He had seen the victim of his cowardly blow carried away in the arms of horrified friends, his eyes closed, his face ghastly, one arm dangling limply. The dreadful picture was before him now, and it sickened his soul.
He knew Sterndale had stopped him outside the dressing-room, but had stood off without touching him, as if afraid of contamination—the same Sterndale who had hugged him a short time before in the presence of all the players and the great crowd of spectators. In a dull way, he had heard the captain tell him what a contemptible person he was, and he had felt that every word was true. He had not denied it when Dick accused him of dropping the forged letter that was meant to destroy Renwood’s reputation with the members of the eleven. He made no sign when Sterndale declared he had seen through the wretched trick from the first, and would have kicked him off the team but for the disruption another change must have brought about. When the captain had finished, Don turned away, without a word in his own defense.
A groan came from Don’s blue lips as he thought of his father’s story and warning, which he had utterly disregarded, to his complete downfall and disgrace. His heart was wrung with anguish at the thought that he had brought another great sorrow upon that father who had suffered so much, and with that he began to think of others more than himself. Renwood—ah! that was the worst! Just then he would have given his life to undo that passionate act.
“You’re the feller I’m lookin’ fer.”
Simeon Drew’s hand dropped on the boy’s shoulder. Don looked at the man, who had overtaken him as he reached the front gate of his home.
“You have come to arrest me?” said the miserable lad, huskily. “All right; I’m ready to go.”
“I ain’t come to ’rest ye,” denied the officer. “I thought you said you was innercent?”
“I did it.”
“Well, by Halifax!” gasped Drew. “An’ Bentley said he was the one.”
“Bentley?” muttered Don, staring at the man, uncomprehendingly. “Why, he wasn’t there! I struck the blow.”