Dick Randall Part 6

Half an hour later the unfortunates who took English Thirteen a.s.sembled in the upper hall. It was d.i.c.k's first examination of importance since he had been in the school, and he felt extremely nervous. His mouth was dry; his heart was pounding against his ribs.

To divert his mind he looked around the room to see where his friends were seated. Brewster and Putnam were far away, across the room.

Lindsay was three seats to his right. Dave Ellis was in the next seat, on his left, and Allen was stationed directly behind Ellis.

The nine o'clock bell rang, and Mr. Fenton mounted the platform. "Now, boys," he said cheerfully, "just a word, before we begin. This paper, for the period which it covers, is fully as hard as the average of the college entrance examinations. Yet, as a test, it is a perfectly fair one, in every way; an honest attempt to find out how much you know of the course. There are no catch questions, or anything of that sort. So go to work in good earnest. Read the paper through from beginning to end before you touch pencil to paper; don't lose your heads; take your time in thinking out your answers. And if there are questions which you _can't_ answer, they will at least show you where your weak points are, before the final examinations next spring."

A minute later, the last paper had been distributed. d.i.c.k read the questions through, slowly and deliberately, as the master had suggested, and then drew a long breath of relief. It was a "fair"

paper, as Mr. Fenton had said; none too easy, but to a boy who had taken an interest in the course, and had kept up with references and outside reading, one almost certain to be pa.s.sed, and to be attacked with real interest and enthusiasm. Allen and he had prepared for the examination together, and d.i.c.k saw more than one question where his cla.s.smate's devotion to his "old poets," as Jim Putnam called them, was now to serve him in good stead. For the better part of an hour, he wrote steadily; and then, with the easier questions out of the way, used greater deliberation in answering those which remained.

Once or twice, as d.i.c.k glanced up from his work, he noticed, half abstractedly, that Ellis, on his left, was sitting always in the same position, gazing straight before him at his paper, without writing a word. And then, a little later, as he was about to begin on the question next the last, a faint cough from his neighbor, three or four times repeated, attracted his attention. He looked up from his book, and the next instant a little ball of paper came spinning along the bench, so well aimed that it stopped just at the left of his examination book, lying almost within his grasp. d.i.c.k hesitated for a moment, leaned forward a trifle, unfolded the pellet, and read. At the top, three times underlined, were the words, "Help, please," and then, underneath, "Who wrote _Barry Lyndon?_ When was Fielding born? Did Trollope write _The Moonstone?_" Below each question Ellis had left a little s.p.a.ce for the answer.

d.i.c.k felt himself flush, almost as if he himself had been detected in something wrong. With a quick movement, he thrust the telltale slip into his pocket; then waiting until he caught Ellis' eye, he frowned slightly, shook his head in decided negative, and bent again to his task.

He finished the paper some twenty minutes before the time had expired, re-read his answers with care, and made up his mind that no matter what his mark would be, he had at least done as well as he could. He sat back in his chair, and looked around him. Most of the boys were still hard at work. And then, as his glance fell upon his neighbor, he gave an involuntary start of surprise. Ellis was writing busily, as if his very life depended on it, yet even as d.i.c.k looked, he saw him pause, and tug gently at his left sleeve with the fingers of his right hand. Gradually, he pulled a long slip of paper into view, studied it carefully for a moment, then relaxed his hold, and the paper, evidently fastened to an elastic of some sort, slid smoothly back again out of sight. d.i.c.k looked quickly away, a feeling of disgust overcoming him. He had heard of such things, but this was the first time he had seen actual cheating taking place before his very eyes.

Ten minutes later the bell clanged, papers and books were gathered up, and the test was over.

The mid-years lasted for a week; at the end of that time the results were made known. d.i.c.k did fully as well as he had expected. Out of a total of seven subjects, he had one A, three B's, two C's, and one D.

Harry Allen topped the list with five A's and two B's; Brewster did a trifle better than d.i.c.k; Putnam and Lindsay not quite so well. But the surprise of the whole affair was Ellis' good showing. It was nothing brilliant, compared with the records of the really fine scholars in the cla.s.s, but he did far better than any one had supposed he would do, and in those subjects where memory played an important part, his marks were fully equal to the average. Thus all doubts of his being eligible for the spring games were removed, and Brewster, as captain of the track team, heaved a sigh of relief that this anxiety was off his mind.

d.i.c.k found himself unable to share in Brewster's pleasure. The thought of that strip of paper, and those cautious fingers pulling it gently downward, rankled in his mind. He wondered what a fellow ought to do in such a case. He ought not to tell tales, of course; that wasn't right; and yet--it was such a downright, dirty trick on Ellis'

part--such a sailing under false colors--

And then, one morning, he found his perplexities increased. In the excitement of the mid-years, he had forgotten another matter of importance, and now, on the bulletin in the hall, appeared the notice that in a fortnight the election for cla.s.s president would be held.

