“Don’t be worried, dearest,” he whispered patting her shoulder softly. “I haven’t done anything wrong—I give you my word of honor—not even anything wrong as you and father look at it. Of course, you’ll think I have been pretty headstrong and foolish and have gotten myself into a scrape. But I didn’t see it that way. I thought I could persuade the men to keep out of trouble. Well, I didn’t succeed, but I did not know I had not until now. The men promised me to be sensible.”
He put his arm around her and then turned—not to his aunt or his sister, but to Vera.
“You’ll make mother understand the way I felt, won’t you? I didn’t confide in you because I didn’t want to get you into my difficulty.”
Then he saw the two police officers approaching, with the railroad detective.
Billy smiled at them, although his face was pretty white.
“You are making a mistake in this. I had a perfect right to give the strikers all the information I ever gave them. As for any trouble you have had along the road I knew nothing about it until this minute. And I doubt if you can prove the strikers were mixed up in it anyway. Still I know there is no use in my talking to you. I’ll have to tell my story to persons higher in authority. I’ll be ready to go along with you in a few moments.”
And in ten minutes Billy had gone with them, carrying a little bag packed with a few of his belongings.
He looked very slender and young as he walked away beside the heavy, older men. But his head was up and his shoulders squared.
If he had a lump in his throat and his body shook with nervousness, he never confessed the fact.
Instead, just before he was out of sight, he turned and waved his hand gallantly to the group of his Camp Fire friends.