Ben Stone at Oakdale

“Hello, Stoney, old fel; what ju doin’? Thought mebbe I could ketch a pick’rel or two here in the cove.”

Although Ben had not found Spotty’s friendship wholly unwelcome, he was now far from pleased by the chap’s appearance. It was too late to get away, however, and so he waited until Davis, paddling straight in, grounded the punt upon a bit of gravelly beach and sprang out. Pilot regarded the stranger doubtfully, growling a little.

“Say, who’s your friend, Stoney?” inquired Spotty, advancing unhesitatingly. “Gee! what an ugly lookin’ dog!” he added, with a derisive grin. “Don’t let him chaw me up, will ye?”

“Down, Pilot! Be still!” commanded Jerry. And, although he obeyed, the dog continued to regard Davis with suspicious eyes.

“This is my brother Jerry,” explained Ben. “He arrived in Oakdale last night. Jerry, this is one of my friends, Tim Davis.”

“Your brother, hey?” said Spotty, taking the thin hand Jerry held forth. “Say, what’s the matter with his blinkers? They look awful funny.”

“He’s blind,” explained Ben in a low tone.

“Sho! Can’t see nothin’? Jerusalem! that’s tough. Can’t he really see nothin’ at all?”

“As far as sight is concerned, he can’t distinguish daylight from darkness.”

“Whew!” breathed Spotty, sitting down and staring at Jerry. “I never see nobody like that before. You never told me about him, Ben; you’ve never said much of anything about your folks.”

“I thought possibly you had heard some stories from Bern Hayden.”

“Well, not much; he just sorter knocked you, and I s’posed that was ’cause he was sore on you. Say, I guess you proved that you could play football yesterday. Bern didn’t have much on you in that game. Wasn’t it tough I got knocked out? Them fellers kind of picked me out and soaked me. They’ve always had a grudge against me, them Clearporters. Last time I played baseball against them Harry Hutt spiked me, and that put me out of the game, too. Eliot he was mad, ’cause he said I wasn’t hurt so bad I couldn’t play; and I s’pose he was mad yesterday, too. He’s awful stiff-necked sometimes; but you certainly got on his soft side through what you done for his sister, and I guess he’d back you up in anything. He brought Hayden to terms all right when Bern tried to force you off the team by gettin’ the fellers to quit. I wish you’d heard a few things Bern had to say yesterday ’cause Roger invited you to ride home in the automobile.”

“I’m decidedly glad I didn’t hear them,” returned Ben. “All I ask is that Bern Hayden keeps away from me and lets me alone.”

“He didn’t like it much when some of the fellers said we couldn’t ever won that game only for you. That was a hard pill for him to swaller. He’s always used me all right, in a way, though I know he thinks he’s better’n I am ’cause his father’s got the dough. I don’t think it’s right, either, for some folks to have so much money and other folks to have so little. Now there’s lots of things I’d like if I only had the chink to buy ’em. Look a’ the rotten old fishin’ tackle I’ve got in that bo’t; if I had money I’d buy an elegant jointed rod, a triple action reel, a silk line, and any amount of hooks and flies and baits. How long is your brother goin’ to stay?” Spotty concluded suddenly with that question.

“I – I don’t know about that,” faltered Ben. “We haven’t quite decided. Isn’t it pretty late in the season for fish to bite?” he asked, seeking to turn the drift of conversation.

“Guess ’tis,” admitted Davis. “I ain’t had a bite. We can generally ketch pick’rel pretty late, though.”

Ben rose and assisted Jerry to his feet. “I think we’ll go back,” he said.

“What’s your hurry?” asked Davis. “It’s kinder comf’table here. The wind don’t cut into this cove, and the sun’s warm.”

But they left him, and, after they had passed through the grove and were recrossing the open field beyond, Jerry said: “Somehow, I don’t like your friend, Ben. There’s something about his voice and the way he talks that I don’t like.”

“Oh, I reckon he’s a harmless fellow, and he was one of the first in Oakdale to be really friendly toward me; I can’t forget that.”

When they reached the house they learned that Roger Eliot had been there asking for them.

“He seemed real disapp’inted,” said the widow. “P’raps y’u’d better walk ’round to his house an’ see him.”

But it was late and growing dark, and Ben decided not to call on Roger that night.

