CHAPTER XIX.
THE NET OF DECEPTION.
“Look here, Bentley, I want to see you,” called Don Scott, sharply, as Leon was hurrying homeward from school the following noon.
Leon cast a backward glance over the shoulder and saw the doctor’s son coming after him with swinging strides. The day was dark and lowering and a storm was threatening, but Bentley saw indications of a swifter and more violent storm in the face of the boy who was hastened to overtake him, which made him feel like taking to his heels and seeking shelter from the outbreak.
“I’m in a hurry,” he cried, half pausing and then quickening his steps once more.
“I won’t bother you long,” was the assertion which failed to reassure him in the slightest degree. “What I have to say to you I can say in short order. Hold on!”
“He won’t dare to touch me,” thought Leon, seeking to quiet his own fears, but not entirely succeeding. “I might as well let him blaze away and have it over.”
He paused at a street corner and waited. A wet wind was slashing viciously at the trees that lined the street, and a yellow leaf, harbinger of the great flocks to follow, came fluttering like a wounded bird to Bentley’s feet.
The pursuer came up with a few swift, firm steps and stopped, regarding Leon with scorn and anger apparently unspeakable, so that the vacillating fellow stared at the ground and weakly asked, forcing himself with a painful effort to utter the words:
“Well, what do you want?”
“You’re a nice one, you are!” grated Don, with a motion that caused the other to start back a bit and lift one hand, like an oft-beaten child who expects a blow. “Oh, I’m not going to touch you, so don’t cringe like a whipped cur!”
“What’s the matter with you?” Bentley snapped, trying to stiffen up and put on a bold front. “If you have anything to say to me, why don’t you say it?”
“I will. You’re a treacherous sneak! You’re a two-faced whelp! That ought to be plain enough for you to understand.”
“Oh, come, Scott!” exclaimed Leon, changing his manner. “What reason have you got to make such talk to me? What have I done?”
“You know what you’ve done! You pretended to be my friend, and yet——”
“I am your friend.”
“You’re nothing of the sort! I wouldn’t own you for a friend! You have gone back on me!”
“I suppose I know what you’re driving at. You’re mad because I’ve gone back onto the eleven.”
“After swearing over and over that you’d stick to me through thick and thin! After vowing you’d never play on the team unless I did! I didn’t ask for all those promises, but you made them.”
“And I meant to keep them when I made them, Scott——honest I did. But Sterndale came and offered me my old position, and so——”
“You went back on your word and quit me.”
“No, I’ve not quit you; I’m still your friend.”
“Bah!” cried Don, scornfully.
“I am!” palpitated Leon, eager to convince his companion. “I’ll prove it to you, too. You don’t think I went back because I want to help them win, do you?”
The doctor’s son did not speak, and Bentley hastened to go on:
“Not on your life! That wasn’t my little game. I went back because I can keep track of things better by standing in with the gang. I can watch Dolph Renwood, and I may get a good chance to give him a dig that will do him up. Can’t you see I’m liable to get a better chance at him now? I haven’t forgotten that he got Sterndale to drop me, and I’ll pay him back.”
“It’s a case of treachery on one side or the other,” declared Don. “If you’re not lying to me, you’ve gone back to betray the team, and so you’re a sneak, just the same.”
“Well, you beat anything!” gasped Leon, quite unable to understand the other youth. “You want to see them get it in the neck because Renwood is coaching them, and yet you turn up your nose at me when you think there is a chance that I may be able to give them the throw-down. What are you made of, anyhow?”
“I hope I’m made of different stuff than you are. I do want them to be beaten, but I’m not on the eleven. If I were on it, no matter how I felt, I’d have to do my best to help win. If you do anything else, you will be a traitor and a sneak.”
Some color mounted to Bentley’s thin cheeks.
“You’re the funniest fellow on legs!” he exclaimed. “Of course I wouldn’t do anything to down the team unless I could throw it all on Renwood’s shoulders. I’m keeping my eyes open for a chance to show him up dirty.”
Don was silent a moment, looking squarely at Leon with those dark, piercing eyes.
“Thad Boland may be lazy,” he finally said; “but a lazy man is better than a sneak and a traitor. Sterndale made a mistake when he took you back, and I’d tell him so if I thought he’d pay any attention to me.”
“You’ll be sorry some time for this kind of talk, Scott!” snapped Leon, in bewildered anger. “There come some girls, and I don’t want to talk with you any longer.”
Don saw several girls coming down the street, Dora Deland and Zadia Renwood among them, and he immediately said:
“I’m sure I don’t want to be seen talking with you, nor do I want anything further to do with you. You can keep away from me in the future. Understand?”
Without waiting for Leon to answer, he hastened onward toward home, leaving Bentley to wait for the girls and force himself upon them as a companion and escort, whether he was wanted or not.
