Ben Stone at Oakdale

“That’s right, old fellow,” assured Roger, his face lighted by that rare smile as he placed his hands on Stone’s shoulders. “A man is never down and out till he loses heart and gives up. I’ve seen you play football, and you’re a good fighter at that; be a good fighter at this, and you’ll win.”

Their hands met again, and once more Eliot’s firm, friendly grip imparted some of his own optimism and strength. They left Ben feeling greatly heartened and encouraged.

“Roger is right,” he said after a time; “the fellow who knows he’s right and quits isn’t worthy to come out on top.”

As night was coming on Mrs. Jones brought a huge steaming bowl of lamb stew, and with it more words of cheer. Ben ate the stew, every bit of it. The window above his prison door he left open to admit air when he finally lay down upon the hard bunk. Occasional sounds from the village drifted in upon him. Once he heard some of the boys calling to one another. He had uttered a prayer for Jerry, and the sleep that came to him at last was full and peaceful, unbroken by dreams.

Nevertheless, he awoke suddenly, fancying that he was dreaming; for to his ears floated the sound of a violin, on which someone was playing the tune that had so moved him as he was beginning his flight from Oakdale, “Home, Sweet Home.” For a few moments he lay listening like one in a trance. Then he leaped up, stumbled against his chair, seized it, felt his way in the darkness to the door, placed the chair and mounted it, till, grasping the iron bars above, he could peer out through the grating.

A thin, pale moon was in the sky, and by its light he saw beneath his door the little lad who was drawing that plaintive melody from the old fiddle. At the feet of the player sat a small dog.

“Oh, Jerry,” cried Ben – “Jerry, Jerry!”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

ON TRIAL

The trial of Ben Stone had begun. It was held in the Town Hall, which proved none too large to hold comfortably the surprising number of curious persons who flocked thither; for in any small country town that is somewhat removed from larger places those inhabitants who can spare the time to do so seldom fail to attend such an affair, which provides for their more or less uneventful lives a certain sort of entertainment and a topic out of the ordinary for discussion. On this occasion they had almost completely filled the seats in the hall, staring at the judge, the lawyers, the witnesses and the prisoner, and filling the room with a suppressed hum of comment until called to order.

The clerk had done his part, the case had been stated, and Lawyer Frances, representing the prosecution, had made his opening, telling plainly and concisely what he would attempt to prove. A part of the stolen property – all that had been recovered – together with some other articles in evidence, could be seen on a table at the judge’s elbow. The prisoner sat at one side, with his counsel, Lawyer Marsh, near him. His face was calm; but it was not an attractive face, and more than one, gazing at it, had whispered to a neighbor that he looked like a thief. It is remarkable how quickly most persons may fancy they can perceive criminal indications in the features of any one charged with crime and placed under arrest.

Not far from Ben – as near as they would permit him – sat his blind brother, Jerry; and beside Jerry was seen Henry Bailey, the man from whom the afflicted boy had hidden repeatedly in his flight, after his uncle’s death. Bailey was a harmless, kindly-appearing person, who showed the greatest interest in every move of the trial, and who more than once was seen to speak a few low words in a seemingly reassuring manner into the ear of Jerry Stone. Pilot, the faithful, lay on the floor at Jerry’s side.

Of course Bern Hayden was on hand, and his father also. Bern was with the witnesses, but Mr. Hayden sat back, watching and listening in cold and distant satisfaction. The other witnesses were William Pickle, Roger Eliot, Sleuth Piper, and Spotty Davis, the last mentioned displaying a great deal of uneasiness, which at times amounted almost to fear.

The first person called upon was the deputy sheriff, who, questioned by Lawyer Frances, stated that upon the previous night he was at Stickney’s store shortly after supper, where Bern Hayden found him and told him that there had been a robbery, adding the request that he should at once find Ben Stone, whom Hayden suspected, and search him. In company with Bern, Pickle had gone to the house of Mrs. Jones and obtained admission to the room of the suspected lad, only to discover that the room was empty, and, from indications, that Ben and his brother had made hasty flight.

“Go on, officer,” urged Lawyer Frances. “What did you do then?”

“At young Hayden’s request I searched the place,” said Pickle. “Under the straw tick of the bed I found two watches, two rings, and some money, amounting to purty nigh ten dollars.”

“Are these the watches and the rings?” questioned the lawyer, handing the articles to the witness for inspection.

“Yep,” nodded Pickle positively, “them’s they. I looked them over, and I’m reddy to swear they’re the ones.”

“And the money here – ”

“I wouldn’t swear to that; but they was a five dollar bill, a two dollar bill, and quite a lot of coin.”

