A MIDNIGHT LARK

That winter proved to be a hard one, with frequent snows and violent winds, which put an end to the skating within a few weeks after Christmas, and left the majority of the boys with no very satisfactory pastime in the free afternoons. There was sliding down Deal Hill a good part of the time, and to Tony, who never before had experienced the pleasures of a northern winter, this was great fun; but after a time it palled upon his two cronies, Jimmie and Kit, and at their suggestion surreptitious visits to the cave in Lovel’s Woods became more frequent. Perhaps that this was a forbidden pleasure added a keener zest than they otherwise would have taken in it, and that several boys had recently been caught in the Woods and punished severely gave an element of danger to their visits that made them even more fascinating. Aside from the disobedience that these visits involved, they were innocent enough. The boys, having reported at call-over for a walk, would skirt the beaches and enter the Woods from the east, completely out of range of the school and comparatively safe from detection unless they chanced to encounter prefects or masters walking in the Woods themselves. The indefatigable Mr. Gray often bent his steps in that direction, but to the school’s intense delight, without noticeable result. The snows were so heavy and the walking consequently so difficult that the vigilance of masters and prefects at last completely relaxed. From that time on the boys who cared for the trouble had a fairly clear field. Our friends were fortunate in having a cave on the extreme eastern edge of the woods, so that the approach from the beach was easy. Once this was gained, they made a fire, cooked sausages, fried pan-cakes of an extremely leathery quality, and made coffee that certainly they would not have drunk in any other place.

Tony had told Carroll of their exploits, and had even invited him to pay them a visit and partake of their “feed,” an invitation that was decisively declined. “It is certainly not worth while,” he replied, with a smile, “to run the risk of getting the Doctor quite sour on me for the pleasure of partaking of the results of your culinary skill.”

“A great deal better for you,” Tony retorted, “than moping in doors half the time over sickly French novels.”

“Possibly; but French novels are not the only alternative to the Woods,” Reggie answered, “and as a matter of fact I have begun to go in for tremendous tramps.”

“You must take ‘em mostly at night, then.”

“I do frequently,” was the somewhat tart reply, “the night air has always had a fascination for me.”

In truth Tony was aware that Reggie had resumed his old custom of disappearing from their rooms after lights, paying visits, he incuriously supposed, upon some of his friends. The fact gave him little thought.

One afternoon the three boys were in their cave. Tony was turning pan-cakes in a skillet, while Jimmie was laboring with a dark mixture that they euphemistically called coffee. Kit sat on the branch of a tree, with his head over the ledge, on the look-out for any wandering prefects.

“Hurry up, you frabjous duffers,” he called down, midst a stream of amiable chaffing; “it’s close upon four, and we’ll have to bolt the grub in order to get back to Gumshoe’s five o’clock.”

“Why don’t you get down and work a bit, then? Nobody’s coming along this late. Get the plates out, and pour some syrup out of the jug. No work: no eat.”

“Too many cooks spoil the broth,” he laughed.... “Shish!” he exclaimed suddenly, and ducked his head below the ledge.

The three kept a tense silence for a moment. They heard footsteps crunching in the snow above and passing on. Kit cautiously peeped over the ledge. “By Jove,” he whispered, “it’s Reggie Carroll and Arty Chapin. I thought it was a couple of prefects.”

He slid down from the tree, and began to gobble up one of Tony’s pan-cakes. “By the by, Tony, I thought the elegant Reginald Carter Westover Carroll had severed his friendship with that specimen of common Chapin clay.”

“So he had,” answered Tony, musingly. “I didn’t know they had taken up with each other again.”

“What a queer duck Reggie is,” said Jimmie, as he poured out three cups of coffee. “Have you ever made him out, Tony?”

“Not I. We hit it off well enough after the first few days—for a time. But this term I have hardly seen anything of him. I am sorry he is in with Chapin again.”

“And I. I’ve always liked Reggie despite his supercilious disdain, but Arty’s a beast, and always was,” said Kit, drinking his coffee at a gulp. “Here, let’s stow these things, and cut around to the north and take a peep as to what that precious pair are up to. Evidently no five o’clock for them.”

“What’s the difference where they are going?” said Tony. “I have no mind to spy on them.”

