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The High School Pitcher, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 21. Dick Is Generous Because It's Natural |
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_ CHAPTER XXI. DICK IS GENEROUS BECAUSE IT'S NATURAL
No wonder Harry Hazelton exploded with wonder as he turned to Dan Dalzell and Greg Holmes. In this warmer weather, the young men loitered in the school yard until the first bell. These three members of Dick & Co. were standing near the gateway when Fred Ripley turned the nearest corner and came on nervously, hurriedly, a hang-dog look in his face. What had caught Harry Hazelton's eye, and now made his comrades stare, was the new suit that Fred wore. Gone was all that young man's former elegance of attire. His stern father had just left the boy, after having taken him to a clothing store where Fred was tricked out in a coarse, ready-made suit that had cost just seven dollars and a half. A more manly boy would have made a better appearance in such clothes, but it was past Fred Ripley. And he was miserably conscious of the cheap-looking derby that rested on his head. Even his shoes were new and coarse. Ripley hurried by the chums, and across the yard, to be met at the door by Purcell, who stared at him in candid astonishment. "Oh, say, Rip!" demanded Purcell. "What's the bet?" "Shut up!" retorted Ripley, passing quickly inside. "Fine manners," grinned Purcell to a girl who had also paused, impelled by excusable curiosity. Dick, when he came along, heard the news from Hazelton and the others. "What can be the cause of it all?" asked Tom Reade, wonderingly. "Oh, some row with his father," decided Dick slowly. "When I was up on Main Street I saw them both going into Marsh's clothing store." "I asked poor old Rip what the bet was," chuckled Purcell as he joined the group. "Say, if you want to have fun at recess," proposed Dan Dalzell, "let's about twenty of us, one after the other, go up and ask Rip what the bet is, and how long it's for?" "Say," retorted Dick sternly, eyeing hapless Dan, "I believe, if you got into a fight and knocked a fellow down, you'd jump on him and keep hammering him." "Not much I wouldn't, old safety-valve," retorted Dan, reddening. "But I see that you're right, Dick. Rip has never been any friend of ours, and to jump him now, when he's evidently down at home, would be too mean for the principles of Dick & Co." "I'd rather give the poor fellow a helping hand up, if we could," pursued young Prescott musingly, "Purcell, do you think there'd be any use in trying that sort of thing?" "Why, I don't know," replied Captain Purcell, easy going and good hearted. "Barring a few snobbish airs, I always used to like Rip well enough. He was always pretty proud, but pride, in itself, is no bar to being a decent fellow. The only fellow who comes to harm with pride is the fellow who gets proud before he has done anything to be proud of. At least, that's the way it always hit me." "Ripley certainly looked hang-dog," commented Hazelton. "And he must feel mightily ashamed over something," continued Dick. "I wonder if his father has found out anything about Tip Scammon and certain happenings of last year. That might account for a lot. But what do you say, fellows? If Ripley has been a bit disagreeable and ugly, shall we try to make him feel that there's always a chance to turn around and be decent?" "Why, I'd believe in trying to point out the better road to Old Nick himself," replied Dave Darrin warmly. "Only, I don't believe in doing it in the preachy way---like some people do." "That's right," nodded Dick. "See here, Purcell, if Ripley is looking down in the mouth at recess, why don't you go up to him and talk baseball? Then call us over, after you've raised some point for discussion. And we'll tip two or three other fellows to join in, without, of course, getting a crowd." "I'll try it," nodded Purcell. "Though I can't guess how it will turn out. Of course, if Rip gives us the black scowl we'll have to conclude that no help is wanted." It was tried, however, at recess. Purcell went about it with the tact that often comes to the easy going and big hearted. Soon Purcell had Dick and Dave with Fred and himself. Then the other chums drifted up. Two or three other fellows came along. After some sulkiness at first Fred talked eagerly, if nervously. On the whole, he seemed grateful. When Dick reached home that day he felt staggered with astonishment. Waiting for him was a note from Lawyer Ripley, asking the boy to be at the latter's office at half-past two. "I shall take it as a very great favor," the note ran on, "and, from what I know of you, I feel certain that you will be glad to aid me in a matter that is of vast importance to me." "What on earth is coming?" wondered Dick. But he made up his mind to comply with the request. Promptly to the minute Dick reached the street door of the office building. Here he encountered Dave Darrin and Dalzell. "You, too?" asked Dick. "It looks as though all of Dick & Co. had been summoned," replied Dave Darrin. On entering the lawyer's office they found their other three chums there ahead of them. Tip Scammon was there, also, looking far from downcast. Lawyer Ripley looked very grave. He looked, too, like a man who had a serious task to perform, and who meant to go about it courageously. "Young gentlemen, I thank you all," said the lawyer slowly. "I am pursuing a matter