It began to clear off about sunset time that evening. To the westward, beyond Meeker’s Marsh, beyond the distant rolling hills, a gleam of crimson dispelled the gray for a brief moment. Later, one by one, the stars came out, and a little wind brushed the sky clear of clouds. It was a cold, crisp evening, and Mr. McIntyre, looking out for a moment before he drew the shades in his study, felt the attractions of fresh air and exercise. Getting into a heavy plaid ulster, settling his funny round cloth hat on his head, and taking his big Scotch oak walking stick in hand, Kilts turned down his light and left the building.
He had been expecting some books by express for several days, and now he would just walk down to the station and see if they were there. He was a good walker, and once clear of the school grounds, he swung his stick and stepped out vigorously. Overhead the millions of stars sparkled whitely in a purple-black sky, shedding a faint radiance over the snowy road and fields. Perhaps[104] memory brought recollections of just such tingling nights at home in the lowlands of Scotland, for he paused once for a long while at the edge of the road and gazed off across the fields and sighed ere he went on his way again.
At the station he found that his package had not yet been received. As he turned to retrace his steps a long whistle reached him through the silence, and he paused at the corner of the station to watch the train come in. He always enjoyed that. He liked to see the glare sweep down the track, listen to the mighty breath of the great iron monster hurling itself out of the night, watch the lighted windows as they flashed by, and wonder, as folks will who are quite out of the world of travel, who were beyond them and why. Even an instructor of mathematics may have imagination. But instead of thundering by, the train slackened pace and came to a stop. Only a handful of travelers alighted, and they were soon swallowed up in the semi-darkness outside the radius of the station lights.
But two of the alighting travelers interested him. They were boys, and Kilts believed that he recognized one of them. This one, the taller and larger of the pair, passed not far from where Kilts stood. He carried a suit-case into the station, and presently emerged without it. Then he[105] joined his companion, who was awaiting him in the shadow at the farther end of the platform, and together they passed around to where the carriages stood. Kilts, with no idea of spying, but merely to satisfy a mild curiosity, went around the station at the other end and walked down the asphalt there until he was within a few yards of the carriage into which the two boys were clambering. He was right. The larger of the two was Vinton. He wondered where that youth had been to be returning to school so long after supper time. He recollected, too, that Vinton had been absent from his class that afternoon. It was quite likely, however, that he had permission to leave school, Kilts reflected. Then the incident of the bag presented itself. Why had Vinton left his bag at the station, since he had ridden up in a carriage? That looked suspicious. Kilts wasn’t one to look for trouble, but it seemed to him that here was something that would bear investigation. He resolved to stop at the Office on his way to his room and see whether Vinton had received permission to sign off.
Meanwhile the carriage containing the boys was rattling along over the snowy, rutted road. Dan seemed suddenly very silent, and Gerald, who, ever since his capitulation, had been in the highest spirits, wondered, and presently asked the[106] reason. After a moment’s hesitation Dan answered:
“Kilts was down there at the station, Gerald, and I’m pretty certain he recognized me.”
“Do you think he will tell?” asked Gerald anxiously.
“I don’t know. He saw me take your bag into the station. He was standing at the corner. I didn’t notice him until I came out, and I wasn’t certain then who he was. But he followed us around to the carriage. I hope he didn’t see you to know you.”
“So do I,” said Gerald. “He’s got it in for me badly enough as it is. But I hope you won’t get into trouble.”
“It won’t matter as long as he doesn’t find out who you are,” Dan replied. Then he moved forward and engaged the driver in conversation, swearing that worthy to secrecy. They dismissed the carriage at the foot of the hill and walked up to school by way of the path. Their precaution, however, proved unnecessary, for no one was in sight as they made their way to Clarke. Nor did they meet a single person on their way up the stairs and through the hall. Dan heaved a sigh of relief as he closed the room door behind him. If Kilts didn’t prove troublesome everything was all right.
[107]
“Jove!” he said as he took off his coat and looked curiously around the room. “It seems like two or three days since I was here last. And I’ve only been away eight hours! Get your things off, Gerald, and we’ll get to work. What’s going to trouble you most to-morrow? You missed all your recitations to-day, I suppose?”
“Yes,” Gerald answered, “but algebra is the only thing I’m afraid of.”
