Chapter XXIV: The Saving of Bruce

“What have you there, Tom?” asked Jack. They were in their room, some time after the riot over the burning effigy, and following a more bountiful supper than they had partaken of in many a long day. They had talked over the events and Sam Heller’s desertion.

“Oh, but you should see those boys eat!” exclaimed Mrs. Blackford to her husband, after a visit to the dining hall.

“I don’t blame them,” was the answer. “I’m glad it’s over, and that they have won. I never did like that Skeel.” The monitor had confided to Tom that as soon as Doctor Meredith had word of the return of the students from their unsuccessful trip toward the town, he had ordered a big supper gotten ready. And now Tom and his chum were in their room, tired but happy.

“This,” remarked Tom, as he looked at the object to which Jack referred, “this is a pocketbook I picked up out on the campus near the flag pole. Some one dropped it during the excitement, I guess. I’ll see if there’s a name in it, so I can send it back.”

He opened it. There were some banknotes and a number of papers. Tom rapidly looked the latter over, and, as he caught sight of one, he uttered a whistle of amazement.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jack, who was getting ready for bed. “Whose wallet is it?”

“Professor Skeel’s.”

“Nothing remarkable in that; is there?”

“No, but it’s what I found in it. Now I know why he has such a hold over Bruce, and what that lad’s trouble is. Look here, Jack,” and the two boys bent their heads over a slip of paper.

“I should say so!” exclaimed Jack. “No wonder he looked troubled, and acted it, too. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to save Bruce; that’s what I’m going to do.”

“How?”

“I don’t just know yet, but I’ll find a way.”

There was subdued excitement the next morning when the Freshmen filed down to breakfast, and the talk was of nothing but the uprising of the night before. Sam Heller was practically ignored, but he did not seem to mind.

“Are we to get bread and water this morning, Blackie?” asked Tom, of the monitor, at the same time playfully poking him in the ribs.

“No, sir, the usual meal.”

“And are we still locked in?” demanded Jack.

“No, sir, you can go wherever you like. Chapel I should imagine, first.”

“Oh, of course,” agreed Tom. “I want my eggs soft boiled,” he added most prosaically.

On the way to the morning devotions Tom pulled out the wallet.

“I guess I’ll send this over to Skeel’s house, instead of taking it myself,” he said to Jack. “It might raise a row if I went there.” And, requesting one of the assistant janitors to do the errand, Tom proceeded to chapel. Thus the wallet was returned to its owner, but minus a certain bit of paper.

“Well, you fellows certainly cut things loose!” exclaimed Bruce Bennington admiringly to Tom, as he met our hero later. “You won hands down. I wish I could do things as easily as you seem to do,” and he sighed. Tom noticed that the look of worry and trouble on the Senior’s face was deepened.

“Look here, Bruce!” exclaimed Tom. “I wish you would tell me exactly what your trouble is. Maybe I can help you.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“I think so,” and there was a peculiar note in Tom’s voice. “Tell me,” he urged. The two were walking by themselves over a deserted part of the snow-covered campus. The storm had ceased, and the day, though clear, was quite cold. The weather was crisp and fine.

“Hanged if I don’t tell you!” burst out Bruce. “I don’t know why it is, but I took a liking to you the first time I saw you. I had half a notion to tell you then, but I didn’t. I haven’t told anyone--I wish, now, I had. Now I’m going to tell you. It’s come to a show-down, anyhow. I was just on my way to see Professor Skeel. He’s at the bottom of my trouble, as you may have guessed. He has sent for me. The jig is up.”

“I’ll go with you,” volunteered Tom. “I fancy I know part of your trouble, at least.”

“You do?” burst out Bruce in amazement.

“Yes. Look at that,” and Tom held out a bit of paper.

“I say, Tom,” hailed Jack from a distance, as he came running up. “What are we to do? There’s a notice posted, saying we are to go to Latin recitation to Professor Hammond, temporarily, and then afterward the Freshmen are to meet Doctor Meredith and Professor Skeel. That looks as if we hadn’t won after all. The boys are anxious.”

“I’ll be with them in a little while,” answered Tom. “It’s all right. We win the strike all right, only things have to be adjusted formally I suppose. But I’ll say this. I’ll never apologize to Skeel, and he’s got to promise to be decent, or the strike will begin all over again.”

“Hurray! That’s the stuff!” cried Jack. “That’s what we want to know. But aren’t you coming to the lecture?”

“In a little while--yes. I’ve got something else on hand now, Jack.”

“All right!” called his chum, knowingly. “I’m on. See you later,” and he ran off. Jack turned to Bruce.

Over the face of the Senior had come a curious change. His trouble seemed to have vanished.

“Tom--Tom Fairfield!” he exclaimed. “You’ve done me a service I can never repay. Look here, this is a forgery!”

“A forgery?” asked the amazed Freshman.

“Yes, that’s never my signature to that promissory note! In fact, the whole note is forged. It’s a little like my writing, but I know I never signed it. Say, I’m free, now!”

“You’d better tell me more about it,” suggested our hero. “If I’m to have it out with Skeel for you, I’d better know all the facts.”

“Sure. I’ll tell you. It won’t take long. I made an idiot of myself, to be brief. You know my father is well off, and he makes me a good allowance. One of his rules, though, and one I never broke but once, was never to gamble, and another was never to sign a note. I broke both.

