Chapter VIII: Part 8

The following morning, although he felt stiff and sore, he resolutely went down to the dining hall for his breakfast. Henry was in fairly good spirits also, but he was not to leave his room that day. The reports of Jack were not very encouraging and a gloom rested over all the school when the boys assembled in the chapel. The accident of the preceding day was the one topic of conversation and the subdued manners of all the boys showed how deeply they had been touched.

At the close of the service Doctor Gray said: "It is not necessary for me to refer to the distressing accident which occurred yesterday. We all may rejoice that its effects were no worse, bad as they were. In view of the results, which might easily have been fatal, you will all readily understand why it is that from this time forward the use of so-called 'bobs' is strictly prohibited, and no coasting will be allowed except by special permission of the house teachers. I bespeak your sympathy for those who are confined to their rooms and trust you will do all in your power to aid those who are caring for them. You may now pass to your class-rooms."

As the boys filed out of the chapel, many were the words of sympathy heard for Jack Hobart. The popular light-hearted boy would have rejoiced could he have heard the many expressions of interest and good-will, but at that time he cared for none of those things. Rolling and tossing upon his bed in his room in East Hall, he uttered no sounds except an occasional moan, and even the presence of his mother, who had arrived that morning, passed unrecognized by the suffering boy.

Ward was passing to the Latin room and glanced up at the windows in Jack's room. How he did long to go there and do something to aid his friend! Never before he thought had Jack seemed so dear to him. What would life in the Weston school be without him? He almost groaned aloud at the suggestion.

He was in a measure recalled from his sadness by Little Pond who rushed up to him and said: "Ward, I just heard something."

"What is it?" said Ward, only slightly heeding the boy's eager words.

"I heard that some ashes had been sprinkled on the road where the accident occurred."

"What?" said Ward, interested in a moment.

He stopped and for several minutes conversed with his little friend and when he turned to enter the class-room, there was an expression upon his face which had never been seen there before.

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*THE INVESTIGATION*

As soon as the recitations were finished that morning, Ward sought out Little Pond and as they walked together to the dining hall, he said:

"What did you mean by what you said about ashes having been sprinkled on the hill yesterday?"

"Brown told me," replied Little Pond. "Brown said he overheard Tim and Ripley talking together this morning before chapel. He wasn't trying to listen you know, but they take their meals at the same place, and as they came out of the house he heard Ripley say something about ashes and then Tim say 'Yes,' and that 'somebody must go up there right away.' Then they suddenly stopped short as they looked behind them and saw Brown so near them. Brown said they looked guilty too, and as they knew he was a good friend to Jack, they probably were afraid he had overheard them."

"What did Brown do then?"

"Oh, he said that it flashed into his mind in an instant just what they'd been up to. He thinks that Tim had arranged with these fellows who stuck to the road yesterday, you remember, there by the last of those steep places till we were almost on them. Brown believes that they had sprinkled ashes over the path, or rather over one of the paths, and that they held their places as they did to drive 'The Arrow' right on to it. Then he thinks too that Tim steered in toward us a bit so as to drive us farther and make sure that we'd be held back."

"The rascal," muttered Ward angrily.

"You don't really think Tim Pickard intended to force us out of the road, do you, Ward?" inquired Little Pond. "I think all he wanted--that is, if Brown's right--was to send us on to the ashes, so that we'd be held back and he'd get a chance to gain enough to let him keep the lead on the way down the hill. I can't believe he'd do anything so bad as to drive us into the wall."

"Oh, Tim Pickard's all gentleness! He wouldn't harm any one! He'd never take a fellow out in a baby carriage and jostle him around over the rough ground, not he! He wouldn't stack a room. He wouldn't do anything that isn't just the proper thing to do! Oh no, Tim Pickard's too good for this world, I mean, of course, the Weston world, you know. For my part, I wish he was taken out of it too. Weston would be a very decent sort of a place without him."

Ward spoke bitterly for his heart was hot against Tim Pickard and the "Tangs." Not that he believed that even Tim would deliberately plan to run the boys into such danger as the load "The Arrow" carried had incurred, but he was well aware of his bitter feeling against him, and to an extent against Jack as well, and also of his desire for "The Swallow" to win the race, and that he would stop at nothing to carry his point.

However, he said nothing more to Little Pond, but as soon as he had finished his dinner, he hastened over to East Hall and had a long conversation with Brown, the result of which was that Brown and Baxter, another of the East Hall boys, soon after dinner started up West Hill to make some investigations near the place where the accident had occurred.

Doctor Leslie came out into the hall as Ward departed and the troubled lad delayed for a moment to learn of Jack's condition.

"He's better, decidedly better," said the kind-hearted physician. "I think he's going to pull through all right if we have no setbacks. It was a great shaking up you boys had."