Stone appeared at school the following day wearing a gravely troubled face, which led Eliot to question him, and he was on the point of telling Roger everything and asking his advice when several other boys came up and the opportunity was lost. All day long Ben’s mind dwelt on the perplexing problem, and gradually he came to believe there was only one solution; he must give up school, leave Oakdale, and find a job of some sort by which he could support himself and Jerry. It meant the shattering of all his plans, but he faced the alternative bravely, and even became a bit more relieved and cheerful when he had decided to accept it as the only thing that could be done.

When the boys came out for practice that afternoon neither Stone nor Hayden was with them. Spotty Davis was on hand, however, and, after a consultation with the coach, Roger called Spotty aside for the purpose of telling him as kindly as possible that he would be no longer needed upon the team.

Davis instantly showed his resentment and anger. Hayden, coming up, heard him shrilly saying:

“That’s all right, Mr. Eliot, you can fire me. I’ve seen other fellers knocked out in football games, and they wasn’t fired. Mebbe you’ll need me yet, and mebbe you won’t get me if you do.” With which he walked away and sat down alone on one of the lower rows of seats, his sly face wearing a sour expression of resentment and anger.

Practice was begun without Stone. In the midst of it he appeared, wearing his plain, homespun clothes, and called to the captain.

“Roger,” he said, “I can’t play football any more.”

Eliot uttered an exclamation of surprise. “Why not, Ben? What’s the matter now?”

“I told you my story some time ago; you’re the only one who has ever heard it from me. Uncle Asher, who took my blind brother to care for, is dead, and now someone must look after Jerry. I haven’t money enough to attend school and take care of him too, so I’m going to leave school. I must find work; I’ve settled on that.”

“Oh, say, that’s too bad, Stone, old chap! Now don’t be hasty; let’s think this matter over. Perhaps my father will do something for Jerry.”

Ben shook his head. “I couldn’t permit my brother to accept charity, Roger; I thank you very much for the generous thought, but I’ve made up my mind. I’ve left the suit you loaned me, and everything else, in the gym. Perhaps I’ll see you again to-morrow before we leave Oakdale. I couldn’t practice to-night if I wanted to, for Jerry is all alone. I went to see him after school was over and tell him my decision; that’s why I wasn’t here promptly. Don’t say anything to the rest of the fellows now. I’d like to bid them all good-by, but I don’t want to do so here at this time.”

Roger found it useless to advance argument, and finally Ben departed, watched by the eyes of Hayden, who had sauntered past in time to catch a few words of the conversation.

Five minutes later Hayden excused himself and left the field in the wake of Spotty Davis, who was finally going away in a sullen and resentful frame of mind.

Stone went down into the village to purchase a pair of shoes for Jerry, whose footwear was almost wholly gone to the uppers. In his timidity the blind boy had remained all day long in that room at Mrs. Jones’, again beset by fear that the pursuers he dreaded might find him; and he was even unwilling to be seen in the village with his brother.

Ben spent some time selecting the shoes, for he wished to get a stout and serviceable pair at a moderate price, which was no easy matter. Having made the purchase at last, he was on the point of leaving when the shopkeeper said:

“There was a man here in town a while ago asking for a boy by your name, only the front part of his name was Jerry instead of Ben, and the man said he was blind.”

For a moment Ben’s heart ceased to beat. “How long ago was that?” he asked huskily.

“Oh, less than an hour, I guess. He’d just struck town, and he’s gone over to the hotel for supper.”

Ben ran all the way back to Mrs. Jones’ house. At the door he met Spotty Davis, who had just come down the back stairs.

Davis seemed a trifle startled. “Hello, Ben!” he exclaimed. “I just dropped round to see ye. Found your brother all alone. Saw you wasn’t practicin’ to-night, and sorter wondered what the matter was. You know, Eliot he’s fired me. What do you think of that? I didn’t believe he’d do it.”

“I can’t stop to talk with you, Spotty,” said Ben; “I’m in a great hurry. Excuse me, will you?”

“Sure,” said Davis, with great willingness, as he passed on.

At the gate Davis paused an instant to glance back; but Ben had disappeared, and Spotty scudded away into the gathering twilight.

CHAPTER XXV.

FLIGHT

Ben mounted the stairs in haste. “Here, Jerry,” he said, “let me try these shoes on you. Let’s see if they fit.” His hands trembled a bit as he removed the remnants of the shoes the blind boy had worn and tried the others upon Jerry’s feet. “How do they feel?” he asked, as he hastened to lace them.

“All right,” was the answer. “But what’s the matter, Ben? You’re panting and excited. Has anything happened?”

“I’ve been hurrying,” said Ben evasively.