Only two names were put in nomination--those of Dave Ellis and of Harry Allen--and suddenly d.i.c.k felt his doubts increase. Ought he to keep silence, after all? It was a mean thing to tell on a fellow--he had always known that--but on the other hand, where could you draw the line. If he saw a man commit a murder, he would certainly tell the authorities. There was a duty in both directions, it seemed. And so he thought and thought, until finally, on one rainy afternoon, he gathered his four most intimate friends--Allen, Putnam, Brewster and Lindsay--together in his room, and proceeded to unburden his mind.

"Look here, you chaps," he began, "I want your advice. This is my first year in the school, and the last thing I want to do is to b.u.t.t in, or to make a nuisance of myself. But I'm in a mix-up about this business of cla.s.s president, and I want to put the thing up to you fellows, and see what you think of it. Of course, I'm with Harry, as you all know, just as the rest of you are, but we're not the school--I'm afraid, this time, we're not even a majority of the school--and I suppose the chances are all in favor of Dave's getting it."

Allen nodded. "Sure thing," he replied, "I think I know the sentiment pretty well. There are forty-two fellows in the cla.s.s, who are ent.i.tled to vote, and I should say that just about twenty-five were for Dave, and seventeen were for me. Of course you never can tell, for sure, until the last vote is counted, but I guess that's a pretty fair estimate. What do you fellows say?" and he turned to Putnam, Lindsay and Brewster.

"That's about it, I think," Putnam answered, and the others nodded a.s.sent.

"Well, then," d.i.c.k continued, "here's the question. In the first place, Dave Ellis isn't a fit fellow to be president of the cla.s.s. I know it, for a fact. A cla.s.s president is supposed to represent the school; it's really the highest honor the cla.s.s can give; and the fellow we elect, whatever else people might find to say about him, ought at least to be square. Now, I'll admit that I'm prejudiced against Dave, because he rather rubbed it into me when I came here first, and it didn't make things any too agreeable, for a while. But that's got nothing at all to do with what I'm telling you now. This is something more than prejudice. Dave isn't on the square, and I can prove it. He cheated in the English Thirteen exam."

There was a chorus of surprised e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. Allen alone said nothing.

And then Brewster asked, "How, d.i.c.k? Are you sure? That's a pretty serious charge to make against a fellow, if you can't back it up."

But d.i.c.k seemed in nowise disposed to retract what he had said. "Oh, I can back it up, all right," he answered. "First, he threw me a note, asking for help. And after that I saw him pull a paper out of his sleeve--you know the kind I mean, the ones they fasten to an elastic--and he was cribbing his answers from that. I saw him as plainly as I ever saw anything in my life. I'd swear to it, on my oath. There's no doubt of it at all."

There was a long silence. Then d.i.c.k spoke again. "Well," he asked, "what ought I to do? What ought we to do, rather? Because it's up to you fellows now, just as much as it is to me. You represent the element that stands right back of Mr. Fenton here in the school.

What's the best way to act? We can't go to Mr. Fenton, of course; that would be a kid trick; worse than what Dave did. But oughtn't we to tell the fellows? Isn't it only fair, if they want to elect him president, to let them know first what kind of fellow they're picking out to represent the cla.s.s? Or ought we to go to Dave himself, before we do anything else, and tell him that if he'll withdraw from the election, and promise not to cheat again, we'll keep our mouths shut on the whole thing? I don't know. I've thought about it a lot. People always tell you to do what's right, but they forget to explain how you're going to know what is right, and what's wrong. So I've come to you fellows to help me out. Now what do you say?"

There was a little silence before Brewster spoke out impulsively, "I vote we tell the whole school. It isn't right that a thing like that should happen, and a fellow get away with it. It's a downright dirty trick, I think. I move we tell the whole crowd, right away."

Putnam shook his head. "No," he objected; "that would be foolish. It's the worst mistake you can make to blaze ahead too quick, before you've figured out the things that may happen. Suppose Dave denies the whole business, what then?"

d.i.c.k's cheeks flamed. "Why, Jim," he cried; "you don't think I'm lying, do you? You don't mean to say you doubt my word?"

Putnam smiled. "Of course I don't, d.i.c.k," he answered. "I know you too well for that. But I was thinking of what I've heard my father say, when he's been talking about his law cases. 'Put yourself in the other fellow's place,' is his great expression, 'and see what you'd do then.

That will help you in working up your side of the argument.' And that's a good idea, isn't it, Harry?"

Allen nodded. "Sure," he replied; "they do something like that in literary criticism. 'Playing the devil's advocate,' they call it.

Which means thinking up all the possible objections any one might make, and then going ahead and demolis.h.i.+ng them. Yes, that's a good principle to go on."

"Well, then," continued Putnam, "here's what occurs to me. Suppose we do as Ned says, and spread the story through the school. Some one of Dave's friends will come running to him with it right away, and what's Dave going to do then? What's to prevent him from saying that d.i.c.k is lying--that d.i.c.k's a friend of Harry's, and that this is all a dodge to get Harry elected? And if he does do that, then how does d.i.c.k stand? Dave's got an awful following here in the school, and there are some of the fellows, I'm afraid, who wouldn't care a great deal whether he cheated or not. They might consider it was rather a brave thing to try a dodge like that, and carry it through without the master seeing him. And even the decent fellows, who wouldn't stand for such a thing--what are they going to believe? It's Dave's word against d.i.c.k's and if they believe Dave, it puts d.i.c.k in an awful hole.

