The threat in the speaker’s face was far more effective than in his words, and Bern Hayden did not complete the interrupted sentence. Turning, he walked swiftly away, followed by the eyes of the lad he had failed to intimidate.
Spotty Davis, leaning on the orchard fence, had been watching them for some moments. Hayden scarcely noticed Spotty as he passed, and Davis grinned at Ben, to whom he called:
“Come on, Stoney, let’s toddle up to the acad. You’ll be late if you don’t come along now.”
A strange calmness had come over Ben Stone. This had taken the place of the wrath that had burned in his veins, and now he felt that he was indeed master of himself. And whoever masters himself may likewise master fate.
“You’n Bern are gittin’ kinder friendly, ain’t yer?” chuckled Spotty, as Ben came out. “Sorter surprised me to see him makin’ a mornin’ call on you.”
As he passed through the academy gate, Hayden glanced back and saw Stone and Davis coming. A strange look flashed swiftly across his face, and the words which he muttered no one save himself could have understood had they heard them.
That night Roger Eliot noted with satisfaction that Fred Sage was promptly on hand at the football field. Hunk Rollins likewise put in an appearance; and, to complete Eliot’s triumph, both Barker and Hayden arrived before practice began.
There were others who took notice of these things, and Sleuth Piper, whispering mysteriously in Chub Tuttle’s ear, observed:
“My deduction is that Capt. Eliot has put on the screws and brought the delinquents to time. The before-mentioned delinquents have come trotting up to the dough dish as gentle as lambs, and——”
“Lambs don’t like dough,” said Chub. “Your figures of speech are shocking, Sleuth.”