Scott Morgan
The New Boys at Oakdale

CHAPTER XII – DREAD

Much to his disappointment, Billy Piper was not permitted to see Roy Hooker. At the door Roy’s mother, who was plainly in a deeply distressed and anxious state of mind, told him that the doctor had given orders that Roy was not to be disturbed and had administered a mild opiate to quiet the unfortunate lad, who had grown fearfully excited when questioned concerning the cause of his injury.

“It’s a dreadful thing, Billy Piper, – a dreadful thing!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know why any one should hurt my poor boy like that. Some one must have done it. It was a wicked thing – a wicked, wicked thing! What if he never recovers? What if he is always wrong in his head? He doesn’t seem to remember anything, and maybe he never will.”

“It can’t be as bad as that, Mrs. Hooker,” said Billy, in an effort to cheer her up. “We – I talked with the doctor a short time ago, and he seems to think Roy will come round all right very soon. Don’t you think he fell, or something, and hurt himself that way?”

“How could he fall and hurt his face and the back of his head at the same time? I’m sure some one struck him, and it was a wicked blow. But we’ll find out who it was; such things always come out in time. You know all the boys, Billy Piper. Do you know anything about it? Have you heard anything?”

“Of course not, Mrs. Hooker,” answered Piper, feeling cheap and mean and miserable. “Do you think I wouldn’t tell you if I knew anything?”

“Not unless – Oh, but of course you weren’t concerned in it. But perhaps you can find out, Billy. Roy says you’re a real wonder at finding out anything you want to know, and we all remember how you and Roy caught one of those bank robbers. Roy gave you all the credit. He said that you tracked the man, and that you even knew all about Fred Sage’s brother being alive before any one else was aware of it. Now, if you can do things like that, why can’t you find out who hurt my boy? The scoundrel who did it should be punished. Won’t you try to find out the truth and tell us about it?” Entreating him thus, she placed her hand on his shoulder, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he refrained from shrinking beneath her touch.

“I’ll do all I can,” he promised in a low tone. “I’m awful sorry this happened, Mrs. Hooker, but, believe me, I can’t really think any one hurt Roy maliciously and with deliberate design. It must have been an accident.”

“If it was that, wouldn’t the person who did it come forward and own up?”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps he’s frightened. Roy has a temper, you know, and maybe he got into a fight with some one who struck him in self-defense.”

“Any boy who would do such a thing, and then keep still about it with his victim in a dangerous condition, is a bad, bad fellow. There are some very bad boys in Oakdale, Billy, and you must know it. Roy has said more than once that you’re a regular detective. Here is something for you to detect – something worth while.”

“I’ve been a chump,” acknowledged Piper, with an unmistakable intonation of self-scorn. “I’ve played that detective game for my own amusement, and made lots of trouble by it. I’m done with it now, Mrs. Hooker, for it’s sneaky, cheap, underhand business. Any one who wants to become a detective may do so for all of me – I never shall.”

“Then you won’t try to find out? You won’t help us any?”

“I’ve promised already to do all I can, and I shall keep my promise, Mrs. Hooker. But I’m sure you’re unnecessarily worried. Roy will be all right to-morrow. Of course he will tell you everything.”

He departed with his head hanging and his feet dragging, a spiritless, downcast chap.

“Another lie,” he muttered. “What will she think of me when she knows? And she’ll find out. She was right, things like this always come out. Well, I see where some fellows in this town will have something to live down, and I’m one of them.”

Springer and Cooper received his report with disappointment.

“You made a fuf-fizzle of it,” said Phil. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Nothing except tell a lie. I led Roy’s mother to believe that I didn’t know a thing about it.”

“You couldn’t do anything else,” said Cooper.

“I could have told the truth, couldn’t I?”

“That would have been peaching; that would have been blowing on us all. You couldn’t do that.”

“If you fellows have got the notion that we’re going to hide and escape through lying and deception, you’d better give it up. We’ll have to shoulder our part of the blame, sooner or later.”

“That’s fine!” sighed Chipper dolefully. “My father hasn’t used the strap on me for some time, but I’m going to pad my trousers in preparation for the coming walloping.”

“I’d like to pup-punch old Shultz!” rasped Springer. “He’s the one that’s to bub-blame for it all.”