“Did you find anything else?”

“Yep; a letter – that is, a sort of a letter, writ in lead pencil and apparently scratched off in a mighty hurry.”

“Is this it?” The sheet on which Ben had written his hasty farewell to Mrs. Jones was taken from the table and handed to the deputy sheriff for inspection.

“Sartin, that’s it,” declared the officer. “I read the most of it, though part was scrawled so that I couldn’t make it out.”

“Your Honor,” said the prosecuting attorney, “the chirography is that of a person writing in great haste, and therefore somewhat difficult to read. I am sure, however, that I can read it; and with your permission I will do so.”

The judge gave consent, and Mr. Frances read the note slowly and distinctly, placing particular emphasis on certain phrases. Listening, Ben Stone was astounded and almost appalled as he realized that to most persons that brief note must sound like a confession of guilt.

Pickle went on to tell how, urged by Bern Hayden and his father, he had set out at once to trace the fugitives, and had finally succeeded, through the discovery of the blind boy’s little dog, in apprehending Ben some miles beyond Barville.

“Course,” concluded the officer, “we give the feller warnin’ that anything he said might be used as evidence ag’in’ him, and I ruther guess he kept it in mind; for, ’though we talked with him considerable on the way back to Oakdale, he didn’t make no slip-ups, and he pertended all the time not to know nothin’ at all ’bout the robbery. I says to Constable Hubbard, says I, ‘He’s a slick critter, an – ’”

“Never mind that,” interrupted Judge Trueworthy. “Your opinions of the prisoner’s conduct are not desired.”

“’Scuse me, Your Honor,” said William Pickle.

That was all; with a gesture Lawyer Marsh signified that he did not wish to cross-question the officer, and Pickle sat down.

Bern Hayden was called next, and as he rose Ben Stone’s hand involuntarily went up to his mutilated ear, while his pale face became, if possible, a shade more pallid. He kept his eyes unflinchingly on Bern, who, after a single look in his direction, turned his gaze aside.

Bern told his story without hesitation. Chancing to overhear Stone bidding Eliot good-by at the football field, an impulse had led him to leave the field and follow the fellow. Having seen Ben proceed directly into the village, however, he had returned to the field and practiced with the team until it became too dark for further work. With the others he had gone into the gymnasium, where two lockers, his and Eliot’s, had been discovered broken open and rifled. He had lost his watch, two rings, and some money, nearly eight dollars, which he had left in his own locker. He then identified one of the watches and both of the rings as belonging to him, further stating that the money left by him in his locker was a five dollar bill, a two dollar bill, and change which must have amounted to nearly a dollar and a half. Knowing Ben Stone as he did, he had suspected him at once, and therefore he went in search of the deputy sheriff, whom he had some difficulty in finding. He had been on hand when Pickle searched Stone’s room, and had seen the officer uncover the stolen property and take possession of Ben’s note of farewell to Mrs. Jones.

Bern having finished, Lawyer Marsh cross-questioned him.

“Hayden,” said the lawyer, “you were acquainted with Benjamin Stone ere you came here to Oakdale, were you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You knew him, I believe, in Hilton, his native town?”

“I did, sir.”

“And, if I am not misinformed, you had some trouble with him there, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“Was not this trouble of a somewhat serious nature – a personal encounter between you and Stone, which led you to entertain the most intense feelings of animosity toward him?”

“I object, Your Honor,” cried Lawyer Frances. “I can’t see what this has to do with the present case.”

“Your Honor,” beamed Marsh placidly, “I propose to establish that this feeling of animosity which young Hayden entertained toward Stone has a great deal to do with the case. I propose to show a motive on Hayden’s part which might lead him into an effort to injure my client.”

“Go on,” said the judge. “Objection overruled.”

The lawyer repeated the question, and, after a bit of hesitation, Hayden answered:

“We had a fight in Hilton, but even before that I had no use for Stone. He was a cheap, ruffianly fellow, and nobody thought anything of him in that town. His father – ”

“Never mind that,” interrupted Marsh sharply. “Answer my questions, that’s all. You admit a feeling of dislike for Stone?”

“Nobody ever liked him – before he came here; and he wouldn’t have had any friends here if, by accident, he hadn’t – ”

“We’ll cut that out also. Is it not true that on finding Stone in this town you exerted your utmost efforts to turn your schoolmates against him and to force him out of school? Did you not induce your father to go to Principal Richardson of the academy for the purpose of urging him to turn Benjamin Stone out?”

Unable to restrain himself longer, Lemuel Hayden sprang up, crying: