Anthony himself in those days was not aware that he showed at times any of the doubts that assailed him. He did not mean to. He had argued with himself over the matter of the lost watch and had at length practically convinced himself that, despite all evidences against his friend, Jack was not guilty of theft. It is probable that even had Anthony detected Jack in the act of stealing he would still have kept much of his liking for the boy, even while detesting his offense. Anthony was big enough morally to view wrong-doing with pity as well as disfavor, and his affection for Jack—a big-hearted, generous affection—would have weighed in the boy’s favor.
But Anthony had made up his mind to believe in the other’s innocence, and believe he did. Sometimes the doubts would creep back despite him, and it was at such times that Jack believed he detected a difference in Anthony’s manner toward him. Meanwhile, Anthony had purchased a wonderful alarm-clock for the sum of eighty-five cents; wonderful for the reason that it gained an hour each day as long as it stood on its feet, and lost twenty minutes each day if laid comfortably on its back. Anthony corrected it every evening by Jack’s watch, and persevered in his efforts to lead it back into a life of veracity and usefulness.
“There’s some position,” he declared, “in which that thing will keep exact time. ’Tisn’t on its feet, and ’tisn’t on its back; it’s somewhere between. Patience and study will find the solution.”
So he propped it at various angles with his books, and even laid it on its head, but whether the numerals XII pointed toward the floor, the ceiling, or the dormer-window the result was always surprising and never satisfactory. And finally, after he had once awakened and prepared his breakfast before discovering that the alarm had gone off at five instead of half-past six, he gave up the struggle, settled the timepiece firmly on its little legs, and accustomed himself to being always one hour ahead of the rest of the world.
[CHAPTER XIV]
THE MASS-MEETING
On the Wednesday for which the mass-meeting was called Jack returned to the house at quarter after five, and, as was his custom, stopped in at Anthony’s room to spend half an hour before dinner. Anthony had improvised a window-seat out of a packing-case, covering it with an old red table-cloth and installing upon it his one cushion, a not over-soft and very flamboyant creation in purple and white. When Jack entered he found Anthony perched thereon before the open casement. The seat was not very long and so the occupant was obliged to either let his legs hang over the edge or fold them up beneath him. At present he had adopted the latter tactics, and a ludicrous figure he presented. Jack subsided on to the edge of the bed and giggled with delight until Anthony tossed the book he was studying at his head.
“What are you crying about?” he demanded.
“I’m not cr—crying,” gurgled Jack. “I’m la—laughing at you.”