A tense silence reigned in the room. Each boy eyed his neighbor furtively. Someone was guilty, but who? Suddenly a slim, little figure stepped manfully out of line, an evidence that honor lived in that assemblage.
“I’m one of those boys, Mr. Marsh,” said Teddy in a clear, resolute voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt the man. I was going to come and tell you all about it this afternoon.” Teddy was so pale that the freckles stood out like brown polka-dots on his set face.
Mr. Marsh regarded him for an instant without speaking. At last he asked, “Did you throw the ball?”
“No, sir.”
“Who threw it?”
“I can’t tell you, sir; that is, I don’t want to.”
Mr. Marsh stared hard at Teddy. “Did you have the ball in the first place? Tell me just how it happened.”
“I was going to the upholstery department on an errand for Mr. Everett. Just as I got to the sporting goods balcony, a boy I know came along. There were some baseballs on the show-case. The boy picked up one and said, ‘Catch.’ I don’t think he meant to throw it, sir. It just went before he knew what he was doing. I saw it coming, and put up my hands, but I couldn’t catch it. The first thing I saw when I went downstairs was the man rubbing his head. I was going to tell you about it then, but I thought I’d better ask a friend of mine what to do.”
The assembled boys listened with breathless interest.
“And what did your friend say?” inquired Mr. Marsh enigmatically.