The play that won

by Ralph Henry Barbour

The door closed behind the instructor and Jonesie subsided in the nearest chair, grinning like the famous Cheshire Cat.

Next door Mr. Mundy spoke firmly but kindly to Cummings. “If I were you,” he said, “I’d go in for some sort of regular exercise besides your gymnasium work. Be out of doors more, Cummings. You might take a good long walk every day; three or four miles. Aren’t worrying about anything, are you?”

“I’m worrying about having my room upset every time I turn my back,” said the boy excitedly. “That’s what——”

“Yes, yes,” soothed Mr. Mundy. “But I think if you’ll follow my advice regarding the walks and being out of doors you’ll find that—ahem—your worries will cease. About three miles to-day, to start with, eh? And drop in this evening and tell me where you went and what you saw.” He nodded encouragingly and departed.

Oddly enough, Cummings did just what Jonesie had done a minute before. That is, he subsided into a chair. But he didn’t grin. He groaned. “Three miles!” he muttered. “Great Scott!”

But he did them. He didn’t dare not to. And when he stumbled back, at five, foot-sore and aching from the unaccustomed effort, he found his study sickeningly confused. “It’s fine for him,” he thought bitterly. “He knows I’m safe out of the way for an hour. Mundy makes me sick!”

Supper that evening was torture, for he was tired and discouraged to start with and everyone he met asked about his spooks. He lost his temper completely with Turner and that youth had the cheek to read him a lecture on manners. He anticipated some satisfaction in reporting to Mr. Mundy that his walk had not prevented the “pieing” of his study, but the instructor told him that he mustn’t expect his prescription to work so soon. “Keep on, Cummings,” he said cheerfully. “It’ll soon tell. Try four miles to-morrow.”

But Cummings was through. He climbed wearily upstairs and knocked at Number 14. “When do you want to quit, Jonesie?” he asked humbly.

“I won’t pretend to ignorance of your meaning,” replied Jonesie grandly. “I’ve been thinking about your case, Cummings, and I’ve solved it.” Cummings moistened his lips but said nothing. “It’s your conscience that’s at the bottom of all this, old man. I believe that if you clear your conscience you’ll stop imagining things.”