in which I feel certain that I need your help. There has been some evil connection between Scammon and my son. What it is Scammon has refused to tell me. I will first of all tell you what I _do_ know. I am telling you, of course, on the assumption that you are all young men of honor, and that you will treat a father's confidence as men of honor should do." The boys bowed, wondering what was coming. Lawyer Ripley thereupon plunged into a narration of the happenings of the day before, telling it all with a lawyer's exactness of statement. "And now I will ask you," wound up Mr. Ripley, "whether you can tell me anything about the hold that Scammon seems to have exercised over my son?" "That's an embarrassing question, sir," Dick replied, after there had been a long pause. "Do you know the nature of that hold?" "Yes, sir." "May I ask how you know?" "I overheard a conversation, one night, between your son and Tip Scammon." "What was the substance of that conversation?" pressed the lawyer. "I don't quite see how I can tell you, sir," Dick responded slowly and painfully. "I'm not a tale bearer. I don't want to come here and play the tittle-tattle on your son." "I respect your reluctance," nodded Lawyer Ripley. "But let me put it to you another way. I am the boy's father. I am responsible for his career in this world, as far as anyone but himself can be responsible. I am also seeking what is for the boy's best good. I cannot act intelligently unless I have exact facts. Both my son and Scammon are too stubborn to tell me anything. In the cause of justice, Prescott, will you answer me frankly?" "That word, 'justice,' has an ominous sound, sir," Prescott answered. "It is generally connected with the word punishment, instead of with the word mercy." "I suspect that my son has been your very bitter enemy, Prescott," said the lawyer keenly. "I suspect that he has plotted against you and all your chums. Would you now try to shield him from the consequences of such acts?" "Why, sir, I think any boy of seventeen is young enough to have another chance." "And I agree with you," cried the lawyer, a sudden new light shining in his eyes. "Now, will you be wholly frank with me if I promise you that my course toward my son will be one that will give him every chance to do better if he wants to?" "That's an odd bargain to have to make with a father," smiled Dick. "It _is_," admitted Lawyer Ripley, struck by the force of the remark. "You've scored a point there, Prescott. Well, then, since I _am_ the boy's father, and since I want to do him full justice on the side of mercy, if he'll have it---will you tell all of the truth that you know to that boy's father?" Dick glanced around at his chums. One after another they nodded. Then the High School pitcher unburdened himself. Tip Scammon sat up and took keen notice. When Dick had finished with all he knew, including the tripping with the pole, and the soft-soaping of the sidewalk before his home door, Tip was ready to talk. "I done 'em all," he admitted, "includin' the throwin' of the brickbats. The brickbats was on my own hook, but the pole and the soft soap was parts of the jobs me and Fred put up between us." "Why did you throw the brickbats on your own hook?" asked Lawyer Ripley sharply. "Why, you see, 'squire, 'twas just like this," returned Tip. "After I'd done it, if I had hurt Prescott, then I was goin' to go to your son an' scare 'im good an' proper by threatenin' to blab that he had hired me to use them brickbats. That'd been good fer all his spendin' money, wouldn't it?" "Yes, and for all he could steal, too," replied Lawyer Ripley. "I didn't know nothing about his stealin' money," retorted Tip, half virtuously. "I jest thought he had too much pocket money fer his own good, an' so I'd help him spend some of it. But, see here, lawyer, ye promised me that, if I did talk, nothin' I told yer should be used against myself." "I am prepared to keep that promise," replied Mr. Ripley coldly. The sound of a slight stir came from the doorway between the outer and inner office. There in the doorway, his face ghastly white, his whole body seeming devoid of strength, leaned Fred Ripley. "I had almost forgotten that I asked you to come here," said Mr. Ripley, as he looked up. "How long have you been here?" "Not very long, perhaps, but long enough to know that Dick Prescott and the rest have been doing all they can to make matters harder for me," Fred answered in a dispirited voice. "As it happens, they have been doing nothing of the sort," replied the lawyer crisply. "Come in here, Fred. I have had the whole story of your doings, but it was on a pledge that I would give you another chance to show whether there's any good in you. Fred, I can understand, now that you've always thought yourself better than most boys---above them. The truth is that you've a long way to go to get up to the level of ordinary, decent, good American boyhood. You may get there yet; I hope so. But come, sir, are you going to make a decent apology to Prescott and his friends for the contemptible things you've tried to do to them?" Somehow, Fred Ripley managed to mumble his way through an apology, though he kept his eyes on the floor all the while. Full of sympathy for the father who, if proud, was at least upright, Dick and his chums accepted that apology, offered their hands, then tip-toed out, leaving father and son together. _ |
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