"It certainly was for Jack and Henry," replied Ward. "The rest of us got a few bruises and scratches, but we don't mind such little things."

"Well, I understand that a physician's services are not likely to be required in any similar cases very soon. I hear the principal has forbidden the use of bobs any more."

"Yes, but our sled's all broken up, so we couldn't use it if we wanted to."

"And that makes Doctor Gray's prohibition more easily borne, does it?" said Doctor Leslie with a smile.

Ward made no response as he started toward West Hall. On his way Mr. Blake overtook him and as they walked on together, the teacher said: "Well, Hill, I hear that Hobart is likely to be about again soon. That was a very careless piece of work."

"Careless? I don't understand what you mean," replied Ward angrily.

"Why, Timothy Pickard tells me that you were trying to cut across his path and get ahead of him in the race. That was hardly fair I think, and it ended just as all tricks are sure to end. I'm sure honesty is the best policy, even in a race between bobs."

"Did Pickard tell you that?"

"Yes; I had quite an extended conversation with him this morning. Timothy has improved greatly since he returned to school this year, as you know, Hill. I confess I was somewhat dubious as to the advisability of receiving him back into the school, but Doctor Gray plainly understood him better than any of us did. There is a certain frankness about Timothy Pickard that I now greatly admire. He has had many conversations with me this year, and I am beginning to feel proud of him. There must be something about the Weston air which is highly conducive to manliness. And, Hill, while I am speaking, let me say that I should rejoice greatly if you too were disposed to manifest a little more friendly disposition toward your teachers. You must bear in mind that we are here for the sole purpose of aiding you, and yet you apparently are not eager to receive it."

If Ward had not been so angry, he would have felt inclined to laugh. It was a new departure for Mr. Blake to assume the role of a helper among the boys. Indeed, at times Ward had felt so keenly the impositions of the boys upon him that he had been many times tempted to take his part. The tall, awkward, ungainly teacher had never been a favorite with any of them. Of his scholarship no one had any doubt, but apparently he was lacking in the appreciation of boy nature, and even then Ward recalled the many pranks which the various classes had played upon him. Even Doctor Gray's words in the preceding year, when he had almost begged of Ward and Henry to exert their influence to see that Mr. Blake's pathway was not made so rough, came back to him now.

And here was Mr. Blake posing as a friend. Ward knew that in his heart the teacher desired to be popular in the school, but his desire had been so apparent as to cheapen his very efforts in that direction.

As for himself, Ward had never felt drawn to him and in his heart he did not respect him. He had done his work in his classes, but never had he felt the slightest inclination to go to him as he had done so many times to Mr. Crane.

And yet now he recalled the fact that he had heard and even noticed that Tim was disposed to be very friendly with the awkward teacher of mathematics. Just what he had in mind by such a course of action, Ward could not determine, but he was satisfied that Tim, to whom at the present time he was not disposed to impute any worthy act or motive, must have some deep-laid plans in mind.

Ward's silence was not understood by Mr. Blake, and as they entered West Hall, the teacher said: "I am glad to see that you have been impressed by what I have said, Hill. You have shown an inclination to do better in your studies this term than you did last, but I trust you will also conform to the spirit as well as to the letter of the Weston rules and life."

Ward said "Thank you" somewhat gruffly, and then hastened up the stairway to his room. Henry was there when he entered, and he at once related to him the outcome of his conversation with Brown, and also told him of the expedition of Brown and Baxter to West Hill.

As he went on to relate the conversation with Mr. Blake, even the staid and sober Henry could not repress the smile which came at the thought of the new air which the teacher had assumed, and with Ward he agreed that Tim must have some deeper motive in his mind than was now apparent in cultivating the friendship of Mr. Blake.

It had been decided that Henry was not to go home. While his arm pained him intensely, and he would be compelled to carry it for some time in a sling, the expense of a journey home and the loss of lessons combined to render his stay in the school desirable, and all that afternoon Ward studied steadily with him in getting out their work for the following day.

After supper that night Brown and Baxter came over to Ward's room to report the result of their investigations at West Hill. It became evident at once by the expression upon their faces that they had something of interest to relate, and after closing and locking the door to prevent interruptions, Ward turned to them and said: "Well, let's have it, fellows. What did you find on the hill?"

"We had a funny kind of an experience," said Brown. "We got permission from Mr. Crane to be excused for a part of the study hour, so we started out right after dinner. We didn't want any of the fellows to see us, so we didn't go together till we got down by the bridge. We met there as we agreed upon and then started up the hill. Well, sir, whom do you suppose we saw when we got most up to the place where the accident occurred?"

"I don't know," said Ward. "Maybe it was Tim Packard."

"No, Tim wouldn't be there, you can rest your soul on that. He never gets his fingers scorched as long as there's some one else to be had to pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him. It was Ripley."