“Last year when I was a Junior I got in with a fast set of fellows. We didn’t do anything very bad, but one night there was a game of chance in one of the rooms. I was urged to play, and, not wanting to be a kill-joy, I foolishly agreed. I knew dad would never forgive me if he found it out, but I didn’t think he would. He had said I would have to leave school, and go to work, if I gambled, or signed a note.

“Well, I lost, as most anyone will if he keeps it up long enough. I lost all my ready money, and I got in debt. I had no way of paying, and the Junior to whom I was indebted suggested that I give him my I. O. U. for the amount. I did, scribbling a promissory note on a piece of paper. The sum was quite large, and I see now what a chump I was. But I expected to be able to pay in time, and the fellow said there was no hurry.

“But when my next allowance came I went out on a lark, and we did some damage that we had to pay for. This took all the cash I had, and I owed more. I dared not ask for additional money, for I did not want to explain to dad how foolish I had been on two occasions. I went to the Junior, told him my predicament, and he kindly offered to wait for his debt, though the note was overdue.

“Then, most unexpectedly, this Junior’s father died, and left him a lot of money. He left school in a hurry to arrange his affairs, and go abroad. The night before he left he wrote me a letter saying he had destroyed the promissory note, and said that I need not pay it, as it was a foolish debt at best.

“That made me happy until all at once the storm broke. Just before the close of school last term Professor Skeel sent for me. He told me he had a note of mine, and demanded payment. I was dumbfounded, and said I didn’t know what he meant.

“He explained that before leaving, this junior, whose name I won’t mention, had sold my promissory note to him, and that as he now owned it I must pay it to him. I said he was mistaken, and told about the letter I had.”

“Why didn’t you show it to him?” asked Tom. “That would have been good evidence.”

“Very foolishly I had destroyed it as soon as I read of my release from the obligation. I did not want a scrap of paper around to remind me of it. So I had no proof, and Skeel only laughed at me. He said he held the note, and he showed it to me hastily, but I thought it was the real thing. He threatened, if I did not pay, to tell dad, and I knew what that meant, for, somehow, Skeel had learned about the game of chance.

“And that was my trouble. It’s been hanging over me since last term and Skeel has been at me several times this term to pay up. He’s been putting the screws on harder and harder, and today was the last day. If I couldn’t pay he was to send word to dad, and demand the money from him. I did try to raise the cash to settle, and I’ve paid something on account, but I never could raise enough, for something always seemed to happen to use up my allowance, and I had no good excuse for asking for more.”

“Why didn’t you write to this Junior, asking if it was true that he had destroyed your note, as he said in his letter?” Tom inquired.

“I did, but I never could reach him. He went traveling in Europe. But it’s all right now. I see the whole game. The Junior did tear up my note, but probably Skeel found the pieces, somehow. He made a forged copy of the note, enlarged the amount, forged my name to it, and the Junior’s endorsement, and relied on my fear of publicity to make me pay. But I can now see that this is a fake!” and Bruce held up the document.

“Then the sooner we tell Skeel so to his face the better,” said Tom, firmly. “Come on, we’ll beard the tyrant in his den!”

And they went.

“You sent for me, Professor Skeel,” began Bruce, when he and Tom were admitted to the study of the unpleasant Latin teacher.

“I did, but I have no desire to see _this_ young man!” and he glared at Tom. “I demand that he withdraw at once.”

“And I refuse!” exclaimed Tom. “I am here to represent Mr. Bennington, as--er--a sort of counsel.”

“Then he has told you of his folly, eh?” sneered the professor. “There is no longer need for me to keep quiet about it. Are you ready to pay that note, Bennington, or shall I inform your father about your debts of honor? Remember I came into possession of the note honestly, as the third party, and the law will recognize my claim. You are not a minor, and you can not plead that. I bought the note from the student to whom you gave it. Now, are you ready to pay, or shall I expose you?”

“I am not going to pay,” said Bruce, quietly.

“Then I’ll disgrace you!” stormed Mr. Skeel.

“Have you the note in question?” asked Tom, quietly.

“Yes, but what is that to you? I can produce it when the time comes,” and the professor tapped a black wallet lying on the table before him. It was the one Tom had found and returned.

“You need not trouble,” said our hero quietly. “_We_ can produce the note now. Here it is--the forged note!” and he held it in view, but safely out of reach of the professor, who had sprung to his feet in rage and amazement.

“Wha--what!” he cried. “Where--where did you get that?”

Hurriedly, and with trembling hands, he began searching through the wallet.

“It was there--it’s here now,” said Tom, quietly. “And if you make any more threats, or attempt in any way to annoy my friend here, I shall lay the whole matter before Doctor Meredith,” went on the calm Freshman. “I don’t know but it is my duty to do it anyhow,” he added. “Forging notes and names is a serious crime.”

Professor Skeel sank back in his chair, his face the color of chalk. His lips moved, but, for a moment, no sound came forth. Then he hoarsely whispered:

“Don’t--don’t expose me--I--I’ll apologize. It was all--all a mistake. I--I--!”

He faltered, and Tom, not wishing to prolong the unpleasant scene, said to Bruce:

“Come.”

The two walked out, silently, Tom handing the forged note to his friend. No one had a claim on him now.

“Tom Fairfield, you have saved me from disgrace!” said Bruce feelingly, and the two clasped hands in a firm grip.