The Half Back - Ralph Henry Barbour
Joel sat there on the steps, under the shadow of the dark building,
thinking of many things, and feeling very happy and peaceful, until a
long, shrill sound from the north told of the coming of the 9.48 train;
then he made his way back to Masters, up the dim stairs, and into his
room, where Dickey Sproule lay huddled in bed reading The Three
Guardsmen by the screened light of a guttering candle.
CHAPTER X.
THE BROKEN BELL ROPE.
Joel arrived at chapel the following morning just as the doors were
being closed. Duffy, the wooden-legged doorkeeper, was not on duty, and
the youth upon whom his duties had devolved allowed Joel to pass without
giving his name for report as tardy. During prayers there was an evident
atmosphere of suppressed excitement among the pupils, but not until
chapel was over did Joel discover the cause.
"Were you here when it happened?" asked West.
"When what happened?" responded Joel.
"Haven't you heard? Why, some one cut the bell rope, and when 'Peg-leg'
went to ring chapel bell the rope broke up in the tower and came down on
his head and laid him out there on the floor, and some of the fellows
found him knocked senseless. And they've taken him to the infirmary. You
know the rope's as big as your wrist, and it hit him on top of the head.
I guess he isn't much hurt, but 'Wheels' is as mad as never was, and
whoever did it will have a hard time, I'll bet!"
"Poor old Duffy!" said Joel. "Let's go over and find out if he's much
hurt. It was a dirty sort of a joke to play, though I suppose whoever
did it didn't think it would hurt any one."
At the infirmary they found Professor Gibbs in the office.
"No, boys, he isn't damaged much. He'll be all right in a few hours. I
hope that the ones who did it will be severely punished. It was a most
contemptible trick to put up on Duffy."
"I hope so too," answered West indignantly. "You may depend that no
upper middle boy did it, sir." The professor smiled.
"I hope you are right, West."
At noon hour Joel was summoned to the principal's office. Professor
Wheeler, the secretary, and Professor Durkee were present, and as Joel
entered he scented an air of hostility. The secretary closed the door
behind him.
"March, I have sent for you to ask whether you can give us any
information which will lead to the apprehension of the perpetrators of
the trick which has resulted in injury to Mr. Duffy. Can you?"
"No, sir," responded Joel.
"You know absolutely nothing about it?"
"Nothing, sir, except what I have been told."
"By whom?"
"Outfield West, sir, after chapel. We went to the infirmary to inquire
about 'Peg'--about Mr. Duffy, sir." The secretary repressed a smile. The
principal was observing Joel very closely, and Professor Durkee moved
impatiently in his seat.
"I can not suppose," continued the principal, "that the thing was done
simply as a school joke. The boy who cut the rope must have known when
he did so that the result would be harmful to whoever rang the chapel
bell this morning. I wish it understood that I have no intention of
dealing leniently with the culprit, but, at the same time, a confession,
if made now, will have the effect of mitigating his punishment." He
paused. Joel turned an astonished look from him to Professor Durkee,
who, meeting it, frowned and turned impatiently away. "You have nothing
more to tell me, March?"
"Why, no, sir," answered Joel in a troubled voice. "I don't understand.
Am I suspected--of--of this--thing, sir?"
"Dear me, sir," exclaimed Professor Durkee, explosively, turning to the
principal, "it's quite evident that--"
"One moment, please," answered the latter firmly. The other
subsided.--"You had town leave last night, March?"
"Yes, sir."
"You went with Outfield West?"
"Yes, sir."
"What time did you return to your room?"
"At about a quarter to ten, sir."
"You are certain as to the time?"
"I only know that I heard the down train whistle as I left Academy
Building. I went right to my room, sir."
"Was the door of Academy Building unlocked last night?"
"I don't know. I didn't try it, sir."
"What time did you leave Mr. Remsen's house?"
"A few minutes after nine."
"You came right back here?"
"Yes, sir. We came as far as Academy Building, and West and Digbee went
home. I sat on the front steps here until I heard the whistle blow. Then
I went to my room."
"Why did you sit on the steps, March?"
"I wasn't sleepy; and the moon was coming out--and--I wanted to think."
"Do you hear from home very often?"
"Once or twice a week, sir."
"When did you get a letter last, and from whom was it?"
"From my mother, about three days ago."
"Have you that letter?"
"Yes, sir. It is in my room."
"You sometimes carry your letters in your pocket?"
"Why, yes, but not often. If I receive them on the way out of the
building I put them in my pocket, and then put them away when I
get back."
