BEN STONE AT OAKDALE
by
MORGAN SCOTT
Author of“Boys of Oakdale Academy,” “Rival Pitchers ofOakdale,” “Oakdale Boys in Camp,” “TheGreat Oakdale Mystery,” “The New Boysat Oakdale,” etc.
A. L. Burt CompanyPublishers New York
Printed in U. S. A.
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. Ben Stone 5 II. The Pariah 16 III. One Ray of Light 26 IV. A Brave Heart 40 V. One More Chance 49 VI. Into the Shadows 61 VII. A Desperate Encounter 71 VIII. A Rift 83 IX. Proffered Friendship 96 X. Stone’s Story 105 XI. On the Threshold 118 XII. The Skies Brighten 127 XIII. Hayden’s Demand 135 XIV. The Bone of Contention 142 XV. The Fellow Who Wouldn’t Yield 152 XVI. Stone’s Defiance 162 XVII. An Armed Truce 170 XVIII. The Game 179 XIX. Between the Halves 190 XX. One Who Was True 198 XXI. A Surprising Meeting 209 XXII. A Sympathetic Soul 218 XXIII. The Blind Fugitive 228 XXIV. Clouds Gather Again 235 XXV. Flight 247 XXVI. The Arrest 256 XXVII. The Darkest Hour 265 XXVIII. On Trial 280 XXIX. Sleuth’s Clever Work 296 XXX. Clear Skies 309
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BEN STONE AT OAKDALE.
CHAPTER I.
"BEN STONE."
As he was leaving the academy on the afternoon of his third day atschool in Oakdale, Ben Stone was stopped by Roger Eliot, the captain ofthe football team. Roger was a big, sturdy chap, singularly grave for aboy of his years; and he could not be called handsome, save when helaughed, which was seldom. Laughter always transformed his featuresuntil they became remarkably attractive.
Compared with Ben, however, Roger appeared decidedly comely, for thenew boy was painfully plain and uncouth. He was solid and stocky, withthick shoulders and rather big limbs, having a freckled face andreddish hair. He had a somewhat large nose, although this alone wouldnot have been detrimental to his appearance. It was his square jaw,firm-shut mouth, and seemingly sullen manner that had prevented any ofthe boys of the school from seeking his acquaintance up to this point.Half of his left ear was gone, as if it had been slashed off with somesharp instrument.
Since coming to Oakdale Ben had seemed to shun the boys at the school,seeking to make no acquaintances, and he was somewhat surprised whenthe captain of the eleven addressed him. Roger, however, was not longin making his purpose clear; he took from his pocket and unfolded along paper, on which were written many names in two extended columns.
“Your name is Stone, I believe?” he said inquiringly.
“Yes, sir,” answered Ben.
“Well, Stone, as you are one of us, you must be interested in thesuccess of the football team. All the fellows are, you know. We musthave a coach this year if we expect to beat Wyndham, and a coach costsmoney. Everybody is giving something. You see, they have put downagainst their names the sums they are willing to give. Give us a lift,and make it as generous as possible.”
He extended the subscription paper toward the stocky boy, who, however,made no move to take it.
Several of the boys, some of them in football clothes, for there was tobe practice immediately after school, had paused in a little group ashort distance from the academy steps and were watching to note theresult of Roger’s appeal to the new scholar.
Ben saw them and knew why they were waiting there. A slow flushoverspread his face, and a look of mingled shame and defiance filledhis brownish eyes. Involuntarily he glanced down at his homespunclothes and thick boots. In every way he was the poorest-dressed boy inthe school.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, in a low tone, without looking up.“I can’t give anything.”
Roger Eliot showed surprise and disappointment, but he did notimmediately give over the effort.
“Why, of course you’ll give something,” he declared, as if there couldbe no doubt on that point. “Every one does. Every one I’ve asked so farhas; if you refuse, you’ll be the first. Of course, if you can’t affordto give much——”
“I can’t afford to give a cent,” interrupted Ben grimly, almostrepellantly.
Roger slowly refolded the paper, looking the other over closely. Hetook note of the fellow’s well-worn clothes and poverty-touchedappearance, and with dawning comprehension he began to understand themeaning of the flush on Ben’s cheeks. Instead of being offended, hefound himself sorry for the new boy.
“Oh, all right!” he said, in a manner that surprised and relievedStone. “You know your own business, and I’m sure you’d like to givesomething.”
These words, together with Eliot’s almost friendly way, broke down thebarrier of resentment which had risen unbidden in the heart of thestocky lad, who suddenly exclaimed:
“Indeed I would! I’m powerful sorry I can’t. Perhaps—by an’ by—if Ifind I’m going to get through all right—perhaps I’ll be able to givesomething. I will if I can, I promise you that.”
“Well, now, that’s the right stuff,” nodded Roger heartily. “I likethat. Perhaps you can help us out in another way. You’re built for agood line man, and we may be able to make use of you. All thecandidates are coming out to-day. Do you play?”
“I have—a little,” answered Ben; “but that was some time ago. I don’tknow much about the game, and I don’t believe I’d be any good now. I’mall out of practice.”
“Never you mind that,” said the captain of the team. “Lots of thefellows who are coming out for practice have never played at all, anddon’t know anything about it. We need a good lot of material for thecoach to work up and weed out when we get him, so you just come alongover to the field.”
