Tom Fairfield's Pluck and Luck Part 22

"What! You don't believe Tom guilty; do you?"

"Of course not, and yet he's so plagued stiff he won't say anything, or let us help him. Who do you suppose he's s.h.i.+elding, anyhow?"

"Give it up. If he would only tell a fellow," and Bert stalked about the room in something of a rage against his absent chum.

"While I don't for a second believe Tom had anything to do with this business," went on Jack, "it's up to us, as his friends, to look the thing squarely in the face."

"Yes, I suppose so. But what do you mean?"

"I mean we ought to consider the evidence against him as well as in his favor."

"I suppose so. Well, what's the worst?"

"There are some things we know, that other people don't know," said Jack slowly. "For instance, we know he was out on the night the hay stacks burned."

"Yes, that's right," admitted Bert.

"And he came in, smelling horribly of smoke."

"So he did, but the hay wasn't ablaze until long after he was in, Jack."

"Hay would smoulder a long time. Mind!" Jack added quickly, "I'm not for a minute hinting that Tom did it. I'm only considering what his enemies would say."

"That's right. Well, what else?"

"Well, he was out on the night the horses were poisoned, and he wore that horribly-colored sweater. I don't see what possessed him to buy such a scream of a thing."

"Me either."

"He went out with it," went on Jack slowly, "and he came in without it."

"By Jove! So he did!" cried Bert. "I'd forgotten about that. It begins to look bad."

"Not at all!" cried Jack quickly. "I'm only considering a possible case, mind you. And there's one other point."

"Out with it. We might as well have the worst and then we can begin to work to help him."

"Well, you know that day we came in, and found him doing some experiments?"

"Yes. He was monkeying with------"

"Cyanide," broke in Jack. "The very stuff the horses were poisoned with."

"So he was!" whispered Bert In tense tones. "But for the love of heaven don't tell anyone!"

"No danger. I'm only saying this to show how bad it might be made to look for Tom in case anyone put all these things together."

"But no one will."

"I hope not. And now let's see how we can help him."

"Say, what about the school pin?" asked Bert. "Have you really lost yours?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then why------"

"It's this way," went on Jack. "I saw that Tom's was gone, and, fearing that it might look bad for him, I pretended it was a common thing for us to lose or mislay our emblems."

"You did?"

"Sure. I wasn't going to make it look too bad for Tom."

"That's right. But are you going to mention it to him?"

"I am not--not until this thing is cleared up, anyhow."

"Jove! It looks bad!" murmured Bert.

The two chums talked the matter over from several different standpoints, and the only conclusion they arrived at was that unless Tom gave them more information as to who, if anyone other than himself, wore the sweater on the night in question, they could do nothing.

"Except keep still," suggested Bert.

"Sure," a.s.sented Jack.

Several days went by. The first excitement over the implied charges against Tom had died away. Farmer Appleby had wanted to cause the arrest of the lad against whom his suspicions were directed, but his lawyer pointed out that he had such slight evidence that it would be a dangerous proceeding.

But Jack, Bert, George, Bruce Bennington and several of Tom's closest friends stuck to him most loyally. Of course Sam h.e.l.ler was against our hero, but that was to be expected, and many sided with Sam.

"Fairfield ought to be run out of Elmwood Hall!" exclaimed the bully.

"That's what!" added his crony. "And if he doesn't withdraw soon we'll run him out."

"Will you?" cried Sam. "I'm with you. How can we do it?" and the two went off by themselves to plot.

As Bruce Bennington had feared, there were now two factions in the school, those who were for and against Tom. And it seriously interfered with the work of the eleven. For there were some who hated Sam cordially, and as he was the quarterback of the team there were internal dissensions, and such ragged playing, in consequence, that Elmwood lost many games she should have won.

"Say, this is getting fierce!" cried the coach after a disastrous gridiron battle. "What's to be done? We're in bad shape back of the line."

"Maybe we ought to put Tom back."

"We ought to, and yet I'm afraid if we do it will cause more trouble.

But I've a notion to," and they discussed the matter in all its phases.

Meanwhile Tom went on seeking clews, wandering off by himself, lonely at times, but never giving up.

"I'll clear my name yet!" he said to himself, fiercely.