“Well, I have a consuming curiosity,” Kit rejoined. “They’re up to mischief, I’ll be bound.”

“Light out then,” said Tony, “for Jim and I are going back over the ridges.”

“And leave your precious footprints in the snow,” protested Kit. “La! la! stow the stuff, will you then? I’ll report if there’s anything doing.”

And despite his companions’ adjurations Kit clambered off over the rocks and started out in the direction indicated by Carroll’s and Chapin’s footsteps in the snow.

The boys got safely back without being detected, but Kit was a quarter of an hour late, and created a sad disturbance when he entered in the midst of Mr. Roylston’s Third Latin recitation.

“The incorrigible Wilson,” remarked Mr. Roylston, without turning his beady black eyes in his direction, “will kindly take a pensum of one hundred lines for being late and disturbing the class.”

“Very well, sir,” said Kit.

“Spare me your comments, pray. Continue your recitation, Turner; Book Four, Chapter Fourteen, line twenty. Proceed. CÆsar—”

“Oh, yes, sir.... Qui omnibus rebus subito perterriti—” Tack spelled it out painfully, and fell mercilessly upon it, “Who to all quickly having been thoroughly terrified. Et celeritati nostri et discessu suorum.... And with quickness to us both a descent....”

Mr. Roylston transfixed the floundering youth with a withering glance, and there was a moment of awful silence. “With quickness to you, I may suggest, Turner,” he said at last in scathing tones, “descent into your seat and a zero in my mark-book.”

He turned to Kit. “Wilson, let us see if you can cast light upon the darkness into which Turner has led us.”

“I am afraid I can’t, sir.”

“No?” murmured the master. “Well, I was not hopeful,” and he quietly recorded a zero in his mark-book. “Now, Deering—”

Tony took up the passage, and got through it correctly enough, but not without being harassed by Mr. Roylston’s interruptions and glances of incredulity at his rendering of the Latin. The Latin recitations at Deal under the famous Ebenezer Roylston—he was the editor of an edition of Cicero that was classic in its day—were periods of agony and boredom. But at last this particular recitation came to an end, and immediately afterward, Kit threw his arms about the necks of his two friends, and drew them into a vacant classroom.

“Well?”

“What’s up?”

“Oh, you frabjous kiddos! I tracked ‘em for a mile—’twas a mucker trick, I’ll admit, but I’ve got it in for Chapin. And what do you think, those two blooming jays are playing poker with their crowd in a shanty back of the Third Ridge. If it weren’t for Reggie, I swear I’d peach on Chapin.”

“I swear you’d do nothing of the sort,” said Tony.

“Well, perhaps not,” assented Kit, temporarily crestfallen. “But I must say that’s a crummy thing of them to do. Fine school spirit, eh!”

“Well, we have been skipping bounds pretty regularly this fall, if I remember correctly.”

“My dear child,” remarked Kit paternally, “when will you learn wisdom? The Doctor carefully distinguishes between moral offenses and offenses against school discipline. Now, bounds are obviously disciplinary and not moral; hence we are mere wandering angels, while those poker fiends are equally hence of the lower regions.”

“Rot!” was the courteous rejoinder. “It is obvious to any but a bonehead like yourself that the Doctor imposed bounds this year for moral reasons, because he had wind that just that sort of thing was going on.”

“Ah!” resumed Kit sarcastically. “I perceive the glimmerings of a conscience. You are getting the remorse for your own sins?”

“Not particularly. I am only objecting to the complacent way in which you shove Carroll and Chapin outside the pale of decency.”

“Well, I’m easy, old boy; I certainly won’t be damned for making pan-cakes in Lovel’s Woods; but I can readily see that Reggie might for playing poker there. But it isn’t so much the poker I object to, as his beastly taste in companions.”

“Thunder and blazes, Kit, what’s it to you who Reggie goes with?”

“Nothing much. But of a kindness warn your room-mate against Arty; he is an awful bounder and always was.”

“Well,” answered Tony, “Reggie knows him better than we do; and it is certainly not my business to give him advice. Come on; let’s quit this jaw, and go in to supper.”