Almost before Ben realized what was happening, Roger had him by the armand was marching him off. They joined the others, and Roger introducedhim to “Chipper” Cooper, Sile Crane, Billy Piper, and the rest. Henoticed in particular the three named, as each was characteristic inhis appearance to a distinct degree.
Cooper was a jolly chap, with mischievous eyes and a crooked nose. Hehad the habit of propounding ancient conundrums and cracking stalejokes. Crane was a long, lank, awkward country boy, who spokeungrammatically, in a drawling, nasal voice. Piper, who was addressedas “Sleuth” by his companions, was a washed-out, colorless fellow,having an affected manner of keenness and sagacity, which werequalities he did not seem to possess to any great degree.
They passed down the gravel walk to the street, and crossed over to thegymnasium, which stood on the shore of the lake, close behind thefenced field that served for both a football and baseball ground.
The gymnasium was a big, one-story frame building, that had once beenused as a bowling alley in the village. The man who built it andattempted to run it had failed to find business profitable, and in timeit was purchased at a low price by Urian Eliot, Roger’s father, whomoved it to its present location and pledged it to the academy as longas the scholars should continue to use it as a gymnasium.
Inside this building Ben was introduced to many more boys, a l
argenumber of whom had prepared or were making ready for football practice.There was Charley Tuttle, called “Chub” for short, a roly-poly,round-faced, laughing chap, who was munching peanuts; Tim Davis,nicknamed “Spotty,” even more freckled than Ben, thin-legged,sly-faced, and minus the two front teeth of his upper jaw; Sam Rollins,a big, hulking, low-browed fellow, who lost no opportunity to bullysmaller boys, generally known as “Hunk”; Berlin Barker, a cold blond,rather good-looking, but proud and distant in his bearing; and otherswho did not impress the new boy at all with their personalities.
Few of these fellows gave Ben any attention after nodding or speakingto him when introduced. They were all busily engaged in discussingfootball matters and prospects. Stone heard some of this talk in thebig dressing-room, where Eliot took him. The captain of the elevenopened a locker, from which he drew a lot of football clothing.
“I have my regular suit here, Stone,” he said; “and here are some otherthings, a lot of truck from which you can pick out a rig, I think. Takethose pants and that jersey. Here are stockings and shoes. My shoesought to fit you; I’m sure the rest of the stuff is all right.”
Ben started to object, but Roger was in earnest and would not listen toobjections. As he was getting into the outfit provided by Eliot, Benlent his ear to the conversation of the boys.
“We’ve got to beat Wyndham this year,” said one. “She buried us lastyear, and expects to do so again. Why, they have a regular Harvard manfor a coach over there.”
“Beat her!” cried another. “You bet we will! Wait till we get ourcoach. I say, captain, how are you making it, gathering the needful?”
“First rate,” answered Roger, who was lacing his sleeveless jacket.“I’ll raise it all right, if I have to tackle every man, woman andchild in town with that paper.”
“That’s the stuff!” whooped Chipper Cooper. “Being captain of a greatfootball team, you are naturally a good man to _tackle_ people. Rah!rah! rah! Cooper!” Then he skipped out of the dressing-room, barelyescaping a shoe that was hurled at him.
“Bern’s home,” said a boy who was fussing over a head harness. “Came onthe forenoon train with his folks. I saw him as I came by. Told himthere’d be practice to-night, and he said he’d be over.”
“He’s a corking half-back,” observed a fellow who wore shin guards. “Aslong as we won’t have Roger with us next year, I’ll bet anything Bernis elected captain of the team.”
“Come on, fellows,” called Eliot, who had finished dressing inamazingly quick time. “Come on, Stone. We want to do as much as we canto-night.”
They trooped out of the gymnasium, Ben with them. A pleasant feeling ofcomradery and friendliness with these boys was growing upon him. He wasa fellow who yearned for friends, yet, unfortunately, his personalitywas such that he failed to win them. He was beginning to imbibe thespirit of goodfellowship which seemed to prevail among the boys, and hefound it more than agreeable.
Fortune had not dealt kindly with him in the past, and his nature hadbeen soured by her heavy blows. He had come to Oakdale for the purposeof getting such an education as it was possible for him to obtain, andhe had also come with the firm determination to keep to himself andseek no friends; for in the past he had found that such seeking wasworse than useless.
But now circumstances and Roger Eliot had drawn him in with thesefellows, and he longed to be one of them, longed to establish himselfon a friendly footing with them, so that they would laugh and joke withhim, and call him by his first name, and be free and easy with him, asthey were among themselves.
“Why can’t I do it?” he asked himself, as he came out into the mellowafternoon sunshine. “I can! I will! They know nothing about the past,and they will never know.”
Never had the world looked more beautiful to him than it did as hepassed, with his schoolmates about him, through the gate and onto thefootball field. Never had the sky seemed so blue and the sunshine soglorious. He drank in the clear, fresh air with his nostrils, andbeneath his feet the springy turf was delightfully soft and yetpleasantly firm. Before him the door to a new and better life seemedflung wide and inviting.
There were some boys already on the field, kicking and passing afootball. One of these—tall, handsome, supple and graceful—was hailedjoyously as “Bern.” This chap turned and walked to meet them.
Suddenly Ben Stone stood still in his tracks, his face gone pale in aninstant, for he was face to face with fate and a boy who knew his past.
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