"Was he alone?" inquired Ward eagerly.

"We couldn't see any one else, though we both suspected some one might not be very far away, didn't we, Baxter?"

"Go on, go on," said Ward. "What was Ripley doing there?"

"Well, when we first saw him he was right in the road. Before I knew it, Baxter had called out to him and you never in your life saw a fellow so scared as Ripley seemed to be. He looked up, for he was on his knees there in the road right where 'The Arrow' left it, you see, and when he saw us coming he just jumped over the fence and made a bee line across lots for home. Oh, it was great fun, let me tell you. We called and called to him, but every time we shouted he just let out another length and the way he slipped over the crust then was a caution. I don't believe 'The Arrow' could have stood a ghost of a show with him. He never once stopped or looked behind him, and it wasn't but a few minutes before he was away down the hill, and pretty soon we could see him in the valley. But even then he never stopped to look back. My opinion is that he hasn't stopped yet. From the way he was going he made me think of the wandering Jew and that he never would stop anywhere, only I don't believe the wandering Jew ever could make such time as Ripley did. He was in dead earnest too, let me tell you."

"Well, what then?" said Henry. "You didn't follow him?"

"No; after we recovered from our astonishment, for we'd never seen Ripley in a hurry before, you see, we put straight on up the hill. Pretty quickly we came to the place where the accident happened and then we began to make our investigations. We didn't have any trouble in finding the place, for the crust was all broken in and the holes that Big Smith made where he placed his tiny 'footies' remain even unto this day. My impression is that they'll find some hollows in the ground up there too in the spring when the snow is gone. 'Every time his foot comes down, the heel of his shoe makes a hole in the ground,' you know."

"Oh, bother Big Smith's heels!" said Ward quickly. "He isn't here to defend himself, and it isn't fair to go for a fellow behind his back. What we want is your story."

"That's what I'm giving you. Well, we went right at the road next, to see if we could find any of those ashes we'd heard so much about."

"You didn't have any difficulty in finding what you were after, did you?" said Ward.

"Difficulty? Well, I should say we did. We searched up the road and then searched down the road, but not an ash could we find, sir, not even a little piece of one."

"Well, what was Ripley doing up there then? What made him run when you came?"

"That's the very question we put to ourselves, my patient little lad, but the question was a good deal more easily asked than answered, let me tell you. If it hadn't been for my friend Baxter here we'd never have had it solved for us at all. But, you see, Baxter's a descendant of the great Baxter, and he knows a thing or two."

"Who was the great Baxter?" said Henry solemnly. "I never heard of him."

"Oh, he wrote a book, or took a rest, or did something, I don't know just what. But this Baxter took no rest. He made a great discovery. Just when I was about to declare the expedition a failure and was going to organize a retreat _a la_ Xenophon, my sweet-spirited friend dropped upon his knees. I was somewhat astonished, you may believe, to behold my comrade in that attitude, and was about to make a few simple inquiries as to the purpose in view, for I heartily approved of his conduct, I have no need of assuring you. But let Baxter tell his own story. He'll do it justice, a good deal better than I can with my poor stammering tongue, you see."

"Baxter, will you tell us what you did?" said Ward. "The trip must have turned Brown's head."

"Why, all there was of it, I saw that some of the snow had been dug out from the bank and it seemed to me it had been thrown on the road," said Baxter. "It was trodden down, but it showed that some one had stamped on it. Of course that made me suspicious and I just got down on my knees and began to dig with my hands. I didn't have to go very far before I found what we were after. Ashes had been scattered in the path, and then some one had gone up and covered it all over with snow, and had tried to pack it down so that it wouldn't show."

"And that was what Ripley was doing?"

"Precisely. Precisely," said Brown. "Your massive brain has solved the riddle."

"The rascals," said Henry angrily. "Where do you suppose they got the ashes?"

"Probably Timothy Pickard, Esquire, looked well to that," said Brown; "and he had planned to fix you fellows on your third trip down."

"But if we'd struck the ashes fairly, it might have sent us flying in every direction, at the speed we were going," said Henry. "It was a dangerous as well as a cowardly trick."

"Precisely so," responded Brown; "but you were saved from flying all abroad by the sled taking only one direction, and somehow you boys seemed to be inclined to follow it too."

"I think it ought to be reported to Doctor Gray," said Henry indignantly. "I'm no tell-tale, but such a thing as that might almost have been murder."

"And how will you prove that Tim did it? Or that any one did it, for the matter of that? As for Tim, he didn't do it, you don't need to be told that, I'm thinking," said Brown.

"And then there's Jack," said Ward. "He's suffered the most, but I don't think he'd want the thing reported. I don't believe we'd better do anything before he is well enough to hear all about it. Doctor Leslie thinks he'll get along all right now."

