“No time like the present, my boy. Come along.”
So Kid yielded his chair with a sigh and joined the instructor at the bookcase. And when, five minutes later, it had been discovered that “tristichous” meant “arranged on the stem in three vertical rows,” and when, ten minutes later, Mr. Folsom had concluded his short lecture on the derivation of the word and its application to the science of botany, Kid returned to the hearth to find Sewall Crandall occupying his chair. And, although Kid was not in the least deficient in assurance, he somehow found himself unequal to the emergency, and so sank into a seat in the outer darkness without a protest.
It was on Friday morning that Kid got a letter from his father, and, with it, a shorter note from his mother. Doctor Merton’s news had reached them—the Doctor had also sent a clipping from the local paper—and they were both very proud and happy. Of course Kid’s father strove to write as though his son had performed quite an everyday, ordinary bit of heroism, praiseworthy, to be sure, but nothing to boast of. But his efforts weren’t altogether successful, for his pride showed through here and there. Kid’s mother’s note sounded almost tearful, and Kid got a little choky himself when he read it. On the whole, those two epistles didn’t contribute greatly to his peace of mind. He felt rather ashamed of himself, in fact. He almost wished that the Doctor had written about the other matter, too. The more he considered his recent efforts to become a merchant prince the more he was convinced that he had acted dishonestly. It had all been—been very unfortunate, he sighed. He hadn’t really meant to deceive anyone; he hadn’t really meant to go to the village and embark on that orgy of candy and pastry and root beer; it seemed now, as he reviewed the recent happenings, as though some malignant fate had just simply dragged him on from one indiscretion to another. Kid gloomed over the matter until afternoon. Then he reached a heroic resolve. He would confess!
But a good half-hour intervened between the resolution and the act. It wasn’t so easy, after all. And in the end it was not the Doctor whom he sought, but Mrs. Merton. Even then it was a difficult task, and it was some time before he succeeded in convincing her of his crimes. “I—I thought the Doctor ought to know,” ended Kid.
“Of course, James, but why didn’t you go to him?”
Kid hung his head and was silent.
“Shall we go to him now and tell him?” asked Mother gently.
Kid nodded readily but with no enthusiasm, and they made their way from Mrs. Merton’s sitting-room to the Doctor’s office. There Kid, helpfully prompted by the Doctor’s wife, made a clean breast of it all; how, in order to sell his throat tablets, he had allowed the fellows to think that financial disaster had overtaken his family, how he had gone to the village and spent almost all his earnings and how he had stolen away from school to become a sailor. More than once the Doctor turned and busied himself with a book or a paper to hide the trembling of his lips, and once Kid, glancing up suddenly, surprised Mrs. Merton with a broad smile on her face. But the Doctor spoke very gravely when Kid had concluded his narrative, and Kid guessed he must have been mistaken about that smile. The upshot of it all was that Kid was to made a clean breast to the fellows and ask their pardons for the deception he had practiced. Also he was to remain in bounds for two weeks. Kid came away from that interview almost happy and filled with noble resolves to be a better boy. The punishment was nothing compared to the relief of getting that load from his mind!
He rather funked the task that remained, however, and when the fellows had assembled in the hall as was customary during the half-hour before supper he roamed restlessly about for quite ten minutes before he gained sufficient courage to speak his piece. And when he did begin his voice was so low and husky that no one heard his first request of attention.
“Say, you fellows,” began Kid again, clearing his throat.