[CHAPTER X]
FLIGHT
When Jack left the house he hesitated a moment at the little gate. Then he turned to the left and hurried to Murdoch Street and down that to the railroad track. He was taking the longest route to the station; but, since his main desire was to avoid meeting any one he knew, it was also the safest. His battered valise, although by no means full, soon grew heavy and began to bump against his legs at every stride. When he reached the track, what with the aggravating behavior of the valise and the difficulty of walking over the uneven ties, speed was no longer possible. He had barely reached the Washington Street crossing when a whistle down the track behind him brought consternation. It was the 9.22 train, he told himself; and he knew that if he missed that he would have to wait a whole hour at the station before he could get another—an hour which might serve to bring Anthony upon him with a wealth of unanswerable argument in favor of his return.
So, after a quick glance over his shoulder in the direction of the warning blast, he shifted the valise again and set out over the ties at a run. Once he stumbled and the bag went hurtling down the bank and brought up against a board fence. When he had recovered it and had scrambled back to the track the train was but a few hundred yards away. But the station was almost gained now. He retired to a hand-car siding while the engine and its three cars whizzed past him with much grinding of brakes, and then ran on in the wake of dust.
There was no time to buy a ticket. When he reached the platform and the last car, the conductor had already swung his hand to the engineer. Jack pushed his valise on to the car-steps and crawled, breathless, after it. Then the train moved again, and a minute later Centerport was lost to sight. Jack, huddled upon the rear platform, saw it disappear with mingled emotions. Regret was prominent. He wondered at this. Surely, he thought, he had been miserable enough at Erskine to make the parting anything but regretful. And yet, even as he thought that, the idea of leaving the train at the next station and walking back came to him with strange attractiveness. Anthony would be glad; none else would know that he had contemplated flight; he would go back to the training-table, secure a place on the nine, and do great things—things that would make the college proud of him. And Gilberth might——
But at the recollection of Gilberth the plan lost its attractiveness. Jack gritted his teeth and shook his fist toward where the tower of College Hall was still just visible above the tree-tops. Then, having recovered his breath, he took up his bag and passed into the car. It proved to be the smoker and was almost deserted. He selected a seat on the riverside, placed his valise beside him, and gave himself up to his thoughts. These were not cheerful. He wondered what his father and mother would say to his return. As for the latter, he could count with certainty upon her sympathy and support. But his father was different. He was a man with a stern conscience, and one singularly devoid of the finer sensibilities. For him the path of duty was always clearly defined and he trod it unswervingly, no matter what might befall. And, as Jack well knew, he looked for and demanded the same moral courage from others that he himself displayed. No, there would be no sympathy forthcoming from his father. Jack could almost hear him now:
“You had done no wrong, my son. With a clear conscience you had nothing to fear. The wrong was in running away.”
He might, thought Jack, even insist upon his returning. But that he would not do. He would find work and, as soon as possible, would pay back to his father the money wasted upon him at Erskine. He had intended becoming a teacher. But now that was impossible. Perhaps he could get employment from Billy Cromwell. But, whatever happened, he would not, having once reached home, go back to Erskine!