Scott Morgan
The New Boys at Oakdale
“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” answered Billy. “I’m going to talk with the rest of the crowd. I’m going to tell them just where I stand and what I think. I’m going to do my best to induce them, one and all, to put it up to Shultz just as I have put it up to him. Then, if he isn’t man enough to shoulder the blame, I’ll suggest that we all walk up in a body and tell the whole thing.”
“You see! you see!” panted Shultz. “That’s his game! He’s a squealer! He’s bound to make me the goat.”
“Give me a chance to talk to him,” urged Osgood. “I’m sure Billy will listen to reason.”
“I’m ready to listen to reason,” said Piper; “but argument on false premises won’t have the slightest effect on me. I’ve thought this thing all over and decided on the only proper course to be followed.”
“But you can see,” said Ned, almost pleadingly, “that you’re asking a most difficult thing of Charley.”
“That doesn’t make it any less the right thing,” was the unbending retort.
“Confound him!” cried Shultz. “Did you ever see such an obstinate, stiff-necked little brat! He’s bound to besmirch me. He wants to drive me out of the school, that’s what’s the matter. He’s got it in for us both, Ned. That’s because we don’t happen to belong in this miserable one-horse burg. I’ve had troubles enough. If I get fired from this school my old man is going to froth, I tell you that. And I’ll be fired just as sure as the facts are known.”
“I see further talk will be a waste of time,” said Piper, “so I think I’ll be going.”
“Wait a minute,” requested Osgood. “You must realize that you sprung this thing on us rather suddenly. We haven’t had time to think it over. Give us time, won’t you?”
“At this stage of the game time counts, for there’s no telling how soon Hooker will be able to talk.”
“A little time,” persisted Ned. “Let me talk it over with Charley. Try to put yourself in his place and see if you can’t realize – ”
“All right,” cut in Billy, suddenly deciding it was best to yield a little. “Talk it over. I won’t make another move until I see you again. But it’s no use dilly-dallying, and Shultz may as well understand it.”
Without a word of adieu, he opened the door and left them.
CHAPTER XV – STILL SILENT
Osgood and Shultz arrived at the academy barely in time to escape tardy marks. As they slid into their seats neither of them glanced toward Piper, who had an eye turned upon them, and at intermission both seemed anxious to keep away from him. Watching them, he saw Ned, seeking to avoid general attention, pass a few low, hasty words with both Springer and Cooper.
“That won’t do you a bit of good,” thought the determined boy. “If you get the whole of the rest of the bunch to stick by you, I’ll give them fair warning and speak up myself.”
Shultz evidently took pains not to be seen with any of the fellows who had participated in the card game, but never for a moment during that intermission did he give Piper an opportunity to address him when other scholars were not close by. Fully aware that the fellow would refuse to step aside with him, Piper made the request of Osgood.
“Well, you’ve had time,” said Billy, as they paused beneath one of the trees near the academy. “What have you done? What are you going to do?”
“It will be all right,” assured Osgood suavely, “only just don’t push the thing too hard; for if you do, Shultz may balk, and that would put us all in a hole. You’ve got to think of some one besides yourself, Piper.”
“I am; I’m thinking of Hooker.”
“I tell you it will be all right,” reiterated Ned. “Just give us a little more time. Don’t do anything foolish.”
The bell struck, recalling them to the building, and, far from satisfied, Billy returned to fix his mind as best he could upon his studies.
Before dismissing school for the day, Professor Richardson stood beside his desk and again pushed his spectacles upward on his forehead. His thin cheeks were unnaturally flushed, and his voice had changed from huskiness to a croaking sound, which seemed to indicate that the cold had gripped him at his throat. Silence fell upon the room, for every one seemed to know the topic upon which the principal was about to speak, and more than one boy felt a shiver run through him.
“I regret,” began the professor, “that my talk of this morning had so little effect. I’ve waited, vainly hoping that some one might come to me with the truth concerning Roy Hooker. At noon I again saw Dr. Grindle, and I’m glad to say that what he told me was almost an assurance that Roy would fully recover, and that very soon. The unfortunate boy was able to talk a little this forenoon, and although no one urged him, he said enough to give an inkling of the cause of his trouble.”