"Where do you keep them?"
"In my bureau drawer."
"It is kept locked?"
"No, sir. I never lock it."
"Do you remember what was in that last letter?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was any one mentioned in it?"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Remsen was mentioned. And Outfield West, and my brother,
and father."
"Is this your letter?" Professor Wheeler extended it across the desk,
and Joel took it wonderingly.
"Why, yes, sir. But where--I don't understand--!" Again he looked toward
Professor Durkee in bewilderment.
"Nor do I," answered that gentleman dryly.
"March," continued the principal, as he took the letter again, "this was
found this morning, after the accident, on the floor of the bell tower.
Do you know how it came there?" Joel's cheeks reddened and then grew
white as the full meaning of the words reached him. His voice suddenly
grew husky.
"No, sir, I do not." The words were spoken very stoutly and rang with
sincerity. A silence fell on the room. Professor Wheeler glanced
inquiringly at Professor Durkee, and the latter made a grimace of
impatience that snarled his homely face into a mass of wrinkles.
"Look here, boy," he snapped, "who do you think dropped that letter
there?"
"I can't think, sir. I can't understand it at all. I've never been in
the tower since I've been in school."
"Do you know of any one who might like to get you into trouble in such
a way as this?"
"No, sir," answered Joel promptly. Then a sudden recollection of
Bartlett Cloud came to him, and he hesitated. Professor Durkee
observed it.
"Well?" he said sharply.
"I know of no one, sir."
"Humph!" grunted the professor, "you do, but you won't say."
"If you suspect any one it will be best to tell us, March," said
Professor Wheeler, more kindly. "You must see that the evidence is much
against you, and, while I myself can not believe that you are guilty, I
shall be obliged to consider you so until proof of your innocence is
forthcoming. Have you any enemy in school?"
"I think not, sir."
The door opened and Remsen appeared.
"Good-morning," he said. "You wished to see me, professor?"
"Yes, in a moment. Sit down, please, Remsen." Remsen nodded to Joel and
the secretary, shook hands with Professor Durkee, and took a chair. The
principal turned again to Joel.
"You wish me to understand, then, that you have no explanation to offer
as to how the letter came to be in the bell tower? Recollect that
shielding a friend or any other pupil will do neither you nor him
any service."
Joel was hesitating. Was it right to throw suspicion on Bartlett Cloud
by mentioning the small occurrence on the football field so long before?
It was inconceivable that Cloud would go to such a length in mere spite.
And yet--Remsen interrupted his thoughts.
"Professor, if you will dismiss March for a while, perhaps I can throw
some light on the matter. Let him return in half an hour or so."
Professor Wheeler nodded.
"Come back at one o'clock, March," he said.
Outside Joel hesitated where to go. He must tell some one his trouble,
and there was only one who would really care. He turned toward Hampton
House, then remembered that it was dinner hour and that Outfield would
be at table. He had forgotten his own dinner until that moment. In the
dining hall West was still lingering over his dessert. Joel took his
seat at the training table, explaining his absence by saying that he had
been called to the office, and hurried through a dinner of beef and rice
and milk. When West arose Joel overtook him at the door. And as the
friends took their way toward Joel's room, he told everything to West in
words that tumbled over each other.
Outfield West heard him in silence after one exclamation of surprise,
and when Joel had finished, cried:
"Why didn't you tell about Cloud? Don't you see that this is his doing?
That he is getting even with you for his losing the football team?"
"I thought of that, Out, but it seemed too silly to suppose that he
would do such a thing just for--for that, you know."
"Well, you may be certain that he did do it; or, at least, if he didn't
cut the rope himself, found some one to do it for him. It's just the
kind of a revenge that a fellow of his meanness would think of. He won't
stand up and fight like a man. Here, let's go and find him!"
"No, wait. I'll tell Professor Wheeler about him when I go back; then if
he thinks--If he did do it, Out, I'll lick him good for it!"
"Hooray! And when you get through I'll take a hand, too. But what do you
suppose Remsen was going to tell?"
Joel shook his head. They found Sproule in the room, and to him West
spoke as follows:
"Hello, Dickey! You're not studying? It's not good for you; these sudden
changes should be avoided." Sproule laughed, but looked annoyed at the
banter. "Joel and I have come up for a chat, Dickey," continued West.
"Now, you take your Robinson Crusoe and read somewhere else for a while,
like a nice boy."
Sproule grew red-faced, and turned to West angrily.
