by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER XXVI
THE CONFESSION.
Distracted, scarcely realizing what he did, with that terrible cry fromHooker's lips still ringing in his ears, Charley Shultz turned from theold quarry and limped away as fast as he could go. In his mind hecarried a dreadful picture of Roy Hooker, lying bleeding, battered anddead at the bottom of that great excavation, and for the time beingOsgood was wholly forgotten.
On his hands and knees, Charley crawled up the railroad embankment. Oneof his hands happening to touch a stout, crooked stick, about a yard inlength, he grasped and retained it instinctively. When the track wasreached, the stick served him for a cane as he hobbled away.
"It's awful--awful!" his dry, bloodless lips kept repeating. "And I'm toblame for it all! I'm the only one who is really to blame. I thoughtsome of the rest should help shoulder the load, but I was wrong. It's upto me; I can see that plainly enough at last. If I'd only seen it in thefirst place, perhaps--perhaps this terrible thing might not havehappened."
After a time he remembered Osgood, and halted, looking back toward thequarry.
"Why doesn't he come? Why is he staying there? He can't do anything now.Well, perhaps it's best that I should go it alone. That's what I oughtto do. No one else should be seen with me. I must face this thing bymyself. What will they do with me? I don't know and I don't care. All Iknow is that I can never, never forget, if I live to be a thousand yearsold."
His teeth set, he crippled onward, his ankle, if possible, causing himgreater distress than ever, though it seemed as a mere nothing comparedwith the anguish of his remorseful and repentant soul. Not once were theshooting pains sufficient to wring a whimper or a groan from him. Hismind was made up at last; he had decided what he would do, and he wasalmost fierce in his eagerness to do it before he should weaken orfalter.
The South Shore Road, approaching the railroad at one point, promised aneasier course to follow, and he abandoned the ties. Vaguely he wonderedwhat the hour could be, and looked for some sign of approaching dawn, asit seemed that the night must be far spent. To him that night hadstretched itself to the length of a lifetime. Into it had been crowdedexperiences which had wrought in this boy a complete change of heart. Inthe moulding of his character such experiences must indeed have apowerful effect.
Beyond the river, as he drew near the dam at the lower end of the lake,he could see a few lights still shining palely in the windows of thevillage. Little had he imagined, when he first came to this small,despised country town, that here he was to face the first great crisisof his life. Here, it now seemed, he had met with disaster that meanthis complete undoing.
The little railroad station on the southern side of the river was darkand deserted. Near it he halted again, tempted by the thought thatsomewhere around those black buildings he might hide until the firsttrain should pull out in the morning--might hide there, and, sneakingaboard that train at the last moment, succeed, after all, in making hisescape.
"But I won't do it!" he suddenly snarled. "I attempted to run away likea coward, and this is what I've come to. I won't try it again. I'll facethe music and pretend that I've got a little manhood left."
Beneath the span of the bridge the water flowed swift and silent, savefor a few faint whisperings and gurglings. Looking down at it, he drewaway from the railing, fearful that he might be tempted to leap and endit all. Had he been met at the foot of Main Street by officers, waitingto place him under arrest, he would not have been surprised, and wouldhave offered no resistance.
Once before upon this same night he had sneaked up Cross Street, andagain he followed the same course. Something like a powerful magnet nowseemed drawing him on, although as yet he but faintly realized that hewas moving toward Hooker's home as fast as he could.
The house was lighted in almost every room. In front of it he haltedagain, struggling weakly against that attracting force. In there wasRoy's mother--the mother of the boy he had destroyed--waiting distractedlyfor some tidings of her unfortunate son. How could he face her? Howcould he utterly crush her with the terrible truth?
As he faltered and wavered, he became aware that some one was coming upCross Street. In the silence, even at that distance, he heard the soundof footsteps.
"Some of the searchers--Roy's father, perhaps--returning to tell her thatthey have not found him. When they do find him--oh, when they do!"
Then he thought of another house, a modest little white cottage, fartherup the street. It was to that cottage that he should go, after all.There he would find the one to whom his confession should be made. Thisdecided on, he forced his stiff and swollen ankle to bear him a littlefarther, with the aid of the stick, which clumped upon the sidewalk ashe hobbled. There was a light in one of the windows of the cottage, thewindow of Professor Richardson's study. The professor was awake. He wasthere in his study, waiting for some news of Roy. Well, he should soonknow it all.
Shultz rang the door-bell, and barely had he done so when he heard someone hastening to answer. Through the sidelights of the door came thegleam of a lamp. A key turned in the lock, the door was flung open, andthe old professor, in dressing-gown and slippers, lamp in hand, stoodbefore Charley Shultz.
"What is it?" he eagerly asked, his voice hoarse and husky. "You've cometo tell me. They have found him?"
"I've come to tell you everything, professor," was the answer. "May Icome in? I'm ready to drop. I can't stand a minute longer."
"Come in, my boy--come in. Good gracious! you're in rags. You're lame!You're hurt!"
Having closed the door, the professor sought to aid his visitor tohobble into the study, which opened off the hall. In that room Shultzdropped heavily upon a chair, the stick, released by his nervelesshands, falling with a thud upon the rug.