For a moment he paused, his eyes seeming to rove from face to face before him, and the shivering ones found it most difficult to meet his look and appear interested without betraying guilt. How much had Hooker told? That was the question that made every pulse throb, even while their blood seemed to run chill.
“I spoke this morning of evil influences and bad associates,” continued the principal. “There’s no need to repeat what I said. From Hooker’s rambling words, it has become apparent that upon Saturday night he was engaged in a game of cards – for money. In short, he was gambling. Where and with whom, he did not state, and it was not thought best to worry him in his present condition with too many questions. Of course he was gaming with his usual companions, his so-called friends. That means almost to a certainty that some who are now listening to my words were with him. I will repeat my assertion that the names of his companions must assuredly become known.
“What happened to him in that game may readily be surmised. There was a quarrel. There were blows, and he was dreadfully injured. It will be a merciful thing if his reason is not permanently affected. The actual cause of the quarrel is yet a matter of surmisal, but whoever enters into a gambling game invites disaster. Greed and triumph fills the heart of the winner; bitterness and resentment fixes its hold upon the loser. Suspicion is aroused. At the slightest happening which seems to confirm suspicion there is an arousal of bad blood and a quarrel. We have here an example of how serious such a quarrel may be, and it should be a lesson to all of you – a lesson to be remembered always. It should teach you to shun gambling as you would shun a contagious disease. It is a disease that undermines the moral fiber and manhood of any one it touches. Having been contaminated, there is only one remedy, one cure: – good resolutions, the determination to shun this evil thing in future, and the will-power to hold fast to that determination.
“A person who makes up his mind to do right in the future, and is sincere about it, seldom hesitates to admit his errors or mistakes of the past. There are always willing hands to help one who thus proves his sincere change of heart. I hope before it is too late I may yet receive the evidence that some of you are sincerely repentant and sincerely determined henceforth to avoid such mistakes. You are dismissed.”
The old man puttered around, gathering up his books and papers and locking his desk. When he was ready to leave he found himself alone in the big room.
“Ah, well!” he muttered; “it’s hard for them. I’m afraid I haven’t sufficient influence. I’m afraid I failed to make my words convincing.”
Outside, the members of the ball team had turned toward the nearby field for practice, but they were not talking of baseball. The knowledge that Roy Hooker had been engaged in a card game for money caused their tongues to wag vigorously. Speculation was rife as to where the game had taken place and who had been concerned in it. Several of them, while pretending ignorance, knew very well indeed, and at least one who was not in the secret was inclined to believe he could make a good guess at the truth.
Jack Nelson had not forgotten that Roy Hooker was one of the trio in Hyde’s livery stable, after the return from Wyndham, to whom Ned Osgood had said that he would see them later. But, having nothing further on which to base his surmisal, and never dreaming how much Billy Piper knew, Nelson refrained from hints or accusations. Perhaps in this he was supported by the belief that, taking into consideration the benching of Osgood in Saturday’s game, it might seem that he had a pronounced animus against the fellow were he to suggest that Ned knew more than he was disposed to tell.
“As Prof said,” thought Nelson, “it’s bound to come out, and I won’t make any blunder if I keep my mouth shut.”
One thing he did not understand was why Piper, knowing certain fellows met regularly Saturday evenings in Osgood’s rooms, seemed to show so little interest in the matter. It was wholly unlike Billy, who heretofore had displayed the most eager disposition to probe anything which bore on its face the tag of mystery. Even Piper’s protestation that he was done with such things and would play the detective no more did not seem to be an adequate excuse for his apathy.
“It’s all mighty queer,” decided Jack, as, taking little part in the talk of the boys around him, he got into his uniform in the gymnasium. “Osgood doesn’t seem at all worried, but his friend Shultz is altogether too gay to be natural. It’s not like him. Well, if they’re concerned, they’re in deep, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the nine lost a couple of good players.”
CHAPTER XVI – THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
Practice that night was a failure; no one seemed to enter into it with heart or enthusiasm. The ball was batted and thrown around listlessly, and Nelson’s efforts to wake the fellows up bore no fruit. And so, after a time, seeing that this sort of work would do the boys no good, the captain put an end to it.
“It’s plain we haven’t our minds on the business in hand, fellows,” he said, “so we’ll quit it for to-night. I fancy we’re all thinking too much about what happened to Hooker.”