"All except his little finger," said Brown. "But I think Ward's right. We don't want to report it before Jack knows all about it. We can keep our eyes open though, and may be we'll find out who did it. Somebody's rapping, Ward."

"I know it," replied Ward. "Let him keep on, we don't want him in here, whoever he is."

Nevertheless he went to the door, but he almost stumbled backward when he opened it, and beheld Tim Pickard and Ripley standing before him.

He was too astonished to speak, but the new-comers did not wait for an invitation to enter the room, for they at once came in, and Ward not knowing what to make of the visit and the visitors, quietly closed the door and again locked it.

*CHAPTER XXIV*

*UNEXPECTED VISITORS*

For a few moments no one in the room spoke, and as the boys glanced at one another the embarrassment under which they were laboring seemed to increase. What could have induced Tim and Ripley to visit him, Ward could not conceive. The intensity with which he disliked both increased even as he looked steadily at them and waited for them to speak; for Ward had quickly decided that they must declare their errand without any questioning on his part.

What an evil face Tim had, Ward thought. And yet his own face flushed slightly at the recollection that only a few months before this time he and Tim had stood much in the same position, had engaged in the same pranks, and had reaped the same result at the end of the year. But Tim apparently had sunk even lower, and while Ward was fully conscious of his own failures and falls, yet there was a little feeling of rejoicing that he certainly was now trying to do better. And his own heart rebelled against Tim and all his ways. Surely there was a wide difference between them now, for while they might have started from almost the same plane both had been moving steadily onward, but drifting apart, with the consequence that there was now a distance between them greater than either could conceive.

And too, in that moment of awkward silence, Ward thought of how their positions had changed since the beginning of the present school year. Then Tim had seemed to be a leading force in the school. The boys, even those whose hearts were repelled by him, still outwardly acknowledged his position, and his word had been law with them in many ways. His wealth, his fine physique, his ability as a baseball player and a general athlete, had all their weight, as Ward himself was fully aware. And indeed, had he not himself felt the influence of all these things in the previous year, and been among those whom Tim had easily induced to follow him in his evil ways?

Now, however, it was clearly evident to Ward that to a large extent Tim had lost in influence in the school, while he himself had risen in the estimation of his fellows. What had wrought the change? Was it the winning of the game from the Burrs? Doubtless that had not been without its influence, but it was something more than that, and although Ward Hill could not find a name for the cause of the change, and perhaps was not fully aware of the change itself, it was still due far more to something within him than to anything he had done which could be seen by his fellows.

The struggle had been a difficult one, and what the sensitive, highly-strung lad had suffered no one but himself could know. And perhaps the battle was not entirely won even now, nor would it ever be until life itself should be ended, for no matter how high a person may rise there still lies the unattained before him. The successful merchant is not willing to rest on the laurels won; the statesman finds difficulties confronting him even when he has gained the coveted position, and even the schoolboy is not satisfied with the victories he has achieved, but is looking out upon fields all untrodden by him. And all this is because life is at work. When a man ceases to struggle he ceases to live. Dead men are never hungry. They rest from their labors, but the living rest for their labors.

The main difference between Ward Hill and Tim Pickard lay not in the positions they then occupied, widely apart as these at the time seemed to be, but rather in the direction in which each boy was moving. Tim was slipping and drifting, and his direction was downward. Ward was struggling and striving, falling too many times in spite of all his endeavors, but the direction in which he was moving was after all steadily upward. If their relative positions were so far apart now, what would they be at the end of the journey?

Not all of these thoughts had come to Ward in the awkward silence which had followed the unexpected entrance of Tim and Ripley, but a dim suggestion of some of them had made itself felt in the heart of the puzzled lad.

In a moment, however, all his better impulses were swept away as he thought of the troubles Tim had brought upon them. The "stacking" of his room, and all the petty annoyances he had suffered at his hands in the earlier part of the year were as nothing now in contrast with the condition of Jack and Henry, and even his own body was not without its witnesses in the shape of bruises and sores.

When he thought of Jack, Ward's anger quickly returned, and a harsh and bitter taunt arose almost upon his lips, but by a great effort he restrained himself. After all, who was he to taunt Tim with his shortcomings? Possibly Tim might not be entirely without flings to give him in return. No, silence was the better part now, and he need not stoop because Tim had fallen so low.

Tim was the first to speak. Assuming an air of indifference and bravado, and looking boldly about the room he said "Well, we might as well have it out at the beginning as at any time, I suppose. We've come over to see what you intend to do about it."

"Do about what, Tim?" said Ward. "Of what are you talking?"

Tim laughed noisily, as he replied. "That'll do to tell the doctor, but it won't go here. You know as well as I do what we've come over here for."

"You'll have to explain yourself," said Ward coldly.

"All right then, if you must have it; it's the accident. We came over to see about it. You might as well speak it right out now as any time, and it may save a heap of trouble."

