“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Gordon. “It’s too bad to have anything more come out against Crawford, now when he’s trying to live down last year’s record.”
“That’s so,” said Reed, earnestly, “and I’m sorry I spoke, but I’ve felt for a long time that it wasn’t fair to Clark to keep still about that. Say boys, if I tell you the whole story, will you all promise not to repeat a word of it to anyone?”
“Yes, yes,” cried every boy except Clark and Gordon. The latter, less excitable and more thoughtful than most of the others, said:—
“Hold on—I don’t promise till I’ve thought it all out. If we’ve been wronging Clark, we owe it to him to let the truth be known.”
But now Clark spoke. “Boys,” he said, “you have been wronging me, for I never saw that pony until Mr. Horton held it up before me; but if all of you here believe me, I’m perfectly willing to let the matter rest. Crawford is having a hard enough time as it is, this year. If he had a hand in this thing, I’m only too glad to forget it all, if the rest of you will do the same.”
“Three cheers for Clark!” cried Reed, but Clark interposed quickly:—
“No, no, don’t! We’ll have a crowd in here to know what it’s all about.”
Gordon walked over to Clark and held out his hand as he said:—
“I, for one, have perfect confidence in Clark’s honor, and I know he’s no coward.”
Clark’s eyes were not so clear as usual as he wrung the offered hand, but he knew that from that hour no shadow would rest on his name in the minds of those present. No shadow? Ah yes—even in that the happiest hour of his school life, the shadow of his father’s sin fell upon him—and the light faded from his eyes and his lips took their old sad curve, as he turned to Reed, and said:—