“No,” contradicted Piper promptly, “we can’t duck behind any such excuse. If we hadn’t been there it never would have happened, for it takes more than two or three to make up a decent game of poker. We were all doing something on the sly – something that we didn’t wish respectable people to know about, and something we mortally dread to have them find out about.”

“Dread it!” groaned Chipper. “I should say I do!”

“It wasn’t a cuc-crime,” spluttered Springer, in an attempt at justification.

“I don’t know about that,” snapped Billy. “Gambling is illegal, and so it was a crime.”

“Oh, but we wasn’t gug-gambling; we were just playing for fun.”

“And we’re getting a lot of fun out of it, aren’t we? Perhaps you enjoy it!”

At this point Phil’s anger blazed and he raged at Billy, calling him chicken-hearted. Piper refused to listen; shrugging his shoulders, he walked hastily away, heedless of the calls of the two lads, who begged him to come back.

The church bells were sounding the second call and people in their Sunday clothes were passing on their way to services when Piper rang at Mrs. Chester’s door. The maid appeared, and, answering his inquiry, informed him that Ned Osgood had already departed for church.

“He goes every Sunday reg’ler,” she said, with a touch of pride. “The misses calls him ‘a most exempl’ry young man.’ Maybe you’ll see him at the church if you go, too.”

“Thank you,” said Billy, descending the steps.

As soon as possible, he struck off across lots, to avoid the church-goers. “A most exempl’ry young man!” he muttered, with a short laugh. “He’s got her fooled. She doesn’t know what’s been going on in his rooms every Saturday night. I wonder if she’s heard about Roy? Don’t s’pose she’d have an idea anything happened to him in her house if she has heard.”

He next thought of finding Shultz, but, from lack of courage or an aversion for facing the fellow, could not bring himself to look for the prime cause of all the trouble.

Returning home, he found the house deserted, his folks being away to church, and his manner of wandering restlessly about through the empty rooms made him think of the old simile about the caged tiger. It was practically impossible for him to keep still. He wanted to do something, and his tortured conscience bade him do the right thing; but what that was, he could not for the life of him decide. Gradually his restlessness wore away, but still dread, like a bird of evil omen, seemed to hover near.

His parents returned, and, as usually happened when he remained away from church, which, it must be confessed, was often, he was sharply scolded by his father. Mr. Piper was much given to scolding, but only when especially aroused did he attempt to exert genuine parental authority over his son. In fact, Billy, like far too many boys of the present day, was permitted to do practically as he pleased as long as he did not worry his folks by getting into “scrapes.”

The day wore slowly away without further information concerning Hooker until near night, when it was learned that some one had made inquiries about him over the phone, and that his mother had said his condition seemed unchanged.

At dusk Piper met Chipper Cooper at the end of the upper bridge. They looked at each other inquiringly, and, after some moments of silence, Chipper said:

“Well?”

“Well?” returned Billy with precisely the same inflection.

“I’m pretty near sick,” declared Cooper. “I hear Roy is no better. It’s bad, Pipe – bad.”

“Rotten,” agreed Billy, leaning against the railing.

Cooper leaned at his side, and their tongues seemed chained. Beneath the bridge the water gurgled and whispered. In the gathering shadows a robin called plaintively from a treetop some distance away. The village appeared almost as deserted and lonely as the hamlet of Goldsmith’s immortal poem. A heavy weight, like lead, seemed to weigh upon the souls of the two unhappy boys.

After a time Cooper heaved a sigh.

“It’s bad,” he repeated – “bad!”

“Rotten,” said Piper again.

CHAPTER XIII – THE PROFESSOR’S APPEAL

Looking careworn and old, Professor Richardson called the first session to order on Monday morning. The scholars and the two assistant instructors were assembled in the big main room. Every one seemed to feel that there was something unusual impending, and all eyes were turned upon the sober face of the aged principal as he pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles up upon his forehead and tapped gently but authoritatively upon his desk.