They're going to say, 'Here's a new boy in the school, who's trying to make all the trouble he can. And he picks out the best athlete we've got, and tries to blackmail him. That's an awfully mean trick, and we'll see that we make the school too hot to hold him?' What do you say to that, d.i.c.k?"

d.i.c.k looked a little staggered. "Well, I hadn't thought of anything like that," he reluctantly admitted. "I hated to mix up in this thing anyway; yet it didn't seem right to let it slide, without saying a word. And if you go through the world on your principle, Jim, you'll always be keeping quiet, unless you're sure you can prove what you set out to prove. And there are times, I should think, even when you know you're going down to defeat, where you would have to speak out, just because it's the right thing to do. At least, I should think that was what Mr. Fenton would say."

Lindsay, usually a boy of the fewest possible words, spoke up quickly.

"You're right, d.i.c.k," he said. "This is too important a thing for us to let go. Whether you get into trouble or not, isn't the point. It's a question of our duty to the school. Let's get Dave in here, now, and see how he acts. He may get scared, and own up to everything. If he doesn't, then we can make up our minds what we ought to do next. What say, Harry?"

Allen had been unusually silent, although listening with the keenest interest to all that was being said. Now he nodded. "I think that's a good idea," he said.

Lindsay rose. "Any objection?" he asked of the room in general. No one answered, and he went out, and a few moments later returned, bringing Ellis with him.

If the boy who was about to be accused had any suspicions of what was going to take place, he concealed them admirably. "Hullo, fellows," he said; "what's this gathering for? Track team, or crew?"

Lindsay, acting as spokesman, wasted no time in beating about the bush. "It's neither, Dave," he said at once, "it's a meeting on the cla.s.s presidency."

Ellis smiled. "Rather an Allen crowd, I guess," he remarked. "I don't see what you want _me_ for. I'm going to vote for myself, I'll tell you that now. So Harry needn't waste any politeness on me; he can vote for himself, too, and then we'll be square."

He had thrown himself back into a chair, perhaps a little too elaborately at his ease. Lindsay spoke again. "We're not here in Harry's interests, Dave," he said quietly, "we're here in the interests of the school. We believe you have the better chance of being elected president, but there's a matter that we should like to have explained. We want the president of the cla.s.s to be a fellow above suspicion in every way, and we want to ask you whether it is true that you were seen to cheat in the examination in English Thirteen?"

Ellis looked at him with well-a.s.sumed indignation. "I? Cheat?" he echoed; "well, I guess not. Who the devil dares to say such a thing as that about me? I'll punch his head for him."

Lindsay turned to Randall. "Fire away, d.i.c.k," he said.

d.i.c.k did not flinch, but looked Ellis squarely in the eye. "I was telling these fellows, Dave," he said, "that I didn't think you were the man to represent the cla.s.s as president. I've told no one else, but I've told them, in confidence, what you did in the English Thirteen exam. That you first asked me for help, and then cribbed from that paper up your sleeve--"

He got no further. Ellis leaped to his feet, his face white with wrath. "You liar!" he cried.

d.i.c.k in his turn started from his seat, his face as angry as Ellis'

own. "Hold on," he cried sternly. "I don't like that word, Dave. You'd better take that back."

Ellis sneered. "Not by a long shot," he answered, "that's what you are. And how you've got the nerve to start a story like that--"

d.i.c.k drew a little piece of paper from his pocket, and handed it to the boy he was accusing. "You didn't pa.s.s me that in the exam?" he demanded.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ellis leaped to his feet, with wrath]

Ellis' denial was almost too ready. "Of course I didn't," he flung back, "that's not my writing. I never saw the paper before. I never cheated in an examination in my life. You're playing dirty politics, Randall, to help Allen; that's what you're doing. But you can go ahead. It won't hurt me. I'll tell the story myself, to every boy in the school, and they can judge who's lying, and who isn't. You'd like to see me in a sc.r.a.pe, I guess, so you might have a chance at the Pentathlon, with me out of it. Oh, I'm on to you and your schemes--"

He was storming on, half beside himself with rage. But as he uttered the words, Allen looked quickly up at him, as if taking a sudden resolve. "Just a minute, Dave," he said. His tone was quiet, but there was that in his voice which made Ellis pause, half against his will.

"Well?" he queried, "what have you got to say?"

Allen turned to the others. "Fellows," he said, "this is a dirty business--the whole thing. It makes me sick and disgusted to be mixed up in it. But I've no choice now. I've kept my mouth shut, because, since I was running against Dave, it put me in rather a queer position, and I thought I'd better not speak. But now that Randall's good name is brought into it, I'll tell you what I know. Dave did cheat. I sat behind him in English Thirteen. I saw him write the note and pa.s.s it. I saw him use the paper up his sleeve. And he worked the same trick again in History Four." He swung around to Ellis. "Dave,"