The New Boys at Oakdale Part 17

"There's a bond of sympathy between us," declared the other boy, with a grin. "I was expelled from Berkley for fighting, and before that I got into trouble in the public school of my own town. Like you, it's my mother who wants me to have an education. The old man was for putting me to work with my coat off after the Berkley affair."

They had paused near the academy gate.

"Going home?" asked Ned.

"Home?" exclaimed Charley, misunderstanding him. "If I've got to get out of this town I'll strike out for myself; I'll keep away from home."

"I mean are you going, now, to your boarding place?"

"Oh! I guess not yet. I'll walk up with you. I want to talk this thing over a little more."

To avoid pa.s.sing through the center of the village, they crossed the yard to a field behind it, which brought them to Middle Street. As they went along, Shultz was saying:

"My people aren't such swells as yours, Ned, though the old man is making some money. They're German, but I was born in this country. It's only lately that my father has been sc.r.a.ping together some dollars. All his life he's had to pinch, and now he hangs on to the mazuma with a deathlike grip. It about breaks his heart when he has to send me my monthly allowance, and one reason why he put me here into this little school was because he thought it would be less expensive. Your people are different. You always have money. They might have sent you to any big school if you'd insisted on it."

"I explained my mother's reason for wis.h.i.+ng me to come here. After that exposure at Hadden Hall, it seemed best that I should put in a year at some obscure school before entering an inst.i.tution of importance. You see, considering our standing and family, she felt fearfully cut up over what happened at Hadden. If there's a repet.i.tion of it here, it will make her hair turn gray. I may not betray my feelings to the extent that you do, but I'll confess that this miserable mix-up has got me going. If you hadn't struck that blow--"

"Oh, now you can't blame me; you'd done the same under those circ.u.mstances. What I'd like to know is where that extra ace came from.

You don't suppose that sneak, Piper, slipped it into the pack, do you?"

Osgood shook his head. "I examined the cards after you fellows left. You know I stated at the time that I had two packs with the backs alike.

Investigation showed me that the ace of spades was missing from the pack that was not in use. It got into the other pack, somehow, and that's what makes me blame myself. You understand, Charley, that it was really through my own carelessness that this whole thing came about."

"It was rotten hard luck."

"Yes, it was hard luck."

Neither of them seemed to fancy for a moment that the element of Fate entered, even remotely, into the case, and perhaps they could be excused in this, for "hard luck" is ever the cry of the erring who face exposure through seemingly chance twists of circ.u.mstances. Even hardened malefactors, which these boys were not, rarely understand how closely the threads of human destiny are woven, making it almost impossible completely and effectually to hide the slightest flaw in the web.

Although Osgood invited him in when Mrs. Chester's house was reached, Shultz declined; he was troubled by a vague aversion for the room of his friend, in which an event bordering on tragedy had taken place. They lingered outside near an old elm that was just beginning to show the least touch of tender green amid its branches, and continued seeking to ease their minds by talk.

"Under any circ.u.mstances," said Shultz, "this business seems to put the kibosh on our little plan. It's upset everything."

Osgood nodded. "Just when we had things pretty well fixed," he sighed.

"We were standing in right with the majority of the baseball team, and Nelson's act at Wyndham would have helped us along."

"Sure. I'll guarantee you would have been captain of the Oakdale Academy nine before long. If Wyndham had won that game after Nelson benched us, it would have settled everything our way. You're mighty clever, old man.

You worked the fellows who could be worked, and did it just right. They didn't realize for a moment what we were up to. Still, we had them sounded so that we knew which way every one would jump if a split came."

"It was your idea; I'd never thought of it myself. Even after seeing how loosely athletics are run here, being only a short time in the school, I wouldn't have fancied it possible to depose Nelson had you not suggested it."

For ten minutes or more they continued to talk without securing the least relief from the oppression and anxiety that was on them.

The face of Shultz, as he trudged toward the home of Caleb Carter, where he boarded, was clouded and gloomy. After supper he waited until the shadows had lengthened into twilight, and then set forth into the village. In their talk, neither he nor Osgood had spoken much of the probable result of Roy Hooker's injury, but Charley was inwardly consumed by a desire for some report on the unfortunate boy's condition.

In town he lingered around the post-office and the stores where the villagers occasionally gathered to gossip, hoping to learn what he desired without making inquiries. He joined some boys near the drinking fountain in the square, but took little part in their characteristic chatter.

"You're glum to-night, Shultzie," said Hunk Rollins. "Got a grouch on?"

"Oh, no," was the answer. "I've had bad news from home. Father's sick, and I may have to give up school. It wouldn't surprise me to get a telegram to-morrow."

