by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE INCRIMINATING LETTER.
At the next street corner Rod hesitated a moment; then, instead ofcontinuing toward his aunt’s house, he turned his steps in the oppositedirection and soon arrived at the home of Spotty Davis. He saw andtalked with Mr. Davis, who was over from the lower mill for the middaymeal.
“My boy?” said Davis. “Oh, he’s gone to Belford.”
“Gone?” exclaimed Rod, surprised.
“Yes,” nodded the man; “I let him have the fare, and he took themornin’ train.”
“When will he come back?”
“Dunno; mebbe he won’t come back. You see, he’s got some relatives overthere, and his cousin Jim said he could git him a job in a machineshop. He ain’t never been much struck on work, but all of a sudden lastnight he took a notion he’d like to try it, and he wouldn’t let up onme till I give my consent. I guess mebbe ’twill do him good. He gotinto some kind of a fuss with the perfesser at the academy and was senthome. I cal’late he’s got about eddication enough, anyhow, for he neverwas no hand to study.”
“Belford,” muttered Grant. “How far is that?”
“Oh, ’bout sixty mile or so. Why, what’s the matter?”
“I would like to see Spotty and have a talk with him.”
“Ho! Well, that would be a master long distance to travel jest for atalk.”
“Spotty was sick yesterday morning when I called. He must haverecovered right suddenly.”
“Oh, I guess he wa’n’t very sick; he jest wanted to lay in bed, thatwas all. I hope he’ll fall into good company in Belford, for thefellers he’s took up with ’round here ain’t done him no good.”
Rod shrugged his shoulders with a wry smile, bade the man good day, andturned away. So Spotty had left town suddenly and unexpectedly; thisact seemed to confirm Grant in his suspicions regarding the fellow.
“He stole two dollars of my money,” muttered Rod, as he walkedhomeward, “and he stole my silk handkerchief also. It was Spotty whoshot Barker’s dog, and either he lost the handkerchief afterward orbecame frightened and left it hanging on a bush in order to turnsuspicion from himself. I sure hate to think that last, even of Spotty;but somehow I can’t help it, knowing he would reason it out that thecondition of affairs between Barker and myself and the possible findingof the handkerchief would make it seem a sure thing that I did theshooting.”
Neither Barker nor Grant appeared at school that afternoon, Berlinremaining away because of his intense chagrin and shame, and Rodfeeling himself too disturbed to study or appear in recitations. Theboy from Texas knew his motives might be misconstrued, but he smiledgrimly over the thought that any one should fancy that fear hadanything to do with them.
School had closed for the day less than half an hour when Grant,chancing to look out, saw the sturdy figure of Ben Stone hurrying upthe path toward Miss Kent’s house. The young Texan met Ben at the door.
“Come in,” he invited, and the invitation was readily accepted.
“You didn’t show up at the academy this afternoon,” said Ben when theywere in Grant’s room.
“No; I had a reason for staying away, but you can reckon on it thatI’ll be there to-morrow.”
“Something happened,” said Stone—“something I want to tell you about.”
“Go ahead; I’m listening.”
“Of course the fellows had lots to say about the way you did Barker up,but I didn’t come to talk about that.”
“For which I’m plenty thankful.”
“Something happened that gave a setback to the fellows who thought itwas you that squealed about that hazing. Cooper, who is usually up tosomething, brought two live mice in a trap. Prof. Richardson is asscared of mice as any woman could be, and Chipper wanted to put theminto the professor’s desk. Piper, who always seems to have a key to fitanything, had one that would unlock the desk. You know how Sleuthprides himself on his keen and searching eyes. Well, in the desk hediscovered a letter that had been sent to the professor, and herecognized the handwriting on it. Of course he didn’t have any right tolook at it, but he did just the same—he read it and kept it, too, toshow to the fellows. It stirred up something sure enough, for it toldall about that hazing and the breaking of the professor’s skeleton,giving the names of every fellow who took part in that piece ofbusiness. The writer of that letter reminded the professor of hispromise to protect any one who should tell him the truth.”
“What a sneaking piece of business to do!” exclaimed Rod.
“It certainly was,” nodded Ben, “and I’ll guarantee Prof. Richardsonregarded it in that light. Perhaps that’s one reason why he declined topull all those fellows over the coals. You see, he’d been forced tojump on some that he plainly regards as his best scholars, and, as longas you made no complaint, he let it pass by handing out that lectureabout hazing.”
“Which,” said Rod, “was sure enough straight dope. This hazingbusiness, when it’s carried too far, as it is right often, certainly isall to the bad—as I have good reasons to know.”
“You haven’t asked who wrote that letter,” reminded Ben.
“I’m not right sure I want to know.”
“Why not?”
“Because I never could regard the squealer with an atom of respect. Idon’t quite understand why he wrote it, either.”
“You know the professor threatened to probe into the matter and do hisbest to find out and punish the guilty parties.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I suppose the fellow who blowed was afraid some one else woulddo the same thing, and simply tried to make himself immune frompunishment.”
“Likely that’s right.”
“Don’t you want to know who it was? It isn’t probable you can helpfinding out, for all the fellows know now, and some of them have toldthe sneak a few things.”
“I don’t opine,” laughed Rod, “they’ll break their necks hurrying totell me.”
“Oh, there’s been a decided change of opinion about you. If it wasn’tfor that dog-shooting affair, I believe you’d be surprised to find agreat many chaps ready to become friendly.”
“What do you think about that dog shooting, Stone?”
“I’m dead sure you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Thanks. But of late even you have apparently been influenced by therising tide of popular prejudice against one Rodney Grant.”
“No,” denied Ben—“no, indeed; but of late you have held yourself awayfrom everybody. Why, you scarcely spoke to me when we met.”
“Being plenty unpopular,” said Rod, “I allowed I wouldn’t involve you.I was independent enough to believe I could paddle my own canoe. I’veobserved that about nine times out of ten things work themselves out ifyou let them alone. I’ll guarantee the truth concerning the shooting ofBarker’s hound will be known in time.”
“I hope so, Rod, as that would come pretty near putting you fully andsquarely right in Oakdale. Hunk Rollins’ letter has——”
“So it was Rollins,” said Rodney quietly. “Well, I can’t say that I’msurprised.”
“Yes, it was Rollins,” answered Stone, “and he’s certainly queeredhimself with everybody. He knows what the fellows think of him now, fornearly all of them have taken pains to tell him.”
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