"I suppose by 'the accident' you mean the ashes you had sprinkled on the road on West Hill, and your trying to crowd 'The Arrow' upon them," said Ward.

"Now look here, fellows," said Tim with an air of assumed indifference, "it's all very well for you to talk about my steering into you. No one can ever say that I did that purposely. You can't hold two bobs going as swiftly as ours were right to a chalk line. It's simply impossible. You happened to have the lower side, that's all there was about it, anyway, and when 'The Swallow' veered a little from her course, why you thought we were coming straight for you. But even then you didn't have to leave the track, and you wouldn't have done it, only Speck lost his head. He looked behind him and, like Lot's wife, he had to suffer the consequences of his own mistake, and that's all there was to it."

As none of the boys made any reply, Tim hastily continued. "And it's all true what I was saying about it's not being necessary for you to leave the track, even if we had gone out of our course a bit. We know it's so, because some of us have been up and examined the place again."

"Is that what Ripley was running down the hill so for?" inquired Brown quietly.

Ripley's face flushed as he said quickly: "I wasn't running away. If any of you fellows think you can go down West Hill across lots at a walk when the crust is as hard and slippery as it is now, why just try it, that's all I've got to say, and you'll sing a different tune. I couldn't stop and I couldn't turn around. I wasn't running away. What was there to run from, I'd like to know?"

"I'll tell you what you were running from, Ripley, if you want to know," said Brown.

"What was it?"

"Ashes."

Ripley's face could not entirely conceal his alarm as he heard Brown's words, but he only laughed lightly by way of reply.

"Yes, sir," said Brown. "We found out all about it. We dug over the snow you had thrown on the road and then tried to tramp down so that it wouldn't show. We know all about that, my fleet-footed friend."

"No one can say that either of us put any ashes on the road," said Tim boldly. "We didn't do it, we didn't have anything to do with it--if any ashes were scattered there, which, for my part, I very much doubt."

"No one would ever accuse you of doing it," said Ward hotly. "You never yet had the manliness to stand up and have a decent share in the mean tricks you set the other boys up to. Oh, no, you probably didn't carry the ashes up the hill. No one would ever think of you as doing that. You'd rather have some one else do all your dirty work, and then you'll crawl out when the pinch comes."

"Well, there's one thing I never did, anyway," replied Tim slowly, although his eyes betrayed the anger which Ward's words had aroused. "I never went back on my friends by the 'I am holier than thou' dodge. I never stooped to pose as a pious fraud after I'd been guilty of some things I could mention. Not much! If ever I went over to Dorrfield and had a supper at another fellow's expense and got drunk, I never whined and lied out of it, nor told of the other fellows, anyway. If I ever stole any examination questions, I never denied it. If I flunked when it came to the end of the year, I never bootlicked the teachers and tried the 'good little boy' dodge. Now suppose I did know that ashes were to be scattered on the path? What could I do about it, I'd like to know? If some of the fellows couldn't bear the thought of Jack Hobart, with such a crowd of bootlicks as he had on his bob, coming in ahead of 'The Swallow,' why whose fault was it, I'd like to know? I couldn't help it, could I? I've got enough to answer for myself, without taking on my shoulders every fellow that is despised by the school."

The anger which Ward felt when Tim first began to speak soon gave way to shame and mortification as the brutal lad went on. All his thrusts went home, and Ward could hardly speak when Tim stopped. All his former disgrace came back upon him, and he felt as if every boy in the room must be regarding him as Tim pretended to himself.

But Henry, who felt deeply for his room-mate, with flashing eyes quickly came to his assistance. Rising from the chair in which he had been seated and standing directly in front of Tim, he said: "Look here, Tim Pickard, you'll not gain anything by raking up old scores, or trying to get us off on the track of last year's work, whether it's true or false what you say. You know as well as I do that some of these things are not true; but I don't care anything about them, one way or the other. And you can't scare us in any such way, either. Now look here, Tim Pickard! do you see that arm of mine? I've got to carry it in a sling for weeks, and why? Just because of your sneaking trick. Jack Hobart's lost a finger and no one knows how long he'll be in bed, or whether he'll ever leave it alive or not, for that matter. Now what was the cause of it? Answer me, will you? Where did all these fellows get their bumps and bruises, and how does it happen that 'The Arrow' is smashed into pieces? Can you tell me that? You want to know what we're going to do about it, do you? Well, I could tell you mighty quick what I'd do if it was left to me. I'd go straight to Doctor Gray and lay the whole thing before him. We'd arranged for a square race with you, you know that. And I don't care whether you carried the ashes up there yourself or had some of your sneaking 'Tangs' do the work for you; it's all one to me. I don't think the fellow who would be guilty of such a mean, contemptible trick as that is fit to be in such a school as this. I haven't a bit of fear of being called a tell-tale. I'd think I was doing the very best that could be done. Yes, sir, if I could have my way I'd even get up a petition to the doctor to have you put out of the school. When you set the little fellows up to stacking rooms, I thought that was pretty small business for a senior to be engaged in, though I didn't think it was worth noticing; but when you come to do things that endanger our lives, it's another matter entirely, and I don't believe in mincing matters, either. If you'd settle down and behave yourself, there isn't a fellow in the Weston school that would do a thing against you; but it's time you put a stop to some of the things you're doing, and if you won't do it, then I claim the fellows themselves ought to do it for you."