"Oh, gee!" cried Chub Tuttle. "Don't think you'll have to go for good, do you? With Hooker hurt and you gone, the nine will be mighty weak."

"Has any one heard anything from Hooker to-night?" Shultz desperately forced himself to inquire.

"Only that he seems to be about the same," answered Harry Hopper. "He hasn't talked much yet. We're all waiting to find out what he will have to say when he does talk. The old Prof seemed to think it was going to b.u.mp somebody. We've been trying to figure out who it will be. Fred Sage is Roy's closest friend, but he wasn't out of the house Sat.u.r.day night, so he don't know anything about it."

"It wouldn't surprise me," said Shultz, "if the whole thing turned out to be sort of a tempest in a teapot. It doesn't seem at all likely that anybody knows the facts and is keeping still. I'll wager Hooker took a tumble and hurt himself on his way home."

"But the question is, where had he been?" said Tuttle, munching a peanut. "He must have been out with somebody at that hour, but n.o.body has come forward to say he was with him. That's what makes it look suspicious."

"Well, I'm going home," announced Shultz, who had no relish to discuss the matter. "Perhaps we'll hear something new in the morning."

In his small back room at Caleb Carter's he tried to divert his mind a while by reading, but gave it up at last and decided to go to bed. He was half undressed when, chancing to turn toward the window, which looked out upon the roof of the ell, he staggered as if struck a blow, his mouth open, his eyes bulging, both hands outflung.

The light of his lamp, s.h.i.+ning through the window, fell upon the pallid face of Roy Hooker, who was gazing fixedly at him!

CHAPTER XVII

THE GREAT FEAR.

Aghast, his heart in his throat, Charley Shultz stared at the face outside the window. Only the upper part of the body of his unwelcome visitor could be seen, and that, clothed all in white, seemed particularly ghostlike. The head of the figure was encircled by a heavy white bandage, like a turban. The eyes which stared back at Shultz from an apparently set and pallid face were full of terrible accusation and menace, and beneath that unwavering gaze the terrified boy felt his blood turn to icy currents in his veins.

For a moment he stood spellbound and as motionless as the unmoving figure upon the roof of the ell. Presently, unable longer to endure the ordeal of those burning orbs, Shultz fell back a step, clapping a trembling hand over his own eyes.

He struck against the little stand on which his lamp stood, and the lamp was overturned. Fortunately, it was of metal, and did not break. The chimney, detaching itself, dropped upon a rug and was also unbroken. The burning wick continued to flare, sending up a writhing spiral of smoke, but the room was temporarily plunged into semi-gloom; and, still further terrified lest complete darkness should ensue, Charley stooped and caught up the lamp. He scarcely realized that he burned his quivering, nerveless fingers as he tried to replace the chimney. It was some moments ere he succeeded in his object, and even then, with the lamp gripped convulsively in his hand and held above his head, he could scarcely bring himself once more to look toward the window.

When he did look, he was astounded by the fact that the apparition had vanished, and for at least sixty seconds he stood watching for it to reappear; for it to materialize slowly and horribly, little by little, vague and mist-like at first, but gradually taking form and growing plainer, until, crouching at the window, it should once more sicken his soul with those terrible eyes.

It did not come. Hoping at last that it was truly gone, he forced himself to advance, bearing the lamp. Reaching the window, he ran the roller shade to the very top, and then, still holding the lamp above his head with one hand while he shaded his eyes with the other, he gazed out into the silent night.

The lamplight showed that the roof of the ell was bare. At the far end of the building it fell upon a big chestnut tree with spreading branches. Beyond that nothing could be seen.

Presently, with a deep breath that was almost painful in the relief it gave, Shultz drew back from the window, seized the shade and quickly pulled it all the way down.

"Mercy! what a fright!" he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "I must have imagined it.

My nerves must be on edge, and I never knew I had any nerves. Great Caesar! but it did look natural and real!"

He put the lamp back on the stand and dropped upon a chair, weak and covered with clammy perspiration. For the first time in his life, perhaps, Charley Shultz had been thoroughly frightened, and it was no easy matter for him to recover and regain control of himself.

"I can hardly believe I imagined it, now!" he muttered. "Why should I? I haven't felt that I was really to blame for this Hooker business, and, if I'm not to blame, why should I get all wrought up over it?"

Up to this time his great concern had been almost wholly for himself as he would be affected by the unfortunate affair. In a slight measure he had regretted that Osgood would be entangled. Hooker had called him a cheat and had been the first to lift his hand in wrath. Therefore, why should he feel remorse over what the fellow had brought upon himself?