They straggled back to the gymnasium, which stood just outside the grounds, and took their showers and rub-downs and dressed. There was not much talk now, and very little joshing or laughter. Cooper perpetrated a pun, but no one seemed to notice it. Even beneath the hissing, spattering cold showers there was not much of the usual whooping and shouting; they dove into the icy spray, gasped, jumped out, grabbed their towels, scrubbed and dressed. Then, one by one, or in little groups, they departed.
Charley Shultz followed Ned Osgood from the gym and overtook him outside.
“There goes that cub, Piper, along with Phil Springer,” he said anxiously. “Cooper’s ahead of them. They’re all going the same way. Let’s hustle up and overtake them.”
Ned restrained him. “Let them go, Charley. It won’t do any good to chase them, and it may look suspicious to others.”
“Did you get a chance to say anything to Phil and Chipper?”
“Sure. Couldn’t talk to them much, but I told them what Piper was up to, and urged them to hold him in check.”
“What did they say?”
“They’re worried. They said they’d do their best.”
“He’ll bring them round,” snarled Shultz. “I never saw such a vicious, determined little imp. I figured him out to be a wishy-washy, spineless creature, but, on my word, he’s the most obstinate, pig-headed fellow I ever ran up against. He’s got it in for me; he’s bound to queer me.”
“He’ll queer us both if he sticks to his plan,” said Ned, in a discouraged way. “It’s going to hit me about as hard as it will you, old fellow. I had to get out of Hadden Hall because I was caught with a bunch playing poker in my room in one of the dormitories. My mother insisted that I should attend a smaller and quieter school where there would be less temptation, and that’s how I happened to come here.”
“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 passing 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 scraping 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 wishing 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 institution of importance. You see, considering our standing and family, she felt fearfully cut up over what happened at Hadden. If there’s a repetition 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 circumstances. 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 circumstances. 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 circumstances,” 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 bump 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 Saturday 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 nobody 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, shining 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 hoarsely. “I must have imagined it. My nerves must be on edge, and I never knew I had any nerves. Great Cæsar! 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?
“He deserved all he got,” Shultz had told himself this over and over. “Of course I didn’t intend to give him a poke that would hurt him seriously, but I had to defend myself.”
Now, however, something like a ray of light, piercing his distressed heart, showed him that under the circumstances he could not hope wholly to escape just blame and censure. Although seemingly a bit stolid about ordinary affairs, he had always permitted his ungovernable temper and somewhat bullying proclivities to have full sway, and no person with a violent temper is totally phlegmatic or stolid. Rage and resentment had put power into the smashing blow which threatened him with disgrace – or worse.
“If only I hadn’t been quite so quick!” he sighed. “I didn’t realize what might come of it. I didn’t stop to think.” Which is the prime cause of most misfortunes we bring upon ourselves; we do not stop to think.
Rising, after a time, from the chair, he paced the floor of the little room, feeling that in his present condition it would be useless to go to bed; for sleep would be denied him. Back and forth he walked for a long time, his mind a riot of wild thoughts. Presently he stood still, breathing softly with his lips parted, his eyes wide and staring, yet seeing nothing in that room. A dreadful thought had gripped him. What if Hooker were dead?
“Perhaps it was his ghost I really saw!” The words drifted so faintly from his lips that another person in the room could not have understood them. “It isn’t impossible that he’s dead! The doctor thought he’d get better, but doctors make mistakes. If he’s dead I’m done for.”
Scarcely realizing what he was doing, he flung on the garments he had removed some time before. And as he dressed he became more and more convinced that Roy Hooker was really dead.
“I’ll have to get out of this town – quick. I’ll pack up and get ready.”
Forth from an adjoining closet he drew his trunk, into which he flung his belongings without method or care. A few things, such as he might need for immediate use, he packed into a leather grip.
“I can’t get away till morning,” he muttered; “there’s no train. Still, I suppose I might hire a team from the stable. I might tell them I’d had a message that my father was dying. It’s thirty-four miles to Watertown on the main line, and there’s a train goes through that place at four in the morning. I could catch that train, but, first, I’ll make sure about Hooker.”
