The New Boys at Oakdale Part 18

"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 circ.u.mstances 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 smas.h.i.+ng 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 cla.s.s 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 hara.s.sing 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 a.s.sociates, Shultz had started a campaign of nagging and annoyance and disregard for what he called old-fas.h.i.+oned rules, which had certainly given the princ.i.p.al 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 s.h.i.+ning dimly from a window.

Nevertheless, the boy hesitated about pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sed, 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 sh.o.r.e 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 pa.s.sed 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.

He could see the house now, and his heart hammered furiously as he perceived that something was taking place there. There were lights flas.h.i.+ng from room to room; he heard excited voices calling; the house was in a commotion.

"What's that mean? What's that mean?" whispered Shultz over and over.

Suddenly the door of the house was flung open. A man came running out, some one calling after him. Down the steps he sprang; across Lake Street he dashed; along Middle Street he raced.

Panting, one hand clutching a nearby fence-railing, Shultz was certain he knew the cause of this commotion. Mr. Hooker was running for the doctor. They had just discovered that Roy was dead.

Turning sharply about, Schultz ran also.

CHAPTER XVIII

FLIGHT.

As he ran, the terrible fear that had clung to him grew to gigantic proportions. Panting and gasping, he exerted every effort in that first burst of speed. The sound of his flying feet echoed through the silent streets, and those echoes, flung back to his ears, made it seem that a part of the sound was produced by other feet than his own. It seemed that there was a fearsome pursuer at his very heels, reaching for him with eager, clawlike hands. He dared not pause an instant in his flight to look back. On and on he ran, down through Cross Street, retracing his course up the slope to Lake Street, and still on past the silent and gloomy academy.

From exhaustion and lack of breath his pace had slackened perforce. In all his experience in athletics, never before had he exerted himself until, the breath wholly pumped from his lungs, he could only gasp in exquisite pain, while his very head threatened to burst.

At length, just beyond the academy, he stumbled and fell. Half stunned by the shock, he fully expected to feel himself pounced upon by that unknown pursuer.

Recovering, he looked around as he struggled to his feet. He was quite alone; he could see no moving, living object.

"Still," he thought, as he stood gulping in air to relieve his collapsed lungs, "I could swear something chased me. It was right behind me all the way. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it. If it's that sort of a thing, it's no use to run; I can't run away from it."

But when he started on again the fear returned, and it was only by the most tremendous effort that he restrained the impulse to resume running.

Every moment or two he looked back, and sometimes he stopped and turned squarely in his tracks.

His relief was great when he saw, near at hand, the house where he boarded. He would get inside, close the door quickly behind him, and shut the unseen pursuer out.

But the door did not open beneath his hand. He tried it again and again, presently realizing with dismay that he had failed to fasten back the catch of the spring lock when he came out. Yesterday, in changing his clothes, he had discovered that his latch key was missing. Search for it had been vain, and Mrs. Carter had not been able to furnish another key.

"Well, this is a fix!" he whispered. "I'm locked out. I don't want to rap and get them up, for I would have to explain. Then, too, if they got a look at me they'd know there's something wrong. I must show it plain enough."

He walked silently around to the rear of the house. There was the ell, upon the roof of which his window opened, and close to the end of the ell stood the chestnut tree, with one stout branch projecting over the roof. He thought of climbing the tree, reaching the roof by means of that limb, and crawling along to obtain admittance through the window of his chamber.

Remembering the fearsome spectacle revealed to him outside that window this very night, he faltered and drew back. He was terrified lest, having climbed to the roof, he should find himself once more face to face with the apparition.

"It's no use," he almost sobbed; "I can't do it! Anyhow, why should I wish to get in there? If it's a ghost, I couldn't shut it out. I may need the things in my bag; I'd certainly like to have them; but I must do without them."

He knew that a hostler slept all night in Hyde's livery stable, and that there was a bell by which the man might be aroused. Now, however, for the first time it occurred to him that he lacked money. Having paid Osgood a small debt, less than three dollars remained in his pocket. It was thirty-four miles to Watertown, and it would require many times three dollars to pay for a rig to carry him there.