Dave Porter in the Far North/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI
GUS PLUM'S CONFESSION
That the former bully of Oak Hall was thoroughly broken-down there could be no doubt, and Dave pitied him from the bottom of his heart. He wondered what Gus Plum would have to say next, and resolved to aid the lad as much as lay in his power.
"Come, Gus, you had better tell me your whole story," he said, kindly, and sitting on the bed he took one of the lad's hands in his own.
"Well, you know how I promised Doctor Clay I'd turn over a new leaf, and all that," began Plum. "I haven't done it."
"Oh, Gus!"
"I wanted to—but the force of circumstances, and my own weakness, wouldn't let me. Do you remember how I told you about my financial affairs—losing money on that football game and all that? Well, I learned that I was deeper in debt than I thought I was. I paid what debts I could and then found out that I still owed two men In Oakdale forty dollars. I didn't dare to write home for money, for after that exposure my father said he would only allow me five dollars a month spending money and not a cent more, for the next year. I met one of the men in Oakdale the day before Thanksgiving—after you were away—and he—oh, how can I tell it!—he got me to go to that tavern with him and gamble again, in the hope of winning the money I needed."
"And you gambled, Gus? That was too bad."
"At first I played cards for small amounts, but then the men treated—they insisted upon my drinking—and then we made the stakes larger, and when I came away, instead of winning back the forty dollars, I found myself owing them eighty-five dollars. And now they say if I do not pay up at once they'll expose me to the doctor and my folks." Gus Plum heaved a deep sigh. "Oh, I wish I was dead!" he sobbed.
"Gus, I thought you were going to give up gambling and drinking?"
"I was, but those men persuaded me before I was aware. If I ever get out of this you'll never catch me doing it again—never, as long as I live!"
"You say you owe them eighty-five dollars?"
"Yes."
"Do you owe any more than that?"
"They say I owe the tavern keeper two dollars. But I don't think so. I didn't order anything."
"Have you any money at all?"
"Three dollars and a half."
"Come to my room."
"What for?"
"Never mind, come along—before any of the others come up."
Wondering what Dave had in mind to do, the former bully of Oak Hall followed Dave to Dormitory No. 12. Here Dave went straight to his trunk, brought out a long flat pocketbook, and began to open it.
"Why, Dave, you don't mean to" began Gus Plum, his eyes opening widely.
"Gus, I am going to lend you the money, but only under one condition," said Dave.
"Do you mean to say you have that much on hand?" demanded Plum.
"Yes, I have exactly a hundred dollars in this pocketbook. It is a special sum that my uncle advised me to keep for emergencies. He says he may go away some time and I may need money before he can send it to me. It has nothing to do with my regular allowance. I will loan you the eighty-five dollars on one condition—no, on two conditions."
"What are they?"
"The first is, that you give me your word to cut out all drinking and all gambling from now on."
"I'll do that readily, Dave."
"And the second is, that you remain at Oak Hall and fight your way through in spite of what some of the fellows say. Show one and all that you want to make a man of yourself, and sooner or later they will respect you."
"It will be a terribly hard thing to do."
"Never mind, Gus, I will help you all I can, and I am sure some of the others will help you, too."
For a full minute Gus Plum was silent, looking out of the long window at the gathering darkness of the short winter day. Then he turned again to Dave.
"All right, I'll take you up and stay, and I'll do my level best to deserve your kindness, Dave," he said, in a husky voice.
"Good! Now here is the money, in five-dollar bills. If you don't mind, I'll go along when you pay those fellows. I want to see that you get a receipt in full from them. As you say you owe them the money, we'll let it go at that, although it's more than likely they cheated you."
"Maybe they did, but I can't prove it."
With added thanks, Gus Plum took the eighty-five dollars and placed it carefully away in an inner pocket.
"I'll write the men a note to meet me Saturday afternoon," said he. "Will that suit you?"
"Yes, but don't meet them at the tavern. The depot will be better."
"Very well, I'll make it the depot," answered the former bully. He was very humble, and once more Dave had great hopes of his keeping his promises.
Some of the other students were now coming up, and Dave brought out some books he had brought along from home, including a fine illustrated work on polar exploration which Jessie Wadsworth had presented to him. She had written his name and her own on the flyleaf, and of this inscription Dave thought a great deal.
"I've read a part of it already," he said to Gus Plum. "It's very interesting. Some day I'll let you read it, if you wish."
"Thanks, perhaps I will, Dave," said the former bully, and then with a meaning look at Dave he retired. He knew Dave had brought out the book merely in order that the other lads would not ask embarrassing questions.
"That is a great book," said Roger, looking it over. "Say, it must be fine to travel in the land of perpetual snow,"
"Providing you can keep warm," added Phil.
"Talking about keeping warm, puts me in mind of a story," began Shadow Hamilton. "Now, if you'll listen I'll tell it, otherwise I won't."
"How much to listen?" asked Luke Watson, meekly.
"Nothing—this is free, gratis, for nothing."
"I mean, what are you going to pay us for listening, Shadow?"
"Oh, you go to Jericho!" growled the story-teller of the school. "Well, this is about two men who hired a room in a hotel. It was in the summertime and the room was very hot. They opened the window on the court, but it didn't let in enough air. In the middle of the night one of the men got up in the dark. 'What you doing?' asked the other man. 'Looking for another window to open,' says the man who was up. Pretty soon he touched a glass and found what he thought was a window opening sideways. 'There, that's fine!' he said. 'It's pretty breezy—guess I'll pull up the cover a little,' said the other man, and then both slept well until morning. When they got up they found that the one fellow had opened the door to an old bookcase in a corner."
"Very breezy story," was Roger's comment.
"Quite a refined air about it," remarked Ben.
"How did opening the bookcase make the room cooler?" demanded Dave, innocently.
"Why, it didn't. The man thought"
"But you said he was cooler. He even pulled up the cover on the bed!"
"Certainly. He got the impression"
"Who?"
"The man. He thought"
"How could he think if he was asleep, Shadow?"
"I didn't say he thought in his sleep. I said"
"Well, he went to bed anyhow, didn't he?"
"Of course. But when he opened the bookcase door"
"Oh, I see, it was a refrigerator in disguise. Why didn't you tell us that before,—how the block of ice fell out on the man's left front toe and injured his spine so he couldn't sing any more?" finished Dave, and then a laugh arose, in the midst of which Shadow made a playful pass as if to box Dave's ear.
"The next time I have a good story like that to tell I'll keep it to myself," he grumbled.
To change the subject, some of the boys asked Luke Watson to give them a song. Luke was willing, and getting out his banjo, tuned up, and soon started a ditty about "A Coon Who Lived in the Moon," or something of that sort. Then he began a breakdown, and, unable to resist, Sam Day got up and began to dance a step he had learned from his father's coachman at home.
"Good for you, Sam!" cried Dave. "That's fine!"
"Sam, you ought to join the minstrels," added Roger, and began to keep time with his hands, "patting juba" as it is termed down South.
Not to be outdone by Sam, Ben joined in the dance, and several lads began to "pat juba" as loudly as possible. Growing very enthusiastic, Ben leaped over a bed and back. Then Shadow Hamilton caught up a chair and began to gallop around, horseback fashion. The chair caught in a stand, and over it went, carrying a lot of books and poor Polly Vane with it.
"Gracious, this won't do," murmured Dave, as he set to work to pick up the books. "Hi, stop that racket, Shadow!" he called out. "Do you want to get us all into trouble?"
"Can't stop, I'm on the race-track!" yelled Shadow. "This is the last quarter. Bet I win!" and around the dormitory he spun again. This time he knocked over little Chip Macklin, sending him sprawling.
"Say, let up!" called out Roger, and catching up one of the books he took aim at Shadow. "If you don't stop I'll throw this at your head."
"Can't stop—let her go—if you dare!" called back Shadow.
Hardly had he spoken when the senator's son let the volume drive. As he did so the dormitory door opened and Job Haskers appeared. The book missed Shadow, who dodged, and struck the door, sending that barrier up against the teacher's nose so sharply that Job Haskers uttered a shrill cry of mingled pain and alarm.
"Can't stop, I'm on the race-track!" yelled Shadow.
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