Disposed as Tony had been openly to defend Carroll against this criticism, he condemned him yet the more severely in his heart. He knew that Reggie realized the defects of Chapin’s character; that he was spoiling his chances of a prefectship the next year by his association with him, and that he was running the risk of public expulsion if it should be discovered that he was playing poker. After a good deal of hesitation he made up his mind to speak to Reggie on the subject. Accordingly he waited that night until after lights, and then slipped over to Reggie’s room, hoping to please him by this suggestion of renewing their nightly talks. But to his disappointment Carroll was not there. Tony turned back into the study, and stood for a moment at the window looking out upon the white campus, flooded now with the light of a full moon.

Suddenly he heard the latch of his door turn and some one slip into the room.

“Hello, Reggie,” he whispered, “is that you?”

“Shish! no—it’s me—Kit,” came the soft reply. “Jimmie is outside—we’re going to the Woods. Get into your clothes and come along.”

“Oh, hang the Woods!” exclaimed Tony. “I am sleepy and want to go to bed.”

“Don’t be a quitter. Jim’s got a box from home; we’ll have a bully good time, and we can get back by midnight. Where’s your precious room-mate—gone to the shanty?”

“I don’t know—I suppose so.”

“Well, perhaps we’ll meet him; come on.”

The lark proved too strong a temptation, and after a little more persuasion, Tony yielded. He slipped on his trousers and a sweater, his stockings and boots, and a coat, and was ready. The two boys crept silently down the corridor, past the door of Mr. Morris’s room, over the transom of which a bright light was shining, and down the stairs. Once Kit tripped, and they sank down below the head of the stairs, just as Mr. Morris opened his door and stood at it for a moment listening. Then the master closed his door again, and the boys went out into the cold frosty moonlight night, and joined Jimmie, who was waiting for them at the fives-court.

Morris, however, was an old hand at his business, and not a clumsy one. He stepped into his bedroom, which was darkened, and going to the window stood there watching. Presently he saw the three dark figures, unrecognizable at the distance, creep along the fives-court, dash across to the cloister that led from Standerland to the Schoolhouse, and then disappear behind the clump of trees at the corner. Confident that he had heard some one leaving his own dormitory, the master then made his rounds, and surely enough found that Deering, Lawrence and Wilson were missing. Curiously enough Tony’s happened to be the last room that he entered, and when he found his bedroom empty, thus being sure that the three he had seen were accounted for, he neglected to look into Carroll’s room, and returned to his study to wait for their return.

About ten o’clock as he sat before his fire, meditating the course of his action, a rap sounded on the door, and in response to his invitation, Doctor Forester came in.

“Ah, Morris,” said the Head Master, coming forward and standing with his back to the fire, “I am sorry to disturb you at this time of night; but there is mischief afoot, and perhaps you can help me catch the offenders.”

Morris looked at the Doctor attentively, but for the moment did not volunteer his information.

“This afternoon,” continued the Head, “Maclaren found an old shanty back of the Third Ridge, rigged out with the paraphernalia of a poker game. It has evidently been in use, and from the character of the dÉbris, he thinks, by some of our boys. Maclaren supposes that some of your boys have been getting out at nights, and may be the culprits. Is that possible?”

“Yes,” answered Morris, “quite possible. I should not have said so an hour ago, for I keep a close watch upon that sort of thing, or at least I try to; but as a matter of fact three of my boys are missing at this moment.”

“Who are they?” asked the Doctor sharply.

“Lawrence, Deering and Wilson.”

“What! they are the last boys in the School that I should be inclined to suspect of that sort of thing, though I regret to say, Maclaren has some evidence that I fear implicates Deering. Have you any idea that they are gone to the Woods?”

“I fear they have, sir. I heard a noise in the hallway a half-hour ago, and slipped out to see what it was. For the moment I supposed I had been mistaken, but a little later from my bedroom window I saw three boys disappear back of the Schoolhouse. I did not know who they were until I had made my rounds, which was just a few minutes ago.”

“Well, they must be found. If they are implicated in this affair at the Third Ridge shanty I shall deal with them severely. Fine boys, too! it’s a great shame.... Maclaren and Cummings are waiting in my study; I will go and give them this clue.”

“If you like, sir, I will go for you, and go with them.”

“I would be obliged if you would. In that case, I will remain here until your return.”

Morris put on his great coat and boots and started out, while the Doctor settled himself before the fire with a book. A little later the master with the two prefects whom he had found at the Rectory, set out for Lovel’s Woods.

Early in the evening Thorndyke, who was a member of the crowd that frequented the shanty, had got wind of Maclaren’s discovery through Lawrence Cumming’s indiscreet confidences, and had hastened to the rendezvous—the stone bridge by the Red Farm below Deal Hill—and had warned his companions. They had quietly returned to their dormitories; indeed, while the Head Master and Morris had been talking in the latter’s study, Carroll had softly stolen upstairs, slipped into his room, and quietly got into bed.

Our other friends, following Kit’s ardent but injudicious leadership, were making a detour to the north on their way to their cave with an intention of taking a peep at the nefarious doings at the shanty.

It was a long walk, and a cold one. Tony and Jimmie had little heart for it, but the irrepressible Kit led them gaily on. They skirted Beaver Pond, threaded their way along the ridges over familiar paths, and at last debouched upon the little clearing in which the abandoned shanty was situated. On every side stretched the thick woods, traversable only by those who knew their devious paths. To the east of the shanty the ridge ended abruptly, there was a sheer descent, and over the tops of the trees on the hillside one could get a splendid view of the distant ocean, the Neck, and Deigr Island beyond the point, with its light faithfully blinking red and white.

“No one about,” exclaimed Kit, peering in at a dark window; “what a lark!”

“Now that we’re here,” said Jimmie. “I’m for investigating.”

“By Jove! the window’s unfastened!” cried Kit, already tugging at the sash. In a moment he had it up, and disappeared over the window-sill. He struck a match inside and his companions could see him moving about. Presently he found a candle, lighted it, and set it on the table. “Come on in,” he called. “Here’s a rummy old pack of cards.” And he kicked the deck of cards across the room.

Deering and Lawrence climbed in and joined him in an interested examination of the room. The structure, which contained only this one room, it may be said, had been built some years before by a gentleman of the neighborhood, who had literary tastes, and sought the quiet and seclusion of this spot for their development. Of late it had been disused, however, for a period of six or seven years. There was an old table, a few rickety chairs, and a strong-box, such as the boys used in their caves; aside from these no furniture of any description. The embers of a wood fire glowed on a great hearth at one side of the room. In a cupboard the boys found several soiled packs of cards, a pile of poker chips, and some empty cigarette boxes. “The real dope, I suppose,” Kit commented “is in the strong box, or hid some place outside. I reckon we can’t bust into it. What a silly lot of asses; if the prefects don’t get on to this, I’m a loser. But what a jolly old joint it is, eh?”

“Rather,” said Jimmie. “There’s a pile of dishes in the sink yonder—they’ve evidently had a feed here this afternoon. There’s live coals on the hearth. Hmmm—smell the tobacco!”

“Makes my mouth water,” was Kit’s prompt reply. “Let’s fire up, and have our feed here, and leave a note thankin’ ‘em for their hospitality. It isn’t likely that anybody will turn up this time o’ night. Get the bundle, Tony; and you, Jim, lend a hand while we start the fire.”

The two began industriously to lay a fresh fire on the great andirons, while Tony made for the window. As he reached it there rose before him what seemed a monstrous head and body. He gave a cry of alarm. “Great heavens! who is it?” he screamed.

“Don’t have a fit, Deering; it’s only Maclaren.”

Tony immediately recovered his equilibrium. “Only Maclaren!” he repeated, in a voice of despair. “It’s all up, kiddos.” And he turned a white face to his amazed companions in the shanty.

“Only Maclaren!” wailed Kit, as he threw his bundle of faggots on the hearth. “You poor fool, there’s Mr. Morris too.”

It was a sorry procession that wound its way back to Standerland that cold January night. The Doctor was waiting for them in Mr. Morris’s study, grown a little impatient at the long delay. The clock had struck eleven before he heard the footsteps on the stairs.

Mr. Morris had rather deprecated explanations on the way back, preferring to let the Head deal with the case himself; nor were the boys much inclined to talk. Upon their arrival at Standerland, Mr. Morris gave a succinct account of their capture, while the Doctor listened, a cloud gathering upon his brow.

“Well,” he said sternly, as Morris finished, “what were you doing in Lovel’s Woods at this time of night? Lawrence, you may answer for the three.”

