”said the jubilant Bracebridge.
“And now that we are alone,” began Andrew Garrett, "that is, among special friends, I want to say something.”
All were silent in an instant. Gill, who did not appear to have realized the previous strained relations between the two cousins began to say something funny, but he was checked by an unmistakably significant glance from Ambrose, who had become quite serious, for he rather expected a scene, if not an explosion. Shealey, who had come in, was too full of fun and nonsense to imagine that anybody just now could be serious, but when he saw the nervous look on Ambrose's face, and the evident nervousness of Garrett, he, too, realized that it was time to suspend bantering.
All the friends were standing in a group around Henning, laughing and chattering as only boys thoroughly happy can laugh and chatter, when Garrett began to speak. At the sound of his voice, they all, with Roy in the center, turned and faced Garrett as he stood two or three feet away.
“I want to say something,” Garrett began again, "and I think it only fair, Roy, to say it before these others, as well as to you.”
Henning bowed slightly, having only a faint idea of what was coming. At present he was too pleased to know that Garrett was not implicated and that the family name was untarnished.
“I want to say that I consider myself to have been a pretty mean and small sort of a fellow in this whole business.”
“Oh! Don't——”began Roy in protest.
“Wait a minute, Roy. This is the task I have set myself, for it seems to me the only possible way in which I can make reparation. I want to say that I had a good deal to do with those rumors. I got in, somehow, with a crowd of boys I ought to have been ashamed to associate with. How it all happened I don't exactly know. Things went from bad to worse with me, and pretty far, too. It seems a dream to me now. About a week ago suddenly I began to realize my position. How this realization came about I don't know. It must have been dear little Ethel's prayers for me, but I began to think of my position, think of what I was doing, and, yes, to think of the sin of it all. You were away, Roy, and when I remembered your trouble and grief at home, and when, finally, your brotherly telegram came, I began to be thoroughly ashamed of myself. So now all I can do is to ask your pardon, and the pardon of all these, your loyal and staunch friends.”
As he listened to this manly avowal, there arose in Roy Henning's breast an admiration for his cousin's moral courage. The other auditors were deeply impressed. They waited with curiosity to see what Roy would do. And he? He did precisely what might be expected of him. Without saying a word, he stepped forward, took Garrett's hand and shook it warmly. Then:
“It's all over, old man. Let bygones be bygones. I forgive everything and forget.”
“Thanks, very much. I do not deserve this, but you shall see I shall deserve it.”
There was a world of pathos and earnestness in Andrew's voice at that moment.
The rest of the gathering of friends extended their hands, and Andrew shook hands all around.
“Now,” said Roy, “will you permit me to ask a few questions, to clear up some obscure points in my mind?”
“Certainly; anything,” said Andrew, with alacrity.
“How did that wretched Stockley come to wear your blue sweater? He tells me he did, and, besides, I saw him get down below that grating that night and I thought it was you.”
“Thought it was me,” said Garrett in the greatest amazement. “You thought it was I, and all this time you thought I was the thief, and yet stood all I said against you, and never said a word! Oh, Roy! No wonder on that Sunday afternoon you insisted on my clearing you,”
Andrew Garrett appeared to be fairly overcome by his cousin's generosity.
“Why, oh, why didn't I know all this before? How differently I would have acted. Believe me, it is only this very day I learned that the thief wore my sweater that night. Before going to bed on the night of the play I hung my sweater on a peg in the study-hall. The next morning I saw that it had been used by some one, for there were dirt stains on it and some rust marks from contact with rusty iron. I determined not to wear it after that. I had no idea the thief had used it, though.”
“Thanks,” said Roy. “Now one more question, Andrew.”
“Fire away.”
“This morning Stockley said something about a letter which you knew something of—one in some way connected with me. Can you tell me anything about it?”
Now it so happened that the affair of the letter was the only incident in the untoward conduct of Garrett for many months past in which he could take any kind of satisfaction. It will be remembered that he had refused to allow Stockley and Smithers to circulate it among the boys. He had retained it ever since.
“That's easy enough,” he answered, as he drew the crumpled letter from his pocket.
“But I have to ask you a question now, for the wording of the letter certainly looks compromising enough. Listen to this, gentlemen.”Andrew read the scrap of paper to the astonished listeners.
“Dec. 23rd. My dear chum: Your letter received last Monday. Sorry to say that"—"here's a blank,” said Garrett, and then continued, "have no money just now, so can not do the thing you wish. Awfully sorry. Feel like stealing the money rather than letting this thing go undone. However, wait till the end of Christmas week. Something's going to turn up before that—then we can go into partnership in this, at least for the merit—keep everything dark. Don't say a word to anybody about it. Mind, now, chum, everything must be kept secret or—smash! Yours, Roy H.”
