CHAPTER 13. Rowdy Finds Happiness.
Miss Conroy was rather listlessly endeavoring to persuade the First Reader class that “catch” should not be pronounced “ketch,” when she saw Rowdy ride past the window. Intuition of something amiss sent her to the door before he reached it.
“Can't you give the kids a day off?” he began, without preface. “I've got such a lot to talk about—and I don't come very often.” He thought that his tone was perfectly natural; but all the same she turned white. He rode on to a little tree and tied his horse—not that it was necessary to tie him, but to avoid questions.
Miss Conroy went in and dismissed the children, although it was only fifteen minutes after nine. They gathered up their lunch-pails and straggled out reluctantly, round-eyed, and curious. Rowdy waited until the last one had gone before he went in. Miss Conroy sat in her chair on the platform, and she was still white; otherwise she seemed to have herself well in hand.
“It's about Harry,” she asserted, rather sharply.
“Have they—caught him?”
Rowdy stopped half-way down the aisle and stared. “How did you know they were—after him?”
“He came to me night before last, and—told me.” She bit her lip, took firm hold on her honesty and her courage, and went on steadily. “He came because he—wanted money. I've wanted to see you since, to tell you that—I misjudged you. I know all about your—trouble, and I want you to know that I think you are—that you did quite right. You are to understand that I cannot honestly uphold—Harry. He is—not the kind of brother—I thought.”
Rowdy went clanking forward till only the table stood between. “Did he tell you?” he demanded, in a curious, breathless fashion.