“We skipped out just for the lark, sir.”

“You have been in the habit of paying these visits to the Woods?”

“Yes, sir—once in a while, sir,” Jimmie answered, in rather a doleful tone.

“What have you done there?”

“Simply fooled about in our cave, sir.”

“Do you call that shanty your cave?”

“No, sir—our cave is on the east side on the Third Ridge.”

“Well, what were you doing at the shanty?”

“We were investigating it, sir; we had never been there before.”

“None of you?”

“None, sir.”

“Is that true of you, Wilson?”

“I?” exclaimed Kit. “No, sir; that is, sir, I have been there once before, but only on the outside and looked in at the windows.”

“And you, Deering?”

“No, sir, I have never been there before.”

Dr. Forester had turned on Tony like a flash. “How then do you account for the fact that a letter addressed to you was found there this afternoon?”

“A letter addressed to me found there!” exclaimed Tony, in surprise. “I can’t account for it. I do not know how it got there.”

“Do you know of other boys being there?”

“I believe other boys have been there; yes, sir.”

“Do you know what boys have been there?”

“I really can’t say, sir.”

Tony was growing restless and ill at ease under this severe cross-examination. It suddenly dawned upon him, that the Doctor did not appear to accept his replies as he gave them.... In his quick passionate southern way he fired with resentment. His face flushed, he stammered in giving his replies, and once or twice inadvertently contradicted himself. Jimmie and Kit looked at him in amazement; for a moment the suspicion crossed their minds that Tony had perhaps after all been going to the shanty with Carroll. Even Morris, who had been serenely confident that the boys would clear themselves of the charge of gambling, showed a troubled countenance as the cross-examination went on.

“Come, come,” said the Doctor, “I would like you to suggest some explanation as to how a letter addressed to you was found in that shanty this afternoon.”

“I don’t account for it,” Tony replied. “I know nothing about it. I know nothing about the shanty; I never saw it until to-night.”

“That statement,” commented the Doctor mercilessly, “conflicts with what you implied a few moments ago. You allowed me to infer that you do know what boys go there.”

“Suppose I do,” exclaimed Tony passionately. “Suppose I do—I shan’t tell anything about it. I have never been there, and I have nothing to do with it.”

“Well, sir, there is still another bit of evidence that inevitably suggests to me the suspicion that you must know more than you admit. The strong-box in that shanty was rifled this afternoon by the Head Prefect under my direction. In it were found several packs of playing cards, a quantity of poker chips, and a memorandum-book.”

“Well, sir?”

“Do you know anything about that memorandum-book?”

“I do not.”

The Doctor drew it from his pocket as he spoke, and opened it. “I find here various entries, evidently sums of money owing to certain persons. I find here the entry ‘A. D. to R. C.—$5.’ Between these pages is a check on the First National Bank of New Orleans drawn by you in your own favor and endorsed on the back. Do you recollect such a check?”

Tony racked his memory, and recalled at last that a week or so before he had given Reggie such a check in payment of a small loan. “I made out such a check; yes, sir.”

“To whom did you pay it?”

“I decline to tell you, sir.”

“What did you pay it for?”

“In payment of the sum of five dollars which I had borrowed.”

“The boy to whom you paid this will corroborate your statement?”

“Possibly, sir—I don’t know. I certainly shan’t ask him to. I am accustomed to tell the truth.”

“You decline then to explain to me how this check came to be found in this memorandum-book in the strong-box of that shanty?”

“I know nothing about it to explain. I paid the check to a friend. I don’t know how it came to be in the shanty.”

“Have you ever played poker in this school?”

“No, sir; I have not.”

“Could this check have had anything to do with a poker game?”

“I don’t know—not so far as I am concerned.”

“What do you mean by ‘so far as I am concerned’?”

“I mean that I have never played cards for money, or given that check in payment for a gambling debt. As to whether other boys have gambled in the shanty or elsewhere, I do not know. I have nothing to say.”

“You have broken bounds repeatedly this term?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That will do for to-night. You three boys may go to bed now. Report to me to-morrow morning at the Rectory after Chapel. You will not attend recitations or take any part in the school activities until this matter is settled.”

The three culprits silently took up their caps and went off to their rooms; Jimmie and Kit, distressed and alarmed for themselves, but even more for Tony; Deering was sullen and angry.