Henry ceased, and for a moment all the boys looked at him in astonishment. He was usually such a quiet fellow that the outburst seemed to them all the more remarkable. Even Tim apparently had been affected by Henry's righteous indignation; but in a moment he recovered himself and said:

"That's just what we came over for. Then we are to understand, are we, that you intend to report the matter to the teachers?"

"No, Tim," said Ward, who now had somewhat recovered from his mortification. "No, Tim, we don't say we shall do that. We talked it all over and made up our minds that it wouldn't be quite fair to Jack to do that. He's suffered the most and he ought to have the most to say about what shall be done. We sha'n't do anything till he is better and can say what he wants."

"Jack Hobart never will squeal, if you leave it to him; but it won't be left to him, I'm thinking. Some of these pious frauds will not be able to keep still and wait for him. Well, Ripley," he continued, rising as he spoke and turning to his companion, "we'll have to face the music, I suppose." And face the music they did for Dr. Gray in some mysterious way heard of their part in the almost fatal accident and immediately expelled Tim from school. He gave Ripley a severe reprimand but did not deal as severely with him, for the just master realized Tim's mastery over the weaker boy.

Ward felt greatly relieved when he heard of Tim's expulsion. An evil genius had passed out of his life.

*CHAPTER XXV*

*JACK HOBART'S PROPOSITION*

Jack Hobart's recovery was rapid. The fear which Doctor Leslie had first felt that there might be some internal injuries was soon dispelled, and though the shock to Jack's system had been severe, his sturdy frame soon asserted itself, and very soon he was pronounced out of all danger.

The spring and early summer days almost seemed to rush past Ward Hill, so swiftly did they go. Each day was filled with its routine work, and as he was working hard to pass Berry in his class, he had little inclination or time to devote to outside matters.

The boy, however, was no book-worn, or "dig," as the Weston boys designated one who was devoted to books alone, and the class meetings, frequent now that the end of the year was so near, the school life, and the companionship of the boys all appealed to him strongly.

But even stronger than his desire to win a high standing in his scholarship was his determination to carry off the prize in declamation. In lieu of the ordinary "graduating exercises," there was each year a contest for two prizes, in which all of the seniors and a few of the boys in the class below them whose standing was sufficiently high were permitted to compete. Preliminary contests were held and the number of contestants was somewhat decreased before the final trial occurred.

Ward and Henry already had succeeded in passing the first of these trials and were sure of a place on the program for the final and deciding contest. This was to occur in the evening of the last day of the term, and many of the parents and friends of the boys, as well as a large number of former students who came back to revisit the scenes of their school-days and perhaps strive to catch something of the contagion of the spirit of life and enthusiasm, were expected to be present. Jack Hobart was not to compete for the prize, as he had but little ability in that line; but he was almost as much interested in Ward's success as he would have been in his own. Together they went almost every afternoon to one of the secluded spots on the hillsides, and while Ward awakened the echoes by his eloquence, Jack sat by and listened in solemn admiration or passed such criticisms as occurred to him, and Ward found his friend's suggestions frequently of great value.

Only a week remained now before the prize speaking was to take place. Ward and Jack were returning from their daily visit to the woods, and as they walked on their thoughts naturally reflected their feelings.

"I don't know how it is," Jack was saying, "but somehow I have a mighty queer feeling at the close of this year. This makes four years I have been in the Weston school, and any one would naturally think I'd be glad to be out of it. Of course in a way I am, but somehow I'm broken up by it too. The first thing I do every morning is to take a good look at the Hump. The old hill is always there just the same, but I'm half afraid every morning to look out for fear he's hidden himself somewhere."

"It's become a part of your life, I fancy," said Ward soberly. "Last year when the end came, it almost seemed to me as if the mountains here were frowning upon me, but this year they seem like steps or ladders up to something better."

"And they are," said Jack enthusiastically. "I suppose we're somewhat broken up to think the end has come and that we've got to scatter now. Some of the fellows I sha'n't feel very bad about leaving, but when I think of some of the others, it almost seems to me as if I just couldn't go on without them, and that is all there is to it. It just seems to me, Ward, as if I couldn't go on without you. I don't believe, old fellow, you ever realized how much you are to me. I never had a brother; but it seems to me, Ward, that if we had both had the same father and same mother we couldn't be more to each other."