"Don't you see I'm studying? If you and March want to talk, why, either
go somewhere else, or talk here."
"But our talk is private, Dickey, and not intended for little boys'
ears. You know the saying about little pitchers, Dickey?"
"Well, I'm not going out, so you can talk or not as you like."
"Oh, yes, you are going out, Dickey. Politeness requires it, and I shall
see that you maintain that delightful courteousness for which you are
noted. Now, Dickey!" West indicated the door with a nod and a smile.
Sproule bent his head over his book and growled a response that sounded
anything but polite. Then West, still smiling, seized the unobliging
youth by the shoulders, pinioning his arms to his sides, and pushed him
away from the table and toward the door. Joel rescued the lamp at a
critical moment, the chairs went over on to the floor, and a minute
later Sproule was on the farther side of the bolted door, and West was
adjusting his rumpled attire.
"I'll report you for this, Outfield West!" howled Sproule through the
door, in a passion of resentment.
"Report away," answered West mockingly.
"And if I miss my Latin I'll tell why, too!"
"Well, you'll miss it all right enough, unless you've changed mightily.
But, here, I'll shy your book through the transom."
This was done, and the sound of ascending feet on the stairway reaching
Sproule's ears at that moment, he grabbed his book and took himself off,
muttering vengeance.
"Have you looked?" asked West.
"Yes; it's not there. But there are no others missing. Who could have
taken it?"
"Any one, my boy; Bartlett Cloud, for preference. Your door is
unlocked, he comes in when he knows you are out, looks on the table,
sees nothing there that will serve, goes to the bureau, opens the top
drawer, and finds a pile of letters. He takes the first one, which is,
of course, the last received, and sneaks out. Then he climbs into the
bell tower at night, cuts the rope through all but one small strand, and
puts your letter on the floor where it will be found in the morning.
Isn't that plain enough?" Joel nodded forlornly. "But cheer up, Joel.
Your Uncle Out will see your innocence established, firmly and beyond
all question. And now come on. It's one o'clock, and you've got to go
back to the office, while I've got a class. Come over to my room at
four, Joel, and tell me what happens."
Remsen and the secretary were no longer in the office when Joel
returned. Professor Durkee was standing with his hat in his hand,
apparently about to leave.
"March," began the principal, "Mr. Remsen tells us that you were struck
at by Bartlett Cloud on the football field one day at practice. Is that
so?" Joel replied affirmatively.
"Does he speak to you, or you to him?"
"No, sir; but then I've never been acquainted with him."
"Do you believe that he could have stolen that letter from your room?"
"I know that he could have done so, sir, but I don't like to think--"
"That he did? Well, possibly he did and possibly he didn't. I shall
endeavor to find out. Meanwhile I must ask you to let this go no
further. You will go on as though this conversation had never occurred.
If I find that you are unjustly suspected I will summon you and ask your
pardon, and the guilty one will be punished. Professor Durkee here has
pointed out to me that such conduct is totally foreign to his conception
of your character, and has reminded me that your standing in class has
been of the best since the beginning of the term. I agree with him in
all this, but duty in the affair is very plain and I have been
performing it, unpleasant as it is. You may go now, March; and kindly
remember that this affair must be kept quiet,"
Joel turned with a surprised but grateful look toward Professor Durkee,
but was met with a wrathful scowl. Joel hurried to his recitation, and
later, before West's fireplace, the friends discussed the unfortunate
affair in all its phases, and resolved, with vehemence, to know the
truth sooner or later.
But Joel's cup was not yet filled. When he returned to the dormitory
after supper, he found two missives awaiting him. The first was from
Wesley Blair:
"DEAR MARCH" (it read): "Please show up in the morning at Burke's for
breakfast with the first eleven. You are to take the place of Post at
L.H.B. It will be necessary for you to report at the gym at eleven each
day for noon signals; please arrange your recitations to this end. I am
writing this because I couldn't see you this afternoon; hope you are all
right. Yours,
"WESLEY BLAIR."
Joel read this with a loudly beating heart and flushing cheeks. It was
as unexpected as it was welcome, that news; he _had_ hoped for an
occasional chance to substitute Post or Blair or Clausen on the first
team in some minor game, but to be taken on as a member was more than he
had even thought of since he had found how very far from perfect was his
playing. He seized his cap with the intention of racing across to
Hampton and informing West of his luck; then he remembered the other
note. It was from the office, and it was with a sinking heart that he
tore it open and read:
"You are placed upon probation until further notice from the Faculty.