“All right. Get your books together and sit down. We’ll go over the lesson together. I suppose you’ll have about five pages more to-morrow, eh?” Dan brought his chair around beside Gerald’s. “This doesn’t look awfully difficult. I don’t believe you really get your mind on it, Gerald. Here, try this one and see how it goes. While you’re doing it I’ll glance through my French.”
They were both studying very hard when, some twenty minutes later, there came a knock at the door.
“Come,” called Dan, darting an apprehensive glance at his companion. The door opened and in walked Kilts. The boys jumped to their feet.
“Good evening,” said Dan. “Will you sit down, sir?”
Kilts was tall and lean, his clean-shaven face surmounted by an unruly shock of iron-gray[108] hair. His eyes—they might have been gray or blue—were deeply set and sharp as two gimlets. In age he was about fifty. He still wore his queer old plaid ulster, without which he was seldom seen abroad, no matter the season, and carried his cloth hat and his stick in his hand. He answered Dan’s greeting, bowed to Gerald and took the chair offered, settling his stick across his knees and laying his hat carefully atop. Then with a glance about the room he smoothed one lean cheek with his hand and fixed his gaze on Dan.
“I’m not wanting to be here, Vinton,” he said gravely but kindly. “But I’ve got a question to ask you. I saw you at the station awhile ago, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Dan.
“You’d been away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Without permission?”
“Yes, sir.”
Kilts’ gaze moved to Gerald, who, in his chair at the desk, was looking intently at his book.
“There was a boy with you?”
Dan hesitated a moment. Then:
“Yes, sir,” he answered.
“Who was he?”
“I’d rather not say, Mr. McIntyre.”
[109]
“Hum,” grunted Kilts. There was a moment of silence. Gerald took up a pencil and began scrawling nervously on the margin of his book. Kilts cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sorry. I’ll have to report this, Vinton. You understand that?”
“Yes, sir. And—I’m sorry, too.”
“Well, well, maybe ’twill not be so bad. If you’re sorry, now, likely—”
“What I meant was,” said Dan with a smile, “that I was sorry for you, sir.”
“Eh? Sorry for me?” Mr. McIntyre’s thick, grizzled eyebrows snapped together.
“Why, yes, sir. I know you don’t like to have to report fellows,” answered Dan.
“Hum! Well, no more I do, Vinton.” Kilts frowned, glanced at Gerald and glanced away again. “Maybe there were circumstances, Vinton, that extenuate your action,” he said finally with a hopeful note in his voice. “Maybe, now, ’twas illness in the family; maybe ’twas necessary for you to leave school suddenly—”
“It was, sir, very necessary,” replied Dan, “but it had nothing to do with my family.”
“Well, well, maybe if you’d be telling me about it, now—”
“I’m afraid I can’t, sir,” said Dan regretfully. “I wish I could. But it concerns someone else.”
[110]
“Then you’re afraid you might get him into trouble?”
“Y-yes, sir.” He paused. Then he said frankly; “The fact, sir, is that it was necessary for me to go to New York on the noon train; I can’t tell you why it was necessary; and I only learned that I had to go just a few minutes before the train left. The train was moving when I got on it. So there was no time to get permission and sign off. I knew it was against the rules, sir, but I couldn’t very well do anything else.”
“Well, well, it’s too bad,” said Kilts, “too bad! But I’ll speak a good word for you. I would not be surprised if we were lenient, Vinton. As for the other boy, now—” Kilts very carefully refrained from even a glance toward Gerald—“why, I don’t know who he may be, and so I don’t feel called on to mention him. But he must promise not to do anything of the kind again. Do you think he will promise that?”
“I’m sure of it,” replied Dan earnestly and gratefully.
Kilts nodded.
“Good! Then I’ll say good-night. I fear I’ve kept you from study too long already.” Mr. McIntyre took up his stick and hat and prepared to rise, but Dan interrupted.
[111]
“Mr. McIntyre, sir, just a moment, please,” he begged. “I—I—there’s something else, sir.”
Kilts laid his stick back across his knees and threw aside his ulster again.
“Well?” he asked. Dan was silent a moment, formulating his thoughts. Then:
“This other boy, sir,” he said, “it’s about him.” Kilts nodded and Gerald stirred uneasily at the table. “You don’t know who he is, sir, as you say, and so he—he isn’t likely to come into the............