Jack was evidently affected, and Ward's heart responded to that of his impulsive friend in an instant.

"I never had a brother either, Speck, but I feel as if I had one now." Almost instinctively the boys stopped and clasping hands looked earnestly into each other's face. There was something almost sacred in the hand-clasp, as if it were a pledge of a lifelong love.

The love between brother and sister, father and son, mother and daughter, husband and wife, are all sacred and beautiful, but the love between two boys or young men has in it also something that is very nearly sublime. God pity the man who has never known what it was to have a deep-abiding love for another of his own sex. Something is wanting in his make-up to cause such a lack, and his life too will never know the fullness of its best meaning without that experience. Friends and friendship! "A man that hath friends must show himself friendly," wrote a keen observer of men many centuries ago. But with a friendship once formed no true man ever ought to let anything break in upon it.

And these lifelong friendships are almost never formed in after years. They come, if they come at all, in the days of boyhood or young manhood. That is the seed-sowing time for friendship, as it is for a good many of the other good things of life.

"I've been thinking it over a good deal, Ward," said Jack, "and I talked with my mother about it too when she was here. Now you're going on to college and so am I. I don't want to break up what's been begun between us here if it can be avoided. Now you know I did think of going away from home to college, and of course I may do that yet, but whatever comes I want to go with you. You can't tell how you have helped me by the fight you've made this year. I ought to have such a fellow with me all the time. There's no telling what I might do if I had."

Ward smiled but made no other reply. Jack's words had stirred him deeply, but he had learned too much in the year that was now almost gone to put a very high estimate upon the value of the "fight" to which his friend referred.

"What I want to say," said Jack, "if I can only get at it, is, that rather than not be with you I'd be glad to go to the college in my own town and have you come right there and live in our house all through the course. There! I've managed to get it out at last, but that's just exactly what I mean."

"You are good to me, Jack," said Ward slowly.

"That's not it, for you'd be the one to confer the favor, let me tell you. My mother would be only too glad to have you come, for she says that then she'd be sure to have me home for a time. She says my absence, lo, these many years, has been the only 'speck' on her horizon. Now if you'll say the word, it's all settled, college, room, chum, and all."

"I hope you won't think me ungrateful, Jack, but I can't answer you now, though honestly I don't believe my father would be willing to accept such a gift. He'll feel proud as a peacock that you thought enough of me to make me such an offer, and he'll appreciate your kindness too; but I don't believe you can understand just how he feels about some things. He wouldn't be quite willing to receive such a favor, I think, unless he saw some way of returning it."

"But he would return it and more," said Jack eagerly.

"I don't just see how."

"By letting you come. Your company, and the influence of such a fellow on your humble servant would be something which would be more than just a mere matter of a gift. We'd be so glad to have you, we'd think it a great bargain, and if there's anything in all the world, next to me, my mother loves, it's a bargain."

Ward laughed, but Jack was too much in earnest to be turned from his purpose.

"Let's go over to Mr. Crane's room and talk with him. Will you do it, Ward?"

"Yes, I'll go over to his room, but I hope you won't think I don't appreciate what you've said, Jack, if I say I can't settle the matter now, and that I am more than half afraid my father won't agree to it, though I know he'll thank you."

"I don't expect you to give in at once," said Jack. "It's asking too much. But come on! We'll go right over to Mr. Crane's room now."

Whatever the impulsive lad wished to do must be done at once, and as Ward consented, in a few minutes both of them were seated in the teacher's room.

"We want to know, Mr. Crane," said Jack, not broaching his project at once, "what you think about colleges. We want to get your opinion, if you're willing to give it to us."

"What I think about college?" replied Mr. Crane. "I thought you understood pretty well what my opinion about that was, long before this time. You know I am a strong believer in every boy going who can do so without too great a strain upon his parents."

"That isn't exactly what I mean," said Jack. "We both of us know how you feel about that. But what college do you prefer?"

"That depends. I prefer some colleges for certain boys and should advise others to go to different ones. It is impossible to formulate a fixed rule for every case."

"But which is better, a large college or small?"

"Again, that depends," replied Mr. Crane with a smile. "If a boy has means, and his character is fairly well developed when he goes so that he will not be likely to be lost in the crowd, undoubtedly he can gain certain advantages in some of the larger colleges he never could find in the smaller. Their larger endowments and better equipments are certainly no small matter to be considered. On the other hand, if a boy is somewhat diffident and immature and needs bringing out more than he needs to be filled, doubtless he would do better in a small college. There is more of the personal contact there between the student and his teachers, and his own individual needs are looked to much better. In general, I may say if what a boy needs is the development of himself, the smaller college will do more for him. If what he needs is not so much the bringing out of himself as the filling up, the larger college is the place for him."