The rules and regulations require that pupils on probation abstain from
all sports and keep their rooms in the evenings except upon permission
from the Principal. Respectfully,
"CURTIS GORDON, Secretary."
CHAPTER XI.
TWO HEROES.
One afternoon a week later Outfield West and Joel March were seated on
the ledge where, nearly two months before, they had begun their
friendship. The sun beat warmly down and the hill at their backs kept
off the east wind. Below them the river was brightly blue, and a skiff
dipping its way up stream caught the sunlight on sail and hull until, as
it danced from sight around the headland, it looked like a white gull
hovering over the water. Above, on the campus, the football field was
noisy with voices and the pipe of the referee's whistle; and farther up
the river at the boathouse moving figures showed that some of the boys
were about to take advantage of the pleasant afternoon.
"Some one's going rowing," observed Outfield. "Can you row, Joel?"
"I guess so; I never tried." West laughed.
"Then I guess you can't. I've tried. It's like trying to write with both
hands. While you're looking after one the other has fits and runs all
over the paper. If you pull with the left oar the right oar goes up in
the air or tries to throw you out of the boat by getting caught in the
water. Paddling suits me better. Say, you'll see a bully race next
spring when we meet Eustace. Last spring they walked away from us. But
the crew is to have a new boat next year. Look! those two fellows row
well, don't they? Remsen says a chap can never learn to row unless he
has been born near the water. That lets me out. In Iowa we haven't any
water nearer than the Mississippi--except the Red Cedar, and that
doesn't count. By the way, Joel, what did Remsen say to you last night
about playing again?"
"He said to keep in condition, so that in case I got off probation I
could go right back to work. He says he'll do all he can to help me, and
I know he will. But it won't do any good. 'Wheels' won't let me play
until he's found out who did that trick. It's bad enough, Out, to be
blamed for the thing when I didn't do it, but to lose the football team
like this is a hundred times worse. I almost wish I _had_ cut that old
rope!" continued Joel savagely; "then I'd at least have the satisfaction
of knowing that I was only getting what I deserved." West looked
properly sympathetic.
"It's a beastly shame, that's what I think. What's the good of
'believing you innocent,' as 'Wheels' says, if he goes ahead and
punishes you for the affair? What? Why, there isn't any, of course! If
it was me I'd cut the pesky rope every chance I got until they let up on
me!" Joel smiled despite his ill humor.
"And I've lost half my interest in lessons, Out. I try not to, but I
can't help it. I guess my chance at the scholarship is gone higher
than a kite."
"Oh, hang the scholarship!" exclaimed West. "But there's the St. Eustace
game in three weeks. If you don't play in that, Joel, I'll go to
'Wheels' and tell him what I think about it!"
"It's awfully rough on a fellow, Out, but Professor Wheeler is only
doing what is right, I suppose. He can't let the thing go unnoticed, you
see, and as long as I can't prove my innocence I guess he's right to
hold me to blame for it."
"Tommyrot!" answered West explosively. "The faculty's just trying to
have us beaten! Why--Say, don't tell a soul, Joel, but Blair's worried
half crazy. They had him up yesterday, and 'Wheels' told him that if he
didn't get better marks from now on he couldn't play. What do you think
of that? They're not _decent_ about it. They're trying to put us _all_
on probation. Why, how do I know but what they'll put _me_ on?"
Outfield hit his shoe violently with the driver he held until it hurt
him. For although Joel was debarred from playing golf there was nothing
to keep him from watching West play, and this afternoon the two had been
half over the course together, West explaining the game, and Joel
listening intently, and all the while longing to take a club in hand and
have a whack at the ball himself.
"That's bad," answered Joel thoughtfully. "It would be all up with us
if Blair shouldn't play."
"And that's just what's going to happen if 'Wheels' keeps up his present
game," responded Outfield. "Who are those chaps in that shell, Joel? One
looks like Cloud, the fellow in front." Joel watched the approaching
craft for a moment.
"It is Cloud," he answered. "And that looks like Clausen with him. Why
isn't he practicing, I wonder?"
"Haven't you heard? He was dropped from the team yesterday. Wills has
his place. Post says, by the way, that he's sorry you're in such a fix,
but he's mighty glad to get back on the first. He's an awfully decent
chap, is Post. Did you see that thing he has in this month's Hilltonian
about Cooke? Says the Fac's going to establish a class in bakery and put
Cooke in as teacher because he's such a fine _loafer_! Say, what's the
matter down there?"
