Mr. Cary stood close to Wilmot’s desk during the rest of the exercise, either because it was in a central position or because he saw in the disturbance the fine Italian hand of that young gentleman. One awkward result for Wilmot was that, not daring to take the match-box from his drawer in the presence of the teacher, he was obliged to leave it behind when he went. Dunn, too, made a misplay. He had used two of the three matches taken from Wilmot’s box on Redfield and Dobbs; not knowing what to do with the third, he broke off the end and poked it into the bag of fresh sand which stood at the end of his table.

The first thing Mr. Cary did after the boys had left the laboratory was to examine the sand in the bag. At the very top, like Benjamin’s cup hidden in the mouth of the sack, he found the match-end which Dunn had placed there. He compared this with the charred piece picked up by Wilmot. Over these he mused a few minutes; then, with the instinct which sends the police, after an important break, to the haunts of certain well-known criminals, he went straight to Wilmot’s drawer. There, under the soiled laboratory coat, he discovered the fatal box. He broke off a match-head, put it into a sand bath, and in five minutes had an explosion of his own. After that he gathered up his exhibits and hied him to Mr. Westcott’s office.

The laboratory excitement furnished a topic of deep interest to certain groups during the lunch hour. Dunn, who was sure that he had made a hit, talked largely of his achievement. Wilmot, though pleased with the unexpectedly full success of his idea, was a little worried that he had been forced to leave his treasure in the laboratory. It wouldn’t do to use the thing too often, and Dunn was capable of firing off all the precious matches in a day. By the end of recess, largely through Dunn’s enthusiastic narratives, the incident had been aired among the older boys. Towards two o’clock word came to Wilmot that he was wanted in the head-master’s office.

What happened in the half-hour during which Wilmot was closeted with Mr. Westcott was never fully known to the boys. Steve spoke of it very unwillingly, and his memory of such scenes was never good. The instant he saw the fatal box of shooting matches on the table before him, he knew that it was all up with him, and his only course was to obtain the best terms of surrender possible. The terms were hard. He was suspended from school for a week. His parents were to be notified; he was to make up all lost lessons at home with a tutor; the school was to be informed of the misdeed and the penalty; he was not to return to the chemistry class unless Mr. Cary expressed a desire to give him another trial. Against the suspension Steve pleaded piteously; he would copy thousands of lines, stay after school hours every day, apologize to anybody and everybody,—if only the message didn’t go home. But Mr. Westcott was inexorable; the letter was posted that very afternoon.

The next day was a bitter one for Steve Wilmot. Immediately after breakfast his mother retired to the privacy of her chamber to weep; his father paced the library for some time before he could calm himself sufficiently to give the boy a hearing. It was not the first occasion on which Steve had brought unhappiness upon his family. From the day when he began to walk he had been blundering into scrapes. He had been dealt with by all recognized methods of discipline. Severe punishment, denunciation, threats, gentle remonstrance, pleading, exhortation, loss of allowance—none had prevailed to change his nature. A psychological expert had once declared that since Steve’s escapades were mere boyish tricks without malice, they would be outgrown in time. The hope born of this assurance had carried the parents over such shocks as the visit of policemen to warn against trespassing in the public garden, or an indignant letter from a good lady whose cat Steve had snowballed as the dear animal was taking an innocent walk on the alley fence. Now it appeared that their hope had been a delusion, for suspension from school was a humiliation which the family had hitherto been spared. Mr. Wilmot talked gravely about putting the young man to work, but he didn’t mean it. In the end, he accepted Steve’s promise that he would walk circumspectly hereafter all the days of his life. Mrs. Wilmot also found comfort in the reflection that Steve was at bottom neither dishonest nor vicious, and that the salutary effect of the lesson might be expected to outlast the four remaining months of his school career. After all, he might have done worse things than carry shooting matches into a school laboratory. So she dried her tears and hoped again.

CHAPTER XIX
A LOSS TO THE NINE

Meantime the school had heard the proclamation of the sin and its punishment, and looked upon Wilmot’s vacant seat. The exile was missed. Dunn chuckled ecstatically over the amusing fact that the official lightning had passed by the bold man of action and struck the crafty suggester. His merriment was coldly received.

“You’d better shut up, Jason,” said Trask, roughly. “Any fool can stick a match into a sand box when he’s given the match and told how to do it.”

“And no one but a fool would have put that one into the bag,” declared Eaton. “I believe that’s what gave poor Steve away.”