“It was rotten hard luck.”
“Yes, it was hard luck.”
Neither of them seemed to fancy for a moment that the element of Fate entered, even remotely, into the case, and perhaps they could be excused in this, for “hard luck” is ever the cry of the erring who face exposure through seemingly chance twists of circumstances. Even hardened malefactors, which these boys were not, rarely understand how closely the threads of human destiny are woven, making it almost impossible completely and effectually to hide the slightest flaw in the web.
Although Osgood invited him in when Mrs. Chester’s house was reached, Shultz declined; he was troubled by a vague aversion for the room of his friend, in which an event bordering on tragedy had taken place. They lingered outside near an old elm that was just beginning to show the least touch of tender green amid its branches, and continued seeking to ease their minds by talk.
“Under any circumstances,” said Shultz, “this business seems to put the kibosh on our little plan. It’s upset everything.”
Osgood nodded. “Just when we had things pretty well fixed,” he sighed. “We were standing in right with the majority of the baseball team, and Nelson’s act at Wyndham would have helped us along.”
“Sure. I’ll guarantee you would have been captain of the Oakdale Academy nine before long. If Wyndham had won that game after Nelson benched us, it would have settled everything our way. You’re mighty clever, old man. You worked the fellows who could be worked, and did it just right. They didn’t realize for a moment what we were up to. Still, we had them sounded so that we knew which way every one would jump if a split came.”
“It was your idea; I’d never thought of it myself. Even after seeing how loosely athletics are run here, being only a short time in the school, I wouldn’t have fancied it possible to depose Nelson had you not suggested it.”
For ten minutes or more they continued to talk without securing the least relief from the oppression and anxiety that was on them.
The face of Shultz, as he trudged toward the home of Caleb Carter, where he boarded, was clouded and gloomy. After supper he waited until the shadows had lengthened into twilight, and then set forth into the village. In their talk, neither he nor Osgood had spoken much of the probable result of Roy Hooker’s injury, but Charley was inwardly consumed by a desire for some report on the unfortunate boy’s condition.