The shell containing Cloud and Clausen had reached a point almost
opposite to where West and Joel were perched, and as the latter looked
toward it at West's exclamation he saw Cloud throw aside his oars and
stand upright in the boat. Clausen had turned and was looking at his
friend, but still held his oars.
"By Jove, Joel, she's sinking!" cried Outfield. "Look! Why doesn't
Clausen get out? There goes Cloud over. I wonder if Clausen can swim?
swim? Come on!"
And half tumbling, half climbing, West sped down the bank on to the
tiny strip of rocks and gravel that lay along the water. Joel followed.
Cloud now was in the water at a little distance from the shell, which
had settled to the gunwales. Clausen, plainly in a state of terror, was
kneeling in the sinking boat and crying to the other lad for help. The
next moment he was in the water, and his shouts reached the two lads on
the beach. Cloud swam toward him, but before he could reach him Clausen
had gone from sight.
"What shall we do?" cried West. "He's drowning! Can you swim?" For Joel
had already divested himself of his coat and vest, and was cutting the
lacings of his shoes. West hesitated an instant only, then
followed suit.
"Yes." Off went the last shoe, and Joel ran into the water. West, pale
of face, but with a determined look in his blue eyes, followed a moment
later, a yard or two behind, and the two set out with desperate strokes
to reach the scene of the disaster. As he had taken the water Joel had
cast a hurried glance toward the spot where Clausen had sunk, and had
seen nothing of that youth; only Cloud was in sight, and he seemed to be
swimming hurriedly toward shore.
Joel went at the task hand over hand and heard behind him West, laboring
greatly at his swimming. Presently Joel heard his name cried in an
exhausted voice.
"I--can't make--it--Joel!" shouted West. "I'll--have to--turn--back."
"All right," Joel called. "Go up to the field and send some one for
help." Then he turned his attention again to his strokes, and raising
his head once, saw an open river before him with nothing in sight
between him and the opposite bank save, farther down stream, a floating
oar. He had made some allowance for the current, and when in another
moment he had reached what seemed to him to be near the scene of the
catastrophe, yet a little farther down stream, he trod water and looked
about. Under the bluff to the right Cloud was crawling from the river.
West was gone from sight. About him ran the stream, and save for its
noise no sound came to him, and nothing rewarded his eager, searching
gaze save a branch that floated slowly by. With despair at his heart, he
threw up his arms and sank with wide-open eyes, peering about him in the
hazy depths. Above him the surface water bubbled and eddied; below him
was darkness; around him was only green twilight. For a moment he
tarried there, and then arose to the surface and dashed the water from
his eyes and face. And suddenly, some thirty feet away, an arm clad in a
white sweater sleeve came slowly into sight.
With a frantic leap through the water Joel sped toward it. A bare head
followed the upstretched arm; two wild, terror-stricken eyes opened and
looked despairingly at the peaceful blue heavens; the white lips moved,
but no sound came from them. And then, just as the eyes closed and just
as the body began to sink, as slowly as it had arisen, and for the last
time, Joel reached it.
There was no time left in which to pause and select a hold of the
drowning boy, and Joel caught savagely at his arm and struck toward the
bank, and the inert body came to the surface like a water-logged plank.
"Clausen!" shouted Joel. "Clausen! Can you hear? Brace up! Strike out
with your right hand, and don't grab me! Do you hear?"
But there was no answer. Clausen was like stone in the water. Joel cast
a despairing glance toward the bluff. Then his eyes brightened, for
there sliding down the bank he saw a crowd of boys, and as he looked
another on the bluff threw down a coil of new rope that shone in the
afternoon sunlight as it fell and was seized by some one in the
throng below.
Nerved afresh, Joel took a firm grasp on Clausen's elbow and struck out
manfully for shore. It was hard going, and when a bare dozen long
strokes had been made his burden so dragged him down that he was obliged
to stop, and, floundering desperately to keep the white face above
water, take a fresh store of breath into his aching lungs. Then drawing
the other boy to him so that his weight fell on his back, he brought one
limp arm about his shoulder, and holding it there with his left hand
started swimming once more. A dozen more strokes were accomplished
slowly, painfully, and then, as encouraging shouts came from shore, he
felt the body above him stir into life, heard a low cry of terror in his
ear, and then--they were sinking together, Clausen and he, struggling
there beneath the surface! Clausen had his arm about Joel's neck and was
pulling him down--down! And just as his lungs seemed upon the point of
bursting the grasp relaxed around his neck, the body began to sink and
Joel to rise!