Left End Edwards

"Certainly, sir."

"I'll get out, Mr. Daley," said Tom, rising.

"Er—well, if you don't mind, Hall; just for a minute. Thank you so much."

Tom went out, closing the door behind him, and Mr. Daley cleared his throat.

"Will you sit down, sir?" asked Steve.

"Er—thanks, yes, just for a minute. I—er—I believe you called this evening when I was out, Edwards."

"Yes, sir, about eight."

"Yes, yes. Sorry I was not in. I wonder if—if you happened to see a blue-book on my table when you were there, Edwards."

"Yes, sir, there was one there," replied Steve after an instant's hesitation.

"Ah, then Upton was not mistaken. He says he left one. Unfortunately, I am not able to find it, Edwards. You—er—you don't happen to know where it is, Edwards?"

"I, sir!" Steve's tone was incredulous. "Why, no, Mr. Daley. It was on the table when I left, and–"

"Er—just a moment!" Mr. Daley held up a hand, smiling nervously. "I don't mean to suggest that you carried the book off intentionally, Edwards, but it occurred to me that possibly you might have—er—taken it up by mistake, absentmindedly, so to say, and—er—brought it up here with you."

"No, sir, I didn't." Steve looked at the instructor questioningly. "I don't see why you'd imagine that, sir, either."

"Er—well, I knew—that is, someone told me that you were in my room, Edwards, and I thought—that possibly—quite by accident—you had—er–"

"I was in your room, Mr. Daley, and I waited two or three minutes for you; maybe longer; and the blue-book was on the table when I went in and it was there when I came out."

"You—you had a blue-book in your hand, however, did you not, when you—er—left?"

"A blue-book? No, sir."

"Oh! That is strange, Edwards. You are certain you didn't take down a blue-book of your own and bring it back again?"

"Absolutely sure, sir."

"But—er—someone saw you leave my room, Edwards, with a blue-book in your hand."

Steve flushed and his voice held an angry tremor as he answered: "Someone was mistaken, Mr. Daley, whoever he was. Seems to me, sir, if the book is missing, you'd better ask that 'someone' about it."

"Um; yes; maybe." Mr. Daley blinked embarrassedly. "I—er—I thought that perhaps you had brought down your French composition and had possibly, in leaving, taken up Upton's book with your own by mistake. You—er—you're quite sure that didn't happen, Edwards?"

"I'm positive, because I haven't done my composition, sir."

"Haven't done it?"

"No, sir," replied Steve a trifle defiantly.

"But—er—it's pretty late, and you know they are to be handed in to-morrow, Edwards. You are having trouble with it?"

"I—I haven't started it yet. I—I just can't do it, Mr. Daley. I never could do original things like that. That's why I went down to see you. I wanted to ask if you'd let me have a couple more days for it. You see, sir, I've been having a pretty hard time with Latin, and—and there hasn't been any time for the composition, sir."

"I see." Mr. Daley viewed Steve dubiously. "I'm sorry, Edwards. I'm afraid you are not—er—trying very hard to accomplish your work these days."

"I am trying, sir, but—but the Latin—" Steve hesitated. "Mr. Simkins is awfully hard on me, Mr. Daley, and–"

"And I am not?" Mr. Daley smiled sadly. "And so you thought you'd trust to my—er—good-nature, eh? Really, Edwards, you are asking a good deal, you know. You've had nearly ten days for that composition; a scant twelve hundred words on any subject you liked; and it seems to me that if you had really wanted to do it you could have found the time. I don't want to be hard on you, but—er—I'm afraid I shall have to insist on your handing in that composition not later than to-morrow noon. I have been very lenient with you, Edwards, very. You—er—you must see that yourself. But—er—this sort of thing can't go on all the term. You really must get down to work."

"If I could have another day for it," begged Steve, "I could get it done, sir."

"You have had ten days already; to be exact, nine and a half, Edwards. I don't think I should make any exception in your case. I'm sorry."

Steve stared at his shoes, a somewhat mutinous expression on his face. After a moment, "It isn't fair to say I'm not trying," he broke out. "I am trying, but things are too hard here. They ask too much work of a fellow. Why, if I was to get B's in all my courses I'd have to study eight hours a day! A fellow wants to do something beside stick in his room and grind, Mr. Daley. He wants to get out and—and play sometimes. If you're on the football team you don't have any time in the afternoons and then, when evening comes, you're tired and sleepy."

"But you have time between recitations in the morning, Edwards, to do some studying, do you not? Other boys manage to both work and play. Why can't you? Look at your room-mate. I believe that he is—er—on one of the football teams. He seems to get his lessons fairly well. I presume that he has written his composition?"

"Yes, sir."

"Of course. It is probably here somewhere." Mr. Daley's eyes inspected the pile of books at his elbow, and the corner of a blue-book met his gaze. "This is doubtless it." He drew it forth. "It doesn't look such a herculean task, Edwards. Here are seven pages, rather more than required, I'd say, and–"

Mr. Daley ceased abruptly, and, after a moment, Steve, who had been gloomily regarding the floor, looked across. The instructor was observing him strangely.

"Do you know whose book this is, Edwards?" he asked.

"I suppose it's Tom's. It isn't mine," he added moodily.

"It is Carl Upton's."

"Carl–" Steve stared bewilderedly.

"It seems that you must have—er—taken it after all, Edwards."

"But I didn't, sir! Tom will tell you that–"

He faltered, and a puzzled look came into his eyes as he regarded the book in the instructor's hand.

"Well, really, Edwards,"—Mr. Daley spoke lightly, but his countenance was grave—"you mustn't expect me to put it down to a miracle. If you didn't put the book here on your table, who did? Unless Hall knows something about it? Was he in my study this evening?"

There was a bare instant of hesitation. Then, "No, sir," replied Steve steadily.

"Er—you are sure? He might have called on me when you were out."

"We were together all the evening, Mr. Daley."

"Then–" The instructor cleared his throat nervously.

"I guess—I guess it's up to me, sir," said Steve.