"My goodness!" breathed the old man, staring aghast at the boy. "Youmust have been through a terrible experience. You're ghastly pale, andyour face is scratched and cut. What has happened to you?"
"Oh, I don't know how I can tell you! But I must, and I will. That's whyI came here. I should have told you long ago. You were right,professor--you were right when you said it was a cowardly thing for theone who was to blame to keep silent. I didn't understand then, but now Ido--now that it's too late!"
"Too late!" breathed Professor Richardson, intensely moved. "Too late!Do you mean that Roy is----"
"He's dead," said Shultz.
Groping for a chair, the old man grasped it and sank upon it.
"Dead!" he echoed, running his thin hands through the white locks uponhis temples. "This is terrible news, indeed! I've been hoping they wouldfind him and bring him back all right. It will be a dreadful blow to hispoor parents. How do you know? Are you sure--are you sure he's dead?"
"Yes, I'm sure. And I killed him!"
A few moments of absolute silence followed this declaration. Graspingthe arm of the chair, the professor leaned slowly forward, his lipsparted a bit, his eyes fastened upon the face of the boy. One hand waspartly extended as he whispered:
"You--you killed him? What are you saying, Charley Shultz? Are youcrazy?"
"No, no; but it's a wonder I'm not. Listen, professor, and I'll tell youthe whole story. It started over a game of cards. He accused me ofcheating. I struck him. I knocked him down. As he fell his head hitagainst a marble mantelpiece. That was what ailed him. No one else did athing, professor; no one else is to blame. They wanted me to tell, but Irefused. One fellow insisted that I should tell."
"But why didn't they tell, themselves?"
"Because they were afraid. Because they knew the disgrace and trouble itwould bring on them all. Besides, I was the one who did it, and I wasthe one who should have owned up to it."
"But you said--that Roy--was dead."
"So he is. Listen, and I'll tell you how I know. You shall have thewhole story."
Shultz told it all, holding nothing back save the names of the otherparticipants in that game of poker. He made no effort to shield himself,no attempt to justify himself, and there was no need t
o question him;for his story, although given in short, broken sentences, was vivid andcomplete. When he told at last of Hooker's blind plunge into the oldquarry, the listener groaned aloud.
"That's all, professor--that's all," Shultz concluded, in a manner thatbespoke his boundless contrition and utter resignation to consequences."You can see that it was I who killed him, and whatever my punishmentmay be, I deserve it."
"It's terrible!" said the old man solemnly. "It's the most terriblething that has ever come beneath my personal notice in all my life!"
In the hall the bell of a telephone began to ring, causing them both tostart nervously. Immediately the man rose to his feet.
"It must be a call from the Hooker's," he said. "I'm on the same partyline with them. Roy's mother must be ringing up to ask me if I've heardanything. How can I answer? What can I tell that poor woman?"
Shultz, sick with pain of body and mind, could make no reply to this.Slowly, reluctantly, the professor left the study to answer the phone.Listening, Shultz could hear his words:
"Hello.... Yes, this is Professor Richardson.... What's that? I don'tunderstand you.... Is that you, Mr. Hooker?... Yes, yes. What are youtelling me? Roy--Roy is----" His voice, husky and broken, became confused,and he seemed a bit incoherent. "Yes, yes," he went on more plainly. "Ithink--I think I understand.... Yes, I'll come down. Right away."
The receiver clicked upon the hook. Professor Richardson re-entered thestudy with a firm tread, stopped in front of the chair on which CharleyShultz still sat, and for a few silent moments gazed sternly at thecowering lad. Presently he said:
"The call was from Mr. Hooker. I'm going down there. You'll wait herefor me, while I get on my shoes and coat. Wait here. Do you understand?"
"Yes," answered Charley faintly.
During the few minutes while the professor was absent Shultz sat therenervously clasping and unclasping the fingers of his cold hands. For asingle moment, dreading what he might yet have to face upon thiseventful night, he thought of stealing from the house and hurrying away.Only for a fleeting moment, however, did he harbor that thought.
"Never!" he whispered savagely. "Whatever I must face I'll face. I'mdone with being a coward!"
The professor reappeared, wearing his overcoat. "Come," he said, andShultz lifted himself to his feet. In the hall the man secured his hat.They left the house, and Shultz managed to descend the front steps withthe aid of his stick. On the street the professor gave the boy an arm.
The door of the Hooker home was opened almost instantly at theirsummons.
"Come in," cried Roy's father; "come in, professor. Oh! you've some onewith you."
"Yes," replied the principal of the academy, "I brought Charley with mefor a most excellent reason, as you'll soon learn. He has hurt his ankleand is very lame."
In the sitting room Shultz staggered and nearly fell, for he suddenlyfound himself face to face with Ned Osgood.
"You?" he exclaimed in amazement. "You here? Then you've told themeverything!"
Osgood seized him, swept him off his feet and practically bore him intoanother room.
"Look, Charley!" he cried, pointing at a person who sat in the depths ofa big easy-chair, near which hovered Mrs. Hooker. "Here he is! He's allright now, too. He's all right, for he can talk and he remembers."
The person on the easy-chair was Roy Hooker!