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The High School Pitcher, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 5. Ripley Learns That The Piper Must Be Paid |
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_ CHAPTER V. RIPLEY LEARNS THAT THE PIPER MUST BE PAID Scammon, however, knew one person in Gridley whom he thought he could terrorize. He started in promptly to do it. At three the next afternoon young Scammon loitered under a big, bare oak on one of the winding, little-traveled streets that led from Gridley out into the open country beyond. In summer it was a favorite thoroughfare, especially for young engaged couples who wanted to loiter along the road, chatting and picking wild flowers. In winter, however, the place was usually deserted, being more than a mile out of the city. As Tip lingered he caught sight of haughty Fred Ripley coming down the road at a fast walk. Fred looked both angry and worried. Tip, as soon as he caught sight of the young fellow who imagined himself an "aristocrat," began to grin in his evil way. A dull, sullen, red fired Fred's cheeks when he caught sight of the one who was waiting for him. "Ye're most nearly on time," Tip informed the other. "See here, Scammon, what in blazes did you mean by sending me a note like the one I got from you" demanded Fred? Tip only grinned. "What did you mean, fellow?" Ripley insisted angrily. "I meant to get ye here, to let ye know what I had to say to ye," Scammon retorted. "Why, confound you, fellow---" Fred began, stuttering a bit, but the other cut in on him in short fashion. "None o' that to me, now, Fred Ripley. D'ye hear? Me an' you used to be pretty good pals, once on a time." At this charge, Fred winced very plainly. "And maybe we'll be pals, now, too," Tip pursued, with the air of one who believed himself to be able to dictate terms. "That is, for your sake, I hope we are, Ripley." "What are you talking about? What do you want to see me about? Come to the point in mighty few words," Ripley commanded, impatiently. "Well, now, first-off, last year, before I went away for my health---" Tip grinned in ghastly fashion 'ye hired me to do a certain job for ye. Right, so far, ain't I?" "Possibly," assented Fred, coldly. "Ye hired me to get hold of keys that could be used on one o' the High School locker rooms," Tip went on, cunningly. "Ye hired me to steal some stuff from the coats o' the young gents that study there. Then ye hired me to break inter Dick Prescott's room and get the loot inter his trunk. Right, ain't I?" Tip spoke assertively, making no effort to keep his voice low. "For goodness' sake don't shout it all over four counties," protested Fred Ripley, glancing apprehensively about him. His face was paler, now, from uneasiness. "Oh, I ain't afraid about anyone hearing me," Tip went on, unconcernedly. "D'ye know why, Fred, my boy? Because I done my stretch for the trick, and there ain't nuthin' more comin' to me on that score. If _you're_ 'fraid, jest go an' do yer stretch, like I did, an' then ye won't care who hears or knows!" Tip laughed cunningly. Fred's face darkened. He squirmed, yet found himself afraid to show anger. "So I dropped ye that note, tellin' ye to come here at three this aft'noon," Scammon continued. "I told ye I hoped ye'd find it convenient to come, an' hinted that if ye didn't, ye might wish later, that ye had." "I'm here," retorted the Ripley heir. "Now, what do you want to say to me?" "I'm broke," Tip informed Ripley, plaintively. "Stony! Understand? I hain't got no money." "You don't expect me to furnish you with any?" demanded Fred, his eyes opening wide in astonishment. "I paid you, in full, last year." "Ye didn't pay me fer the stretch I done, did ye?" demanded Tip, insolently. "How much did ye pay me for keeping my mouth closed, so you wouldn't have to do your stretch?" Fred winced painfully under that steady, half-ugly glance of the other. "And now," continued Scammon, in a half-hurt way, "ye think it's hard if I tell ye that I want a few dollars to keep food in my insides." "You've got your father," hinted Fred. "Sure, I have," Tip assented. "But it's mighty little he'll do for me until I get a job and settle down to it." "Well, why don't you?" asked Fred Ripley. "That's the surest way to get straight with the world." "When I want advice," sneered Scammon, "I won't tramp all the way out here, an' ask _you_ for it. Nope. I don't want advice. What I want is money." "Oh, well, Tip, I'm sorry for you and your troubles. Here's a dollar for you. I wish I could make it more." Fred Ripley drew out the greenback, passing it over. Tip took the money, studying it curiously. "Ye're sorry just a dollar's worth---is that it? Well, old pal, ye'll have to be more sorry'n that. I'll let ye off fer ten dollars, but hand it over quick!" Fred's first impulse was to get angry, but it didn't take him more than an instant to realize that it would be better to keep this fellow quiet. "I haven't ten dollars, Tip---on my honor," he protested, hesitatingly. "On yer---what?" questioned Scammon, with utter scorn. "I haven't ten dollars." "How much have ye?" There was something in Tip's ugly eyes that scared the boy. Fred went quickly through his pockets, producing, finally, six dollars and a half. "I'll give you six of this, Tip," proposed Fred, rather miserably. "Ye'll give me _all_ of it, ye mean," responded Scammon. "And ye'll meet me to-morrow aft'noon with five more---something for interest, ye know." "But I won't have five dollars again, as soon as that," argued Fred, weakly. "Yes, you will," leered Tip. "You'll have to!" "What do you mean?" demanded Fred, trying to bluster, but making a failure of the attempt. "It'll take five more to give me lock-jaw," declared Scammon. "I'm jest out of prison, and I mean to enjoy myself restin' a few days before I settle down to a job again. So, to-morrow, turn up with the five!" "I don't know where to get the money." "Find out, then," sneered the other. "I don't care where you get it, but you've got to get it and hand it over to me to-morrow, or it'll be too late, an' Gridley'll be too hot a place for 'ye!" "I'll try," agreed Ripley, weakly. "Ye'll do more'n try, 'cause if ye fail me ye'll have no further show," declared Tip, with emphasis. "See, here, Scammon, if I can find another five---somehow---that'll be the last of this business? You won't expect to get any more money out of me?" "The five that you're goin' to bring me tomorrow will be in full payment." "Of all possible claims to date?" Fred insisted. "Yes, in full---to date," agreed Scammon, grinning as though he were enjoying himself. "And there'll never be any further demands?" questioned Fred. "Never again!" Scammon asserted, with emphasis. "You promise that, solemnly?" "On my honor," promised the jailbird, sardonically. "I'll try to get you the money, Tip. But see here, I'll be in front of the drug store next to the post office, at just three o'clock to-morrow afternoon. You stop and look in the same window, but don't speak to me. If I can get the five I'll slip it into your hand. Then I'll move away. You stand looking in the window a minute or so after I leave you, will you?" "Sure," agreed Scammon, cheerfully. "And don't do anything so plainly that any passerby can detect the fact that you and I are meeting there. Don't let anyone see what I slip into your hand." "That'll be all right," declared Tip Scammon, readily enough. "And mind you, that's the last money you're ever to ask me for." "That'll be all right, too," came readily enough from the jailbird. "Then good-bye until to-morrow. Don't follow me too closely." "Sure not," promised Tip. "Ye don't want anyone to know that I'm your friend, and I'm good at keepin' secrets." For two or three minutes young Scammon remained standing under the bare tree. But his gaze followed the vanishing figure of Fred Ripley, and a cunning look gleamed in Tip's eyes. Fred Ripley, when he had heard of Tip going to prison without saying a word, had been foolish enough to suppose that that incident in his own life was closed. Fred had yet to learn that evil remains a long time alive, and that its consequences hit the evil doer harder than the victim. _ |
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