“It becomes my duty to speak of an unpleasant matter,” said the professor, in a voice a trifle husky from the effect of a cold. “For some time I have felt that I would have to face this necessity. I have held my present position with this institution for eighteen years, which is a trifle more than one-fourth of man’s alloted span of life, three score and ten – a very long time. When I took up my work here I scarcely fancied it would continue so long, and at least twice in the earlier years of my stay I had opportunities to go elsewhere in the same capacity. One of these opportunities, the second which presented itself, was very tempting, and I debated not a little with myself regarding the advisability of accepting. At that time, however, I had just begun to feel myself bound to Oakdale Academy by strong yet tender ties, and it was my heart rather than my head which led me at last to decline the alluring offer. I have now been here so long that Oakdale, more than any other place I know, seems like home, and it is my hope to remain here among my many kind friends as long as I live.

“Necessarily, there have been some unpleasant features in connection with my services as principal of this academy, but, for the most part, I am happy to say that pleasant memories predominate. Having felt that my life work was to be teaching, I have ever sought to perform that work as faithfully and thoroughly and conscientiously as possible. Nor do I think I have neglected striving to enter into sympathy with my pupils; I have always sought to understand their varying natures, to make allowances for their natural faults and failings, and to encourage all their worthy desires and ambitions. This is by far a more difficult thing for a teacher than may seem possible to the youthful mind. The difference in years, which must necessarily exist between instructor and pupils, is bound to produce a pronounced difference in habits, methods of thought and the viewpoint from which life in general is regarded, and that instructor who has the ability always to put himself in sympathy with the young mind beneath his guidance is indeed fortunate.

“In the last eighteen years athletics and allied sports, as relating to schools and colleges, have made amazing progress. I will not enter into a discussion as to whether such things have not obtained too powerful a hold upon our modern institutions of learning, for that really has little bearing upon what I wish to say. In my boyhood, baseball was, indeed, a very crude sort of a game, and football was practically unknown in this country. At the present time there is in America no school or college of importance attended by males that does not have its baseball and football teams; and other similar games, such as ice hockey and basketball, have become amazingly popular, the latter even being played by teams made up of girl students.

“I am aware that many young school instructors have fostered and encouraged such tendencies, some of them even taking part in the coaching of teams made up from their pupils. Nevertheless, had I myself at one time been an enthusiast in such sports, I sincerely doubt if I ever should have felt it either my duty or my place to follow the example of such instructors. For it seems to me that there is, or should be, a distinct dividing line over which the conscientious principal of a school may not wisely step.

“I maintain that I am not prejudiced against any healthy, beneficial sport or pastime in which students may indulge, unless it is carried to that excess which threatens physical injury or infringes upon and retards mental advancement. When, however, a student becomes so wrapped up and absorbed in baseball that he neglects his studies and can seem to think of nothing save the game that has fixed its subtle but damaging grip upon him, I am of the firm belief that it is high time something should be done. When I see naturally bright students falling back in their classes, recklessly refusing to give a proper amount of time to studies and openly declaring their resentment at the old fogy idea that mental training is first and foremost the great object of all schools for the young, I unhesitatingly assert that those boys are being injured by the present craze for sport.

“It has been my purpose, as far as possible, to restrain such mistaken fanaticism. As far as possible I have always tried to appeal directly to the misguided boy himself, and up to the present term I pride myself that I have succeeded fairly well. This spring, however, my task has become more difficult, and my efforts have, I regret to say, produced results far from satisfactory to me. I am aware that behind my back I have been more or less derided by certain scholars. It has been all too apparent that a new feeling of rebellion against interference from me has crept into the school. This feeling has steadily increased, until of late it has developed into downright defiance of my authority and desires. It has affected discipline. It has led me at last to make this direct appeal to you, scholars, as a body.

“Even if the day of corporal punishment had not practically passed, I am sure, were I physically capable, I would not resort to such measures in order to maintain discipline. Nevertheless, I will admit that there are scholars to-day who cannot be reached by appeal or moral suasion, yet who doubtless would be led to see the error of their ways by physical suasion. They are generally the leaders in defiance of discipline; such fellows as smoke upon the grounds and in the building, regardless of rules or requests to desist; such as use bad language, absent themselves from classes, or repeatedly appear in classes only to declare themselves unprepared. With pernicious ingenuity they devise all sorts of methods to break rules and regulations and to defy their instructors, whom they foolishly seem to regard not as their friends but as their enemies.

“There are such boys in this school. They are fostering dissension, defiance of authority, and are priming themselves and their associates for downright and open rebellion. I think I know them all. If I chose, I could give their names, but I will not do so – now. Not only is their influence harmful in the classroom, but it is seriously injurious to those with whom they associate outside the confines and hours of school. One such lad may do an incalculable amount of injury to others. The example of every human being is bound to have some effect upon those with whom he associates, and they will be polluted, just as a clear river is polluted by a foul tributary. Some of his worst self such a lad pours into those with whom he comes in contact.

“There’s an old saying that boys will be boys. Boys can be boys and still be decent. There is nothing reprehensible in the natural boisterous high spirits of a vigorous young animal; it is only when such high spirits and vigor is misdirected, that it becomes injurious. Many a time, as I have watched a band of youngsters frolicking naturally in the sheer joy of bounding youth, I have felt a tugging at my heartstrings and a regret for that which the years have taken from me. Always, however, when they have been my scholars, there has been a sort of deep pleasure and satisfaction mingled with that regret; for it has seemed that, in a way, they were a part of my life, and that my association with them repaid me in a measure for the loss of that splendid thing which time had filched from me.

“But when I have known that certain scholars were breaking rules and defying authority with malicious perverseness, I have felt more than resentment or anger – I have felt sorrow. When I have seen, as has sometimes happened of late, my boys banding together at night upon street corners, behaving offensively, moving surreptitiously, betraying by unmistakeable signs that they were engaged in stealthy and secret purposes, my alarm and distress has overcome both anger and sorrow. I have not known just what was taking place, but I have felt that there were things happening which ought not to happen. I have felt sure, likewise, that something bad was bound to come of it.

“This brings me to speak of Roy Hooker. I am sure you all know about him. Roy is not a bad boy, his inclinations are not pernicious, yet I am aware that he has been associating with those who could do him no good. On Saturday night, at a late hour, he met with an injury – an injury from which, perhaps, he may never recover. This injury was inflicted by one or more blows upon the head, and it seems to have deprived him of the power of speech and memory. Since that time he has scarcely spoken half a dozen coherent words. It is not at all probable that Roy was injured in this manner while alone, yet up to the present time no associate of his has had the manhood to come forward and tell precisely how it happened.

“This seems to me evidence enough that Roy was hurt in a manner that was regarded as shameful, if not actually criminal. Otherwise, why should the person or persons with him at the time take so much pains to prevent the truth of the matter from becoming known? Whoever they were, they have shown a lack of courage that seems absolutely cowardly. I’m certain there’s not one of them who does not carry in his breast a tortured conscience, and this is one of the most certain punishments for wrong-doing. The evil-doer, if he possesses any of the finer human sensibilities, must always endure the writhings of a wounded conscience. If Roy Hooker should not recover, those responsible for his condition must bear all through life a sickening burden.

“Let us, however, hope for the best. I have talked with Dr. Grindle this morning, and he encouraged me to believe that Roy would come through all right. It is not impossible that he may recover sufficiently to-day to tell precisely what happened. In that case, unless others come forward without delay, it will be too late for them to escape the brand of cowardice. It may require an amount of moral courage to confess the truth, but such a confession will partly atone for the silence so far maintained. Time is fleeting.”

But if Professor Richardson expected any of his scholars to come forward at once with a confession he was disappointed; and, after several minutes of waiting, during which he busied himself by pretending to arrange some papers on his desk, he slowly returned his spectacles to their usual place astride his thin nose and regretfully announced that the regular course of the session would be taken up.

CHAPTER XIV – PIPER PUTS IT UP TO SHULTZ

Never had a morning session at school seemed so wretchedly long to Billy Piper. The hands of the old clock on the wall behind Professor Richardson’s desk actually seemed to stand still.

At intermission Billy sought an opportunity to speak a word in private with Charley Shultz, but was prevented from doing so, Shultz being surrounded by several boisterous fellows, who made a great deal of noise and laughed often and loudly. In this general chatter Charley took part, but Piper was certain that his loud talk and laughter were inspired by a desire to appear carefree and untroubled. Once Shultz’s eyes met Billy’s, which led him to frown and turn his glance quickly away, a sullen, resentful expression flashing across his face for a moment.

