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<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXIII. THE CONFESSION.</h2></div> All alone, his face drawn and white, moving like one in a trance, the hero of the football game went down the hill. It seemed strange that he was not in the midst of a throng of admirers, all eager to be near him and bask in the sunlight of his glory. It seemed strange that not one of his late companions on the field accompanied him. But it seemed stranger still that his eyes were full of despair and his appearance was that of one who had met crushing and overwhelming defeat. He had met defeat in his soul, and he knew it; but out of that defeat was to come the great victory of his life. He had seen the victim of his cowardly blow carried away in the arms of horrified friends, his eyes closed, his face ghastly, one arm dangling limply. The dreadful picture was before him now, and it sickened his soul. He knew Sterndale had stopped him outside the dressing-room, but had stood off without touching him, as if afraid of contamination—the same Sterndale who had hugged him a short time before in the presence of all the players and the great crowd of spectators. In a dull way, he had heard the captain tell him what a contemptible person he was, and he had felt that every word was true. He had not denied it when Dick accused him of dropping the forged letter that was meant to destroy Renwood’s[285] reputation with the members of the eleven. He made no sign when Sterndale declared he had seen through the wretched trick from the first, and would have kicked him off the team but for the disruption another change must have brought about. When the captain had finished, Don turned away, without a word in his own defense. A groan came from Don’s blue lips as he thought of his father’s story and warning, which he had utterly disregarded, to his complete downfall and disgrace. His heart was wrung with anguish at the thought that he had brought another great sorrow upon that father who had suffered so much, and with that he began to think of others more than himself. Renwood—ah! that was the worst! Just then he would have given his life to undo that passionate act. “You’re the feller I’m lookin’ fer.” Simeon Drew’s hand dropped on the boy’s shoulder. Don looked at the man, who had overtaken him as he reached the front gate of his home. “You have come to arrest me?” said the miserable lad, huskily. “All right; I’m ready to go.” “I ain’t come to ’rest ye,” denied the officer. “I thought you said you was innercent?” “I did it.” “Well, by Halifax!” gasped Drew. “An’ Bentley said he was the one.” “Bentley?” muttered Don, staring at the man, uncomprehendingly.[286] “Why, he wasn’t there! I struck the blow.” “I dunno what you’re drivin’ at,” admitted the puzzled deputy; “but I do know that Bentley wants to see ye an’ hev a talk with ye. He begged me to hunt ye up. I’ll take ye in to see him.” The boy’s head cleared a bit, but he accompanied Drew without further words, and soon he was standing before Leon Bentley, who, wild-eyed and fear-shaken, paced the narrow confines of his prison, smoking a cigarette. “I’m glad you came, Don!” cried Leon, trying to catch his hand. “I was afraid you wouldn’t!” The doctor’s son refused to permit his hand to be taken. “What do you want?” he coldly asked. “Don’t look like that!” Leon whimpered. “We’ve been friends, and I’ve tried to do you some good turns.” “You have done me the greatest possible harm, but I am willing to forget and try to forgive if you tell nothing but the truth now.” “Oh, I’ll tell the truth!” cried the nerveless prisoner; “but you must help me. Promise that you will help me!” “How?” “With your father. I think I can fix it about the bicycle, if I can get your father to go easy with me. I’m sorry, and I’ll try to do better. Please help me with your old man, Don!” [287]“If I promise to try, you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?” “Yes! yes!” “I’ll do all I can, then. I have been accused of knowing something about that forged check.” “You didn’t, Don—you didn’t know a thing about it!” declared Leon, instantly. “I hooked it from your governor’s check-book the night I came over to tell you about the game at Highland. I had the doctor’s writing down fine from practicing on that excuse business, and I forged the check. Then I didn’t dare to get it cashed here, so I took it over to Freeport, where I bought some stuff and got a man to take the check and give me the difference in money. He must have got nervous about it afterward, or he’d never hurried it back here the way he did.” Don did not even look at Simeon Drew, who was leaning against the door, wagging his jaws over a chew of tobacco and listening to every word that passed between the boys. He was certain now that the suspicion of this crime would be lifted from him, but there was yet another thing about which he wished to know the truth. “How about that remnant of a letter you claimed you picked up from beneath Renwood’s desk?” he asked. “Why, what does that have to do with this business?” “You have promised to tell me the truth in everything,” said Don, grimly. “If you do not—if you hold back or lie about a single thing, I’ll not speak one word to help you! Was that remnant of a letter genuine?” [288]“No,” admitted the young scamp, trying to force a grin; “I faked that up.” Don steadied himself on his feet, feeling that the ground on which he had fancied he stood securely was dropping from beneath him bit by bit. “And you led me into the dirty trick of dropping that letter for Sterndale!” he finally said, harshly. “You wished somehow to get me concerned in your low business!” “But you hated Renwood just as much as I did!” cried Leon. “It was to down him.” “And failed. Sterndale tumbled to the trick. Is that all you can tell? Is there nothing more?” “That’s all.” The manner in which Leon uttered those two words convinced Don that it was not all, and he instantly said: “If you hold back anything, you want to remember that I will not help you. The truth is bound to come out, and so you may as well confess the whole business. Is that all?” “Yes, it is—all except one thing.” “What is that?” “It’s about the cutting up of those suits and that football.” Don steadied himself again, feeling his last foothold crumbling, and his voice almost failed him as he asked: “What about that? Speak out, fellow!” “It—it was a mistake, Don,” faltered Bentley, keeping[289] his eyes downturned. “You see, it was this way: Just before you dropped into the club that night, Renwood had his knife out. It was on the table when you had that little jaw with him, and I took it, thinking he wouldn’t notice it was gone. He did notice it after you went out, and we all hunted for it, but, of course, we didn’t find it. Later, when they proposed to give Carter a try on the team, I got mad, for I saw I’d be dropped if Carter got on. I told them what I thought and got out. Then I wanted to do something to get even with somebody, and I knew Renwood was the one who was trying to bounce me. I remembered how you thought he was a traitor, and an idea struck me. I went up to the dressing-room under the grand-stand and slashed up the suits and the football with Renwood’s knife, which I meant to leave right there, hoping he’d be suspected; but, just as I finished the job, somebody came right in by the door and bumped against me. I couldn’t see who it was in the dark, and I tried to jump and scoot. The other fellow grabbed me, and we had it. You bet I didn’t want to be caught in that job, so I fought for all I was worth; but the other fellow was too much for me, and he had me down and was choking me to death when I struck at him with the knife. I didn’t know it was you, Don—truly I didn’t! I thought I was being killed. You know the rest; you know how you got the knife and I managed to slip away. That’s the whole truth, Don, and now you must help me, just as you promised you would.” [290]The listening lad sat down weakly on a box, feeling that he had been robbed of everything. He beheld himself in the true light at last, and the spectacle was so repulsive that he shuddered and grew cold. When he lifted his eyes, Bentley cowered beneath the terrible look he received. “Don’t!” he whimpered once more—“don’t look at me that way! I’ve told you the truth, and now you must help me! Think of the terrible scrape I’m in!” “You!” cried Don, rising and flinging the other off, so that he reeled up against the wall, his cigarette flying from his fingers. “The terrible scrape you are in! Why, I have killed Renwood!” Then he went out, Bentley’s prayers and pleadings falling on ears that were deaf. <hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> <div class="chapter"> [291] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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