“Good night, Alexander,” replied Mrs. Trevor softly. “I feel sorry for you and your friends.”
As Connie departed, with neither word nor look for his pal in disgrace, Mrs. Trevor started down the steps.
“I’m going to the train, Arthur, to meet your father.”
“Shan’t I come with you?” Art asked.
“No. I want to meet your father alone and prepare him for the reception you have arranged for him.”
This was the last straw. When a little later the repentant Art heard the hollow blasts of the eight-o’clock express he was stretched on a couch in the living room. There was a lump in his throat and he felt as if he had lost every interest in life.
Connie’s talk had not made Art’s troubles lighter. Art realized that his pal’s disgrace and punishment was due to himself more than to Connie. Finally, to relieve his troubled conscience, he set his teeth together and hurried to the telephone. Art called up the Conyers home and Alex’s father answered the telephone.
“This is Arthur Trevor, Mr. Conyers,” Art hastily began, “an’ I want to tell you what we did to-day. Yes, our fightin’. Well, Connie ain’t to blame like I am. But you don’t understand. He ain’t a scrapper an’ he didn’t want to go an’ he tried to keep the gang from goin’. If we’d done like he wanted, there wouldn’t nothin’ ’a’ happened. But I egged him on. Yes, I know I’d oughtn’t an’ it was my fault. Connie argued ever’ way to keep us out o’ trouble an’ we just pulled him in. An’ that ain’t all. He wouldn’t ’a’ got into no fight himself at all if he hadn’t tried to keep me from fightin’. An’ then they jumped on his back an’ he had to scrap. It was my fault all through.”
There was some conversation, Mr. Conyers’ part of which seemed to indicate that he wasn’t at all certain of Alexander’s innocence, even in part. Then he appeared to give Art a few words of advice and the interview ended. There was no suggestion that Connie’s punishment would be made lighter.
Art heard voices outside just then, and bracing himself as well as he could, he went out to greet his father. At sight of the latter the boy forgot the coming interview, and threw himself into his parent’s arms. Then, in the joy of his father’s return, Art grabbed the bags and led the way gayly into the house. His father was as smiling and good-natured as usual.