The other members of that Saturday night party seemed not at all disposed to associate with one another. Ned Osgood put himself to much trouble to chat with Rod Grant, which was something unusual, as he had never before betrayed a particular liking for the Texan’s company. Phil Springer hung around Nelson and Stone, who talked baseball when they had finished speculating over the mystery of Roy Hooker’s injury. Cooper slipped away by himself, and returned only when it was time to get back to his seat and his books.

At last the hands of the clock stood perpendicular, one over the other, and, having announced that he would remain at his desk a few minutes to speak with any one who wished to have a word with him, Professor Richardson dismissed the scholars. A few of the boys lingered, curious to observe if any one should approach the principal, but all of the fellows who could have cleared up the mystery made haste to get out of the room.

Again Piper was baffled in his effort to speak privately with Shultz, who walked away between two girls, talking and laughing like one who bore no shadow of apprehension in his heart.

“He’s putting up a big bluff,” muttered Billy. “He never troubled himself before to be so jolly sociable with those girls. He can’t carry it off like Osgood; he hasn’t got the natural swing.”

Piper bolted his dinner with such haste that his mother was led to warn him of indigestion, with which he was sometimes troubled.

“As soon as it comes spring,” she said, “you get baseball crazy, Will, and you don’t like to stay home a minute longer than you have to.”

“It’s not baseball to-day, mother,” he answered. “I wonder if anybody has heard anything new about Roy?”

“I haven’t, not a word. I thought perhaps you might at school. You’re always so quick to see through things, haven’t you an idea what happened to him?”

“Do you think I wouldn’t tell if I had?”

“No, but it seems queer nobody knows anything at all about it. Can’t you even guess, Will?”

“No, I can’t,” he answered brusquely, pushing back and jumping up from the table. “It’s never been my habit to guess; I’ve always had something to base my theories on.”

“And you haven’t a thing in this case?”

“Of course not.” He grabbed his cap and almost bolted from the house.

“Still more lies!” he half snarled, as he hurried along the street. “My own mother will lose confidence in me when she finds out the truth. It’s the most miserable piece of business I ever got mixed up in.”

Straight to Mrs. Chester’s home he hastened, and his heart gave a throb of satisfaction when the maid, admitting him, stated that Charley Shultz was with Osgood in the latter’s room.

They were talking in low tones when Piper unceremoniously opened the door and entered that room. Osgood had been pacing up and down, but Shultz was standing by the window. Both looked startled.

“You’re just the two fellows I want to see,” said Billy, closing the door carefully behind him.

“Who invited you in?” growled Shultz. “Why didn’t you knock?”

“Won’t you sit down?” invited Ned, in his usual courteous manner, which had at first seemed like affectation to the boys of Oakdale.

“Thanks,” said Piper. “Don’t believe I care to. I’ve been trying to get a private word with Shultz, and this is the first time – ”

“If you wish to talk with him privately I’ll step out.”

“No need of it. What I want to say I can say just as well with you here, Osgood, old man.”

“We were having a little private talk of our own when you butted in,” said Shultz sourly.

“When I’m through there’ll be plenty of time for you to finish up. I won’t be long, and I’ll get out the minute I’ve had my say. It’s about this wretched scrape – about Hooker.”

“It is a wretched scrape,” agreed Osgood. “I’m greatly disturbed over it, and of course you must be also, Piper. What are we to do?”

“That’s just what I want to talk to Shultz about. Something has got to be done, and that pretty quick, too. It strikes me that Shultz is the fellow to do it.”

The boy named swung round and squared himself, his red lips pressed together, his eyes staring straight at Billy from beneath lowered brows. “I suppose,” he began harshly, “you think you’re going to shoulder the whole business onto me. If you do, you want to forget it, and forget it quick. I’m no more to blame than the rest of the bunch. It’s true I hit Hooker a poke, but he brought it on himself, and you know it. He accused me of cheating.”

“It was your blow that knocked him against that mantelpiece and dazed him so that he hasn’t been able to talk or remember. In stating that the truth was sure to come out soon, Professor Richardson was doubtless correct.”