When Garrett began to read the note, Henning looked puzzled. After a time he seemed to remember all about it, and then he—blushed.
“Oh! that's——”but he stopped suddenly. He was going to make a revelation of some kind, and suddenly thought better of it. He blushed profusely—like a girl. He was awkward. For a moment he appeared embarrassed in no slight degree. Twice he was going to say something; twice he changed his mind.
His friends were very much puzzled. Was there a shade of truth in some of the charges made against Roy after all? Had their idol fallen? Was he, after all, not to be their hero? Was he a lesser character than all along they had judged him?
Roy saw these fleeting fancies on their wavering faces, all except Ambrose's. He never doubted, nor did he show the least sign of wavering. Roy saw wonder and incipient doubt elsewhere, at which he blushed the more furiously.
The situation was certainly dramatic. A climax had come to-day. Was there, after all, to be an anticlimax? Was the idol to be shattered at the very last moment?
“What does it all mean, Roy?”asked Garrett.
“I would rather not say,” was the reply.
“You had better, Roy,” said Bracebridge, in confidential tones.
Still blushing, Roy said:
“I say, you fellows, you don't mean to say there is anything crooked in this, do you?”
“No,” replied Andrew Garrett, “but an enemy of yours could make mighty good capital out of it all the same. Tell us what it means, Roy.”
“If you must know, then, it's merely this,” answered Roy, a little angrily, not exactly with his friends, but more at the exigencies of the situation. "There is a poor—quite poor—student in a seminary who is and has been a great friend of mine, in fact pretty much of a hero, as you would say if you knew his story. He had the greatest longing to get home last Christmas to see his widowed mother after years of absence. He could not afford it, and, like a real friend, asked me to assist him. Unfortunately my funds were very low—too low to help him. I expected that my mother would send me her usual Christmas present. I found out that she was willing to do so, and I wrote to her to send most of it to my friend instead. There's your great mystery! I was short of funds because my father cut down my allowance this year.”
“So that's the reason you were so close this year?" asked Andrew.
“What?”
“Because your father cut down, and yet, by Jove! you were willing to send what you did get to some one else. Well, I call that noble, indeed I do. Oh, I wish I had known all this before! If I had but known! If I had——”
“Say, you fellows, haven't you done catechising me?”said Roy Henning, attempting to divert their attention from himself.
“If you please, cousin, one more question,” said Andrew.
Roy made a wry face, and a mock gesture of impatience.
“You would try the patience of a saint,”
“May I?”
“Well, fire ahead.”
“You say that all along you thought I was the thief?”
“I certainly did, Andrew,” answered Roy, serious in a minute, “for no one but you here ever wore a blue sweater.”
“Then why did you not, especially as I had acted so meanly toward you—why did you not do or say something that would point suspicion to me, or openly make the charge?”
The question aroused considerable emotion in Roy's breast. It showed itself in the workings of the muscles of his cheeks. Taking Andrew Garrett by the hand, he looked into his eyes.
“Shall I tell you, Andrew?”
“Yes, please do.”
“If I spoke or moved in this I knew it would break your mother's heart.”
Andrew could stand no more. He broke down. Boy as he was, with all a boy's natural distaste for displaying emotion before others, he was not ashamed to rest his head for a moment on his cousin's shoulder and sob. The only words that fell from his lips were:
“Noble Roy,”
The following pages contain a list of the books in our Catholic Circulating Library which can be had from us on the easy-payment plan.
Though the books are sold on easy payments, the prices are lower than the regular advertised prices.
Any library advertised in these pages will be sent to you immediately on receipt of $1.00.
| CATHOLIC CIRCULATING LIBRARY | ||||||
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THE PLAN FOR FORMING == READING CIRCLES == Dues only 10 Cents a Month.
THIS EXPLAINS THE PLANYou form a Reading Club, say of twelve members, and order one of the Libraries from us. Each member pays you ten cents a month, and you remit us $1.00 a month, thus paying us for the books. On receipt of the first dollar we will send you a complete library. You give each member a book. After a month all the members return their books to you and you give them another one. The books are exchanged in this way every month till the members have read the twelve volumes in the Library. After the twelfth month the books may be divided among the members (each getting one book to keep) or the books may be given to your Pastor for a parish library. Then you can order from us a second library on the same terms as above. In this way you can keep up your Reading Circle from year to year at a trifling cost. On the following pages will be found a list of the books in the different Libraries. They are the best that can be had.MAIL A DOLLAR BILL TO-DAY AND ANY LIBRARY WILL BE FORWARDED AT ONCE |
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| New York: | Cincinnati: | Chicago: | ||
| 36-38 Barclay Street. | 343 Main Street. | 211-213 Madison Street. |
| Dues, 10c. | Catholic Circulating Library | 2 New Books |
| a Month | Every Month |