'As Gold in the Furnace' Part 26

Mr. Henning drew from his pocket a bunch of keys. Opening his desk he took out a roll of bills.

"You must consider your test, your trial, as over. It is over as far as I am concerned, and I am more than satisfied with you. You are free now to take up what sports you like, and spend, in moderation, what money you like, and in fact I leave your course of action entirely to yourself. I am sure I need have no fear for your prudence. Here, take this; you will need it."

Mr. Henning handed over to his son a fair-sized roll of bills. How much he gave we will not state, but leave the amount to the imagination of the reader, merely remarking that Mr. Henning was a very rich man, did few things by halves, and, at the moment, was actuated by the most generous impulse. In giving Roy the money, he remarked: "Give your cousin Andrew twenty-five dollars, with my regards. I suppose schoolboys are never very flush at this time of the year. I never was."

While Roy, with a bounding heart, was thanking his father, a loud ring of the door bell disturbed the quiet of the house. In a moment one of the servants brought in a telegram.

"For Master Roy, sir," she said.

With a bow and a "Permit me" to his father, Roy opened the envelope and read:

"Come at once. Great news! St. C. 8. B. 3. Ambrose."

The mystified boy showed the telegram to his father.

"Perhaps the first part refers to the robbery. You had better go. Can you bid your mother and aunt farewell and be ready at the depot by 7.30?"

"Yes, quite easily."

"Very good. The carriage will be ready for you to catch the 7.30 train."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE GREAT BLOW

Notwithstanding the death of his little sister, Roy left home with a lightened heart, owing to the more perfect and decidedly pleasanter understanding with his father. Had he not full permission to play ball, or do anything else he chose! If the reader thinks this was a small reason for being light-hearted, then it is safe to say that same reader never was a boy. Every real boy knows what that permission meant. Roy, as we know, was conscientious. We know the struggle he went through. We know some of the unpleasant consequences which followed from conscientiously carrying out his father's wishes. Just in proportion as the restriction had been bitter, this freedom now was sweet. He was a strong, healthy, vigorous boy, all his life used to outdoor exercise, delighting in all manly sports. Now he was free again! Free to enjoy it all! The promised delights appeared all the more entrancing from his long abstention from them. Would he not surprise the boys! No, he would give the credit, all of it, to Harry Gill. He would make it appear that the manager's diplomacy had been irresistible. Gill should have an extra feather in his cap!

And Garrett! What a pity he was developing such undesirable traits of character! Could he not be weaned in some way from those companions with whom at present he seemed so infatuated? Roy was convinced that he was not really a bad fellow at heart. How could he be with such a mother as Aunt Helen? Was there ever a finer, more lovable woman, except his own mother? Her gentle touch, her womanly way, her wise and soothing words! What a treasure Andrew had, did he but realize it! No, he could not be really bad with her influence, and the memory of her, and her prayers for him!

These were some of the thoughts which pa.s.sed through Roy's mind as the train sped along in the darkness. Then he remembered Bracebridge's telegram. He took it out of his pocket and read it again. He puzzled again over those words "Come at once." What could they mean? Had the thief been discovered?

His heart gave a great leap at the thought. But what if, after all, his suspicions had been well founded! What if the thief should prove to be Andrew Garrett! The thought made him sick at heart; and yet--and yet! oh, he must be mistaken in that surmise! Ambrose would not have wired him to come at once had the guilt been traced to Garrett. He would certainly have been in no hurry to bring him back to so unpleasant a state of affairs. In that supposition it would have been "great news" indeed, but most disastrous news. No, it must be some one else, if the message meant what he hoped it did mean.

"And so the first great match has come off victoriously," he said to himself. "Good! good!"

He fell into a train of pleasant thoughts during which he looked so bright and so happy that an old lady on the opposite seat, who had watched him for some time, smiled kindly at him. Roy returned the smile. She was quite advanced in years and evidently traveled but rarely. She liked the look of the bright, handsome face before her, whose youthful sparkling eyes spoke goodness and enthusiasm, and whose clear skin at this moment showed a decided flush of joy.

"Are you going home?" she ventured timidly.

"No, ma'am. I'm leaving home."

She looked puzzled. It was contrary to her experience to see children so happy on leaving home. Roy enjoyed her puzzled look for a minute, and then explained:

"I am not going home, but I have just left the best father and mother in the world, and am now going back to school to join the best and truest friends a fellow could find anywhere on this round earth."

"Is that so! I am glad to hear it. If they are all like you they must be good boys."