Doctor Forester sank back for a moment in his chair and looked helplessly at his master and his prefects. “I don’t think for a moment that that boy is not telling the truth, Morris. But there is the letter, the check, and the memorandum-book. What do you make of it?”

“I would stake my life on his honor,” exclaimed Morris generously. “For a moment I doubted him when he was confronted with your evidence; but there is an explanation for it, I am sure. Perhaps we will find it out; perhaps not. But whether we do or not, I would take Deering’s word.”

“Doubtless you are right. His grandfather was the same sort of hot-headed chivalrous youth, always in trouble, always refusing to clear himself if there were a shadow of doubt as to involving some one else. Nevertheless, this business is to be probed to the bottom, and I shall be inclined to expel the offenders without mercy. Come, boys, get to bed now; come to see me in the morning. You too, Morris. Good-night. I don’t know when a case of discipline has given me so much distress.”

When they were gone, Morris crossed over to Deering’s room, and tapped on the door. Receiving no reply, he opened it and walked in. As he found no one in the study, he went into the bedroom, and there he discovered Tony lying on the bed, shaken by a storm of sobs. Carroll was sitting by his side, with his arms around him, trying to get some explanation of his distress.

Reggie looked up at the master. “What is the trouble, Mr. Morris? I can’t get a word from Tony.”

Morris explained in a few sentences what had happened.

“But, sir—he gave his word?”

“I know, I know,” exclaimed the master. “I believe him absolutely, but I am afraid there is a strong evidence against him that he will have to explain to the Head.”

“But the Doctor must know that he is telling the truth. I never knew him to misjudge a boy.”

“Even so—but whether he believes him or not, the Head is forced to probe the matter. He cannot accept Tony’s refusal to speak, and you must admit, Reggie, the letter, the check and the memorandum are pretty strong evidence.”

Carroll paled, but he met the master’s gaze firmly. “I can explain that, sir. The memorandum was made out to a boy who has the same initials as Tony. I left the check which Tony had paid me in the memorandum-book by mistake.”

“You—Reginald!”

“Yes, yes—I have been playing poker there all this term, or at least for a good part of it. Is it too late to go and tell the Doctor?”

“No, I think not; I believe he would like to know to-night.”

Without a word Carroll rose up and left them.

Morris sat down then on the edge of the bed by Deering’s side, and tried to calm him, making him understand at last what Reggie had done. Then he persuaded him to undress; and waited until he had got into bed; then, with a quiet good-night, he turned out the lights and left him alone.

The Doctor’s study contained a door which gave directly upon the campus, so that the boys had easy access to him without the formality of going to the front door of the Rectory and sending their names in by a servant. When the Doctor was busy and did not wish to be disturbed, he placed a little sign in the window to that effect. There was no such sign as Reggie stood in the snow outside, at the foot of the few steps that led to the study door. The window-shades were up and Carroll could see the Doctor standing before the fire—a characteristic attitude—his brows knit in perplexity. The boy’s heart went to his throat, for like every Deal boy the Doctor’s good opinion was what secretly he coveted intensely. But there was only a moment’s hesitation before he went up boldly and tapped at the door.

The Head Master was surprised to see him at that hour of the night, and waited a little gravely for his explanation.

Carroll made his confession in a few words, stating the case against himself baldly and without a word of palliation. “I have to say, sir,” he concluded, “that I have only come to you to save Deering, who has had absolutely nothing to do with the affair, and who told you the entire truth. I could not sleep, sir, if I thought you doubted his honor. Why, sir——”

“Yes, Reginald, I agree with all that you can say about Deering. I have persistently believed in the boy despite the seemingly strong evidence against him. I am glad you have set me right there. As for yourself, you know that you have behaved badly, and I feel your conduct deeply. But I think you are atoning for it now in the sacrifice you are making for your friend. I do not want to know the names of your companions in this gambling episode, but I want to feel that I may count on you from this moment to make an effort to have it stopped.... Make no promises, but give me reason to keep my trust in you from now on.”

He extended his hand. “Good-night now; tell Deering to come to me after Chapel to-morrow morning.”

“Good-night, sir,” said Carroll with a thick voice, as he grasped the Doctor’s hand.