Blowing out the lamp, he tiptoed down the dark stairs and presently found himself outside the house in which Mr. and Mrs. Carter were soundly sleeping. The air was raw and the night still dark. Later the moon would come up, though it might be smothered by clouds.
Shultz walked slowly, irresolutely, down the black road which led into Lake Street. After a time the academy loomed on his left, and on the right he saw the gymnasium and the fence of the athletic field. Like an avalanche a host of memories came rushing over him; memories of the days he had spent here since his expulsion from Berkley Academy.
For the first time he realized how pleasant those days had really been, and for the first time he perceived with wonderment that he had become attached to the place and it would give him regret to go away. Through his athletic prowess and his skill in baseball he had won a certain amount of popularity, which might have been much greater if he had only made some effort to curb his unpleasant characteristics. Osgood, his friend, was immensely popular; so popular, indeed, that it had seemed probable that, through a little maneuvering and scheming, he might supersede Nelson as captain of the nine. Without a thought of the moral or manly points involved, they had plotted to bring this about.
“Well, it will never happen now,” said Shultz, with a low, bitter laugh. “The jig is up, anyhow. I hardly thought Ned would agree when I proposed it, but he almost jumped at it. I believe he’d been thinking of the very same thing. There’s class to his people, and he’s a gentleman, so, when he did agree, it seemed all right to me.” In this manner he sought to excuse himself.
He recalled how he had scoffed at Oakdale, the school and the old professor. He had even dreamed of resorting to various harassing methods in order to make Professor Richardson’s task so difficult that, unable to govern his pupils with a stern hand, he would withdraw from his position to let it be filled by a younger and more efficient instructor. Yes, having instilled some of his own spirit into his associates, Shultz had started a campaign of nagging and annoyance and disregard for what he called old-fashioned rules, which had certainly given the principal no small amount of worry and trouble.
“I suppose,” he half laughed, as he walked slowly past the building, “the old relic thinks I’m a bad egg. What do I care what he thinks! What do I care what anybody thinks!” But for the first time in his life he did care.
At this hour the center of the village seemed dark and deserted. Only an occasional light was to be seen shining dimly from a window. Nevertheless, the boy hesitated about passing through the square, fearing that some one might see him, know him, and wonder what he was doing prowling about so late. This fear led him to turn from Lake Street and cross lots toward the rapids below the upper dam. In this manner he stole down the slope at the rear of the stores and houses which lined the western side of lower Main Street.
The water was gurgling and grumbling around the rocks which thrust themselves upward in the channel. At intervals, as Shultz passed, it hissed, like a living creature expressing scorn and hatred.
At the bridge he climbed upward to the roadway, where he stood for a few moments, peering and listening.
“I seem to be the only one alive in this old burg.” The thought brought Hooker to his mind – Hooker, dead, perhaps.
Cross Street, which ran back of the town hall and along the shore of the lower pond, would bring him into Lake Street again, near Willow, upon which was the home of the Hookers. He had almost reached Lake Street when he stopped short, halted by the sound of echoing footsteps, which were approaching from that part of the town he had avoided. In a moment he was pressing his body against the bole of a big tree.
The footsteps came nearer. The person began to hum a tune. Here was some one abroad with a light heart and fearless of observation.
“It must be Tuttle,” thought the boy by the tree. “Yes, it is. Why don’t he let his eternal peanuts stop his mouth?”
Chub Tuttle passed on the opposite side of the way, and, ceasing to hum as he trudged serenely homeward, began to whistle not unmelodiously. The notes of “The Last Rose of Summer” came drifting back to the ears of Charley Shultz, growing fainter and fainter in the distance and sounding inexpressibly sad.
Shultz thought it must be getting darker, and was amazed, on rubbing them, to find that his eyes were moist and blurred. He leaned against the tree and listened, almost against his will, as the whistling grew fainter and yet fainter, softened and sweetened by the distance. When he could hear it no longer he gave himself a savage shake.
“You fool!” he rasped. “What’s the matter with you? You never felt like this before. You’re growing silly.”
Reaching Willow Street, he gazed toward Hooker’s home, but, even had the darkness not prevented him from seeing the house, it stood so far back on the Middle Street corner that he could not have surveyed it from his present position. Dread heavily upon him, yet hope not entirely dead, he walked slowly up the street. He had almost reached the corner when he stopped again.