Roy actually blushed. Just then the conductor called the old lady's station. As she arose and with the a.s.sistance of Roy gathered her traveling impedimenta, she said:

"Keep that bright smile, my dear, and remember that no one can keep so bright a face unless he keeps a bright soul within. I am an old woman, and I know what I say."

Now while Roy retires to his sleeper to get as much rest as is possible on the rail, we will hurry forward and learn why he was wired to come at once, and find out what has been happening during the last few days at St. Cuthbert's.

The Bland.y.k.e team arrived before noon on the day Ambrose had sent the message to his friend. Their manager told Gill that the condition of their coming was that they returned on the 3.50 train of that afternoon. The game, consequently, began at one o'clock. It was over by three, with the result already known.

The day had been extremely hot, with not a breath of air stirring. The atmosphere was stifling. All nature seemed to be in a dead calm. Even the dogs sought shady spots and lay still and panted. The afternoon seemed more oppressive than an August day, because so early in the summer every one was unaccustomed to the great heat.

As the game was finished by three o'clock on a recreation day, there were three vacant hours before supper time. Owing to the unusual sultriness few cared to tramp over the hills, or along the lower road of the valley. A few, however, started out, either to walk, or hunt black squirrels on the higher, wooded grounds in the rear of the college.

About four a slight breeze began to blow from the southwest, cooling the atmosphere very considerably.

"Ah, that's fine!" said Jack Beecham, as he faced the breeze and filled his lungs with the cooler air. "That's fine! My, but it was hot! Never knew it so hot in May before in my life. Oh, look, Ambrose," and he pointed to the direction from which the breeze was coming, "look at that queer-shaped cloud!"

Bracebridge looked toward the southwest. Dark, coppery clouds were forming and rapidly approaching. The temperature dropped suddenly many degrees. The cooler breeze became stronger and soon it was a wind.

Before many minutes elapsed it was a very high wind in which it was difficult to stand steadily.

Suddenly a brilliant flash of lightning leaped from the now leaden sky. The boys could hear the electric discharge snap and crackle against the sides of the buildings. It was followed almost instantly by a deafening crash of thunder, tropical in its intensity. Down came the rain, not in drops, but apparently in sheets of water. Flash followed flash, peal succeeded peal, and the wind grew more furious every moment.

Bracebridge, Shealey, Beecham, and Harry Gill watched the terrific war from the Philosophy cla.s.sroom window.

Ever and anon the downpour would cease, but the wind did not abate. At intervals could be seen the havoc the wind was doing. The air was thick with leaves and twigs and straw. In the lowlands the boys saw the rail fences carried away like matches and deposited over the fields. An old wooden windmill tower was toppled over. Boards and shingles and slates were flying everywhere.

All knew that such violent warfare must be brief. Already in the west there was a streak of light beneath the clouds. Before the storm had spent its fury the watchers at the window were to witness a remarkable sight.

Behind the college there was, as has often been remarked, thickly wooded high ground. The boys at the window were watching the hillside path, which every now and then was obscured by the rain. Suddenly a forked bolt struck the largest tree on the hillside, and hurled to the ground across the college walk at least one-third of it. The boys looked at each other in a frightened way. In the mind of each was: "What if the college had been struck!"

When the deafening thunder-crash had pa.s.sed, Bracebridge, for the sake of saying something, remarked:

"It's lucky that none of us were out in such a storm."

"We would have been nicely drenched, eh?" said Tom Shealey.

"No one of common-sense would be out," said Beecham; "all would run to shelter somewhere."

"But some may have been too far away to reach it. You know how sudden the storm was," observed Bracebridge.

"What on earth is that?" suddenly exclaimed Tom Shealey, as he pointed to something or some one crossing the yard. After the last thunder-crash the rain had ceased suddenly. The wind dropped, and the storm, furious while it lasted, spent itself. The boys threw open the cla.s.sroom window to get a better view of the yard. Some one had entered from the field gate nearest the woods. He was drenched; his hat was gone; his hair dishevelled. He was white and frightened. Although his clothes clung to his skin he was making violent, meaningless gestures as he ran, and appeared to be gibbering or muttering something as if in that stage of fright which borders on imbecility.

"It is Smithers," shouted Shealey. "Let's go and see what's up.

Hurry!"

"What's up, Smithers? What's happened?" asked Shealey, a moment later, hatless and breathless.

The frightened boy had a scared, wild look. He muttered something quite unintelligible. His lips were dry and white.