"That places Jack and me in two different classes, then," said Ward.

"I am not so sure of that," replied Mr. Crane. "You have both of you been away to school now, and have been thrown back upon yourselves. You have learned to depend upon your own efforts, and I do not regard it as in the least probable that either of you would be swallowed up and lost in the crowd in a large college. It is no slight advantage to have had two years at Weston before you go."

"I wish we could keep right on at Weston, and not have to go anywhere else," said Jack.

"No, I hardly think you really wish that, Hobart. Of course, now that you are about to leave us you forget all the unpleasant things and remember only the pleasant ones. I would not have it otherwise, and trust that some of us will still be a part of your lives, even when you are apart from us. But when one becomes a man he is compelled to leave childish things. All that you have been doing has been leading up to this time, and now you must face it."

"Of course I know that must be so," said Jack quietly, "and I suppose if we really thought we should have to come back we wouldn't like it a little bit. But what I really wanted to know, Mr. Crane, was what you thought about Ward coming down and living with me in my home and going to college there with me."

Ward's face flushed slightly, and he added: "Jack hasn't told it all. What he wants is for me to live with him and not to pay anything for the privilege."

"That isn't----" began Jack.

Mr. Crane interrupted him and said: "I think I understand; but it's a question in which I fancy others besides you boys may be interested."

"That's just it," said Jack quickly, "My mother wants him even more than I do."

"But there's my father to be thought of too," said Ward. "He may not want me to do it."

"Precisely," said Mr. Crane. "That's a question I cannot answer. You see I am the one being examined now, and you are the examiners; and I have failed."

"There's some hope for me then if the teachers themselves fail," said Jack laughingly.

"Personally I never had that feeling others describe as being unwilling to accept a favor," said Mr. Crane. "Few of these so-called 'favors' are all on one side. They are almost always a species of 'give and take.' However, I am no judge for others, and sometimes think I have more than I can do to look after myself. I shall be interested to learn your decision."

The boys departed, and soon after went to their own rooms with the problem still unsolved.

Ward was deeply touched by Jack's offer and his eagerness for him to accept it. If he should do so, he well knew what a load would be lifted from his father's shoulders, but still he thought he understood what his father's decision would be.

The few remaining days of the term now rapidly came. Ward was working busily and the visits to the glen with Jack increased. He was more anxious than he cared to show about the prize for declamation, but his anxiety only served to increase his labors. Henry was to compete also, but somehow the boys did not often refer to the contest in the other's presence. The best of feeling prevailed, but both were eager to win, although if either lost he sincerely desired the other to win.

On Monday, the visitors in the village began rapidly to increase. "Old boys," as the students called the former students, many of them now gray-haired men and coming up to Weston with their own sons or grandsons, arrived by every bus. The parents and sisters, and brothers of the graduating class also came, and the beauty of the little village was greatly enhanced by the bright apparel of the girls and the interested groups of the visitors who wandered about among the school buildings or along the wide streets.

When Ward's father and mother came, the welcome they received from him was far different from that he had given them in the preceding year. He was all eagerness, and his happiness was so apparent that it speedily became contagious, and as he brought the boys up to meet his father and mother his heart was overflowing as he heard the warm words for him on almost every side.

On Tuesday night the contest for the prize in declamation was to be held. As the hour approached Ward's excitement became greater, although his outward calm was not disturbed. A great audience assembled to listen to the boys, and at last Doctor Gray, who presided, advanced to the front of the platform to announce the first speaker of the evening.

*CHAPTER XXVI*

*CONCLUSION*

Ward, with the other speakers, was waiting in the rear of the platform, but the printed program informed each when his time was to come, and so each was striving to possess his soul in patience.

Berry was the first to be called, and as Ward peered out at him as he advanced to the front of the platform, bowed gracefully to Dr. Gray, and then turned to face the audience, he almost envied him his self-possession and ease.

Soon, however, the boy was speaking, and as he went on even Ward felt deeply interested in what he was saying. When his declamation was ended and a storm of applause broke forth, Ward felt as if there was little use in trying to compete with Berry, and as he rejoined his companions in the rear of the platform Ward was the first to congratulate him upon his success.

And his expressions were genuine and hearty too, for while Ward with all his heart desired to win the prize, he had now no feeling of bitterness toward his competitors.

Ripley was the next speaker, but Ward at once perceived that he was far below Berry in his hold upon the audience, and indeed among those who followed only Pond seemed in any way likely to be a close competitor for the prize.

Ward's name was the last on the list, and when he heard his name announced and walked slowly forward, he was somehow conscious that the audience was becoming somewhat wearied and restless.

His appearance, however, served to arouse the younger portion at least, and a faint murmur of applause was heard as he bowed low to his hearers. This was quickly hushed and Ward for the first time looked directly at his audience.