“Ah, don’t talk to me about that old dried-up shrimp!” cried Shultz fiercely. “He practically owned up before the whole school that he was a back number. He’s no more fit to be the principal of Oakdale Academy than I am – nor half as much. It’s time he retired and let a younger and better man fill his place.”

“I didn’t come here to argue that point. I say he was right in asserting that the truth about Hooker is bound to come out. Now are you going to wait and let the facts be found out through some other channel, or are you going to brace up and make a clean breast of it?”

“Now wouldn’t that be fine!” sneered Shultz. “You want me to blow the whole thing, do you? You want me to come out and tell the general public that a bunch of us were here in Ned’s rooms gambling, and that in a quarrel over the cards I hit Roy Hooker. Do you think for a minute that by doing so I’ll make you stand better in the public eye?”

“Somebody has got to tell it before Hooker tells, himself,” persisted Piper. “As you’re the fellow mainly involved, it seems to me it’s up to you.”

“And if I don’t tell, I suppose you’ll run and peach, you common tattler!” frothed Shultz, taking a step forward, his fists clenched, his face crimson with rage.

Piper stood his ground.

“Perhaps it will make you more popular with yourself if you hit me,” he said. “You can’t frighten me, Shultz, with black looks and bluster. I knew what you’d do, but I made up my mind to talk straight to you, and I’m going to talk, even if you knock me down and jump on me with both feet.”

“There’ll be nothing of that kind happen in here,” announced Osgood, taking a position to interfere in case Shultz’s wrath should gain absolute control of him. “We were talking of this thing when you came in, Piper.”

“That old dead one, Richardson, tried to make folks believe it would be a courageous thing to come forward and confess,” said Shultz; “but anybody knows that the fellow who squeals is usually a coward. He’s frightened into it. That’s the trouble with you, Piper; you’re scared stiff. You haven’t any nerve at all.”

“Scared?” retorted Billy. “I didn’t hit Hooker. The worst that can be said about me is that I was playing poker here and that I joined with the rest of the bunch in keeping still about what happened to Roy. You know, Shultz, that there was no one else save yourself and Roy to blame for that wind-up of the game. Now if we all keep still and wait till it comes out, every one of us will be in the soup; but if you have the nerve and manhood to go to Professor Richardson or Dr. Grindle and tell just what the finish of that game was, without naming any one besides yourself and Hooker, it will – ”

“Ho! ho!” scoffed Shultz. “So that’s what you want! I knew it; I knew you were trying to save your own hide somehow. You want me to expose myself as a real thug and scoundrel, in order that you and the rest may get off scot-free. Fine – I don’t think. I’ll rush right away and do it – not.”

“Osgood is your particular friend, isn’t he? Can’t you see any reason why you should shield him, dismissing consideration for the rest of us? You were here playing poker in Ned’s rooms. An unfortunate misunderstanding – I hope that’s what it was – brought about that encounter with Hooker. You can tell the story and refuse to name the others who were in the game. More than half the people will consider that an act of decency on your part. They won’t blame you for trying to shield the rest of the crowd, although they may attempt to worm our names from you.”

“It wouldn’t do any good, anyhow,” asserted Shultz. “As soon as Hooker gets straightened out and remembers things, he’ll tell; he’ll name all of us.”

“There’s the unpleasant possibility that Hooker may not get straightened out, Shultz. Anyhow, perhaps it will be some time before he does. Perhaps he’ll come around gradually, and some of us may be able to see him and caution him to keep mum. It’s the only chance.”

“And if he doesn’t come around at all, and none of the crowd squeals, how are they ever going to find out just what happened? There you are.”

“They will find it out, Shultz; I’ve made up my mind to that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that somebody is going to tell the truth. If you don’t do it, somebody else will.”

Osgood was compelled to grapple with Shultz, who strove to reach Billy, crying hoarsely:

“Let me get at that little whelp! He’s threatening to blow on us! I’ll fix him!”

“No, you won’t,” said Ned, displaying an amount of strength that surprised Piper, who still remained apparently calm and undisturbed. “He hasn’t said that he’s going to blow.”

“But that was what he meant.”

Ned thrust the raging fellow back and held him until he had calmed down somewhat.

“What did you mean, Piper?” Osgood asked over his shoulder. “Did you mean that you were going to chase right out of here and tell every one?”