That afternoon it rained. Don sat at his desk and listened to the dash of the wind-driven cloud-tears against a near-by window. Sometimes he studied, but oftener he was thinking of things far removed from books and recitations. The rain had begun late in the day and was pretty certain to continue, so there could be no practice for the Rockspur Eleven that night.
“They’ve made another shift about since taking Bentley back,” thought Don, “and every change disturbs them some. There’s little time now for them to get used to the new line-up.”
It was not necessary for him to remain away from home on the pretense of practicing that night, which gave him no small satisfaction. He passed the evening reading.
The following day was bright and clear, and the eleven turned out for morning practice on the field. At school Don fancied the members of the team showed something like satisfaction, as if things had moved better. Even Thad Boland seemed relieved and well pleased.
Saturday came, and as Don came down in the morning, he was greeted by his father, who cheerfully cried:
“This is a fine day for the great game, my son—bright, sunny and cool. Are you feeling in first-class trim for it?”
“I am feeling first rate,” was the answer.
“That’s good; but it seems to me that you are not looking as well as usual. Perhaps regular practice, together with your studies, has taken hold of you.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” the boy hastened to declare. “I’m feeling fine as a fiddle.”
“Well, I’m glad of that, for you have a hard task before you to beat Highland on its own ground. I suppose you’ll want an early dinner to-day, as you always start away by noon when you are going to Highland?”
“Yes; half-past eleven will be about right.”
“I did think of driving over to Highland this afternoon and taking a look at the game,” said the doctor, causing Don’s heart to stop beating for a moment; “but I find I shall be unable to do so.”
The boy breathed again, inwardly thanking fortune.
“I want you to do your best to-day, my son,” pursued his father; “and remember to guard your temper and keep your head cool. Promise me that you will not, under any provocation, permit your temper to master you to-day, Don.”
The promise was given, and they sat down to breakfast, during which, to the continued uneasiness of the youth, Dr. Scott persisted in talking about football and asking unpleasant questions. Don was glad enough to escape from the house under pretense of going to the field to put in some morning practice.
To him it now seemed necessary to continue the deception as long as he could, and it is even probable that he hoped his father might never find out the truth, although this hardly appeared possible. In the beginning, the deception had seemed a small matter and of little consequence, but, having taken the first false step, he had been led on till now the burden of the deceit seemed more than he could bear. It was wearing on his nerves and blunting all his finer instincts of honor, for Don was naturally an upright and straightforward youth, who, despite his violent disposition, detested anything dishonorable.
Thus it came about that he remained away from home all the forenoon, shunning and avoiding the other village boys, who shunned and avoided him. When he came rushing home, it was at the last minute, apparently, as if the exciting events of the day had caught and carried him away in their clutches.
“Land of goodness!” cried his aunt, as he flung himself down at the table. “Don’t tear the house to pieces!”
“I’m in a hurry,” he declared.
“Can’t you wait for your pa? The tea ain’t quite ready.”
“I can’t wait for anything, and I don’t want any tea.”
“But you must eat a good hearty dinner, for you’ll need it.”
“Strictly against orders,” he declared, helping himself to the mashed potatoes and cold corned beef. “No man is permitted to overload his stomach on the day of a game.”
He fell to eating without ceremony and was quite finished when his father came in at the ringing of the bell.
“Hello! hello!” exclaimed the doctor. “Have you eaten? Why, you haven’t been in the house five minutes. I heard you when you came in.”
“You’ll have to excuse me, father; I didn’t have time to wait for you. I’m off.”
“Hold on! Aren’t you going to take your overcoat? It will be chilly riding home to-night.”
“I came near forgetting it,” said Don, whose great anxiety was to get out of the house before his father could ask any more questions. “Good-by, Aunt Ella.” He kissed her and then dashed up the stairs, leaving her standing by the table, with uplifted hands, while the doctor sat down, laughing.
“Bless us! bless us!” breathed the good woman. “What are boys in these days coming to? They actually go crazy over baseball, football and such things. Now, in our day——”
“Boys played barn tag, three-old-cat, prisoner’s base and games of that class; now they have something better, sister. There is more sense in baseball, football, tennis, polo, basket-ball and other modern games.”
“Well, there may be,” sighed Aunt Ella, sitting down and preparing to pour the tea; “but I’m sure there’s more danger, and Don gets so crazy over them that I expect he’ll come home dead some day, or crippled for life.”
Don was heard coming swiftly downstairs, taking three at a time.
“Good-by!” he shouted. “I’m off.”
“Good luck, my boy,” called the doctor. “Remember my advice. Take care of yourself, and do your level best to help Rockspur win.”
The door slammed and Don was gone, but not to play football.