Ward Hill, the Senior

by Everett T. Tomlinson

"I'll tell you what you were running from, Ripley, if you want to know," said Brown.

"What was it?"

"Ashes."

Ripley's face could not entirely conceal his alarm as he heard Brown's words, but he only laughed lightly by way of reply.

"Yes, sir," said Brown. "We found out all about it. We dug over the snow you had thrown on the road and then tried to tramp down so that it wouldn't show. We know all about that, my fleet-footed friend."

"No one can say that either of us put any ashes on the road," said Tim boldly. "We didn't do it, we didn't have anything to do with it--if any ashes were scattered there, which, for my part, I very much doubt."

"No one would ever accuse you of doing it," said Ward hotly. "You never yet had the manliness to stand up and have a decent share in the mean tricks you set the other boys up to. Oh, no, you probably didn't carry the ashes up the hill. No one would ever think of you as doing that. You'd rather have some one else do all your dirty work, and then you'll crawl out when the pinch comes."

"Well, there's one thing I never did, anyway," replied Tim slowly, although his eyes betrayed the anger which Ward's words had aroused. "I never went back on my friends by the 'I am holier than thou' dodge. I never stooped to pose as a pious fraud after I'd been guilty of some things I could mention. Not much! If ever I went over to Dorrfield and had a supper at another fellow's expense and got drunk, I never whined and lied out of it, nor told of the other fellows, anyway. If I ever stole any examination questions, I never denied it. If I flunked when it came to the end of the year, I never bootlicked the teachers and tried the 'good little boy' dodge. Now suppose I did know that ashes were to be scattered on the path? What could I do about it, I'd like to know? If some of the fellows couldn't bear the thought of Jack Hobart, with such a crowd of bootlicks as he had on his bob, coming in ahead of 'The Swallow,' why whose fault was it, I'd like to know? I couldn't help it, could I? I've got enough to answer for myself, without taking on my shoulders every fellow that is despised by the school."

The anger which Ward felt when Tim first began to speak soon gave way to shame and mortification as the brutal lad went on. All his thrusts went home, and Ward could hardly speak when Tim stopped. All his former disgrace came back upon him, and he felt as if every boy in the room must be regarding him as Tim pretended to himself.

But Henry, who felt deeply for his room-mate, with flashing eyes quickly came to his assistance. Rising from the chair in which he had been seated and standing directly in front of Tim, he said: "Look here, Tim Pickard, you'll not gain anything by raking up old scores, or trying to get us off on the track of last year's work, whether it's true or false what you say. You know as well as I do that some of these things are not true; but I don't care anything about them, one way or the other. And you can't scare us in any such way, either. Now look here, Tim Pickard! do you see that arm of mine? I've got to carry it in a sling for weeks, and why? Just because of your sneaking trick. Jack Hobart's lost a finger and no one knows how long he'll be in bed, or whether he'll ever leave it alive or not, for that matter. Now what was the cause of it? Answer me, will you? Where did all these fellows get their bumps and bruises, and how does it happen that 'The Arrow' is smashed into pieces? Can you tell me that? You want to know what we're going to do about it, do you? Well, I could tell you mighty quick what I'd do if it was left to me. I'd go straight to Doctor Gray and lay the whole thing before him. We'd arranged for a square race with you, you know that. And I don't care whether you carried the ashes up there yourself or had some of your sneaking 'Tangs' do the work for you; it's all one to me. I don't think the fellow who would be guilty of such a mean, contemptible trick as that is fit to be in such a school as this. I haven't a bit of fear of being called a tell-tale. I'd think I was doing the very best that could be done. Yes, sir, if I could have my way I'd even get up a petition to the doctor to have you put out of the school. When you set the little fellows up to stacking rooms, I thought that was pretty small business for a senior to be engaged in, though I didn't think it was worth noticing; but when you come to do things that endanger our lives, it's another matter entirely, and I don't believe in mincing matters, either. If you'd settle down and behave yourself, there isn't a fellow in the Weston school that would do a thing against you; but it's time you put a stop to some of the things you're doing, and if you won't do it, then I claim the fellows themselves ought to do it for you."