The Chums of Scranton High at Ice Hockey written by Donald Ferguson

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"Yes, and what did Nick say to that?" asked Hugh.

"Would you believe it, Hugh, he up and told the Chief that he could
prove an alibi. You see, the robbery was done before eleven o'clock
last night, because the clock that was knocked down when the thieves
were rummaging around in the store had been broken, and it stopped at
just a quarter to eleven. Even Chief Wambold agreed on that point."

"Yes, and it was cleverly settled, I must say, Thad. But how about
Nick's alibi; would the Chief accept his mother's word, knowing that
the chances were Nick had slipped out of the house by a window when
she supposed him to be sound asleep in his bed?"

"Oh! Nick had much better proof than that, Hugh. He demanded that
Chief Wambold call up old Deacon Joel Winslow, who, you know, is a
man much respected around Scranton, and keeps the blacksmith shop out
on the road to Allandale where it crosses the one leading to Keyport.
Yes, sir, and when the officer did so from Headquarters the
blacksmith weather prophet plainly told him Nick had been working
alongside himself from seven until a quarter-after-eleven the night
before!"

Hugh laughed. It really seemed as though a load had been suddenly
taken off his chest. He had begun to fear lest his experiment might
have already met with its Waterloo.

"I'm pleased to hear you say that, Thad, I certainly am," he
remarked, "And did our wonderful Chief conclude to hold Nick after
that?"

"He wanted to, Hugh,--I could see that plain enough; but Nick
demanded that he be set at liberty. Say, you know I'm not much of an
admirer of Nick Lang, but he did bluff the tall Chief of Police good
and hard. He actually told him he'd sue him for damage to his
reputation if he dared to hold him when there wasn't a particle of
evidence connecting him with the robbery, except that once upon a
time he used to go with Leon Disney, as lots of other fellows did,
too."

"Then he was let go free, I take it, from what you say, Thad?"

"Oh! well, the police head said he knew very well Nick was in the
racket, even if he had covered his footsteps so cunningly; and even
fooled Deacon Winslow. He told Nick he'd parole him temporarily, but
that he might still consider himself as under arrest."

"That must be a joke," chuckled Hugh. "It was silly on the part of
Chief Wambold. But then, of course, Nick has made him a whole lot of
trouble in the past. So only one fellow has been taken, and he
refuses to tell on his pal, does he?"

"Absolutely, though the Chief says he means to put Leon through the
third degree, and force a confession from him. What does he mean by
that, Hugh? I've seen it mentioned in the papers lots of times."

"I believe in cities like New York some of the detectives act roughly
with a suspected prisoner, and scare them into saying things. But a
clever head of police once on a time had a smarter way of getting a
confession than by rough-house tactics."

"Yes? Tell me about it then," pleaded Thad.

"When he had reason to believe several members of a gang were
implicated in a robbery, or other crime, he would have the weakest
arrested, and brought into his presence. Then, while the man sat
there nervously waiting for the dreaded ordeal of an interview and
looking out of a window, he would see one of his fellow gangsters
taken past in charge of several plain clothes men. Of course that
would give him a shock, and when the Chief turned and told him the
other fellow had already promised to make a confession in order to
save himself, the prisoner nearly always broke down, and told
everything to get in ahead."

"Well, the last I saw of Chief Wambold," continued Thad, "he was
starting out to interview Deacon Winslow. You see, he believes the
old blacksmith must have meant ten-fifteen instead of eleven. That
would give Nick plenty of time to get back to town, so as to take
part in the robbery of the Emporium."

Hugh rubbed his hands together after the manner of one whose mind was
completely satisfied.

"I fancy he'll have all his trouble for his pains," he went on to say
calmly.

"Meaning that the deacon will stick to his statement, and so clear
Nick of complicity in the crime--is that it, Hugh?"

"We all know Deacon Winslow to be a reliable man," Hugh told him.
"He is accustomed to dealing in figures, and not inclined to make a
mistake about the time. I'd wager now he has something positive to
settle the matter of Nick's staying there, working at the forge, and
learning how to be a blacksmith, until exactly fifteen minutes after
eleven."

"Well," said Thad, scratching his head as though still confused,
"things look pretty queer to me, and I hardly know what to believe
about that Nick Lang."

CHAPTER VI

NOT GUILTY

At that Hugh, having finished his work in connection with the care of
his tame pets, turned around and faced his chum.

"On my part, Thad," he was saying, quietly but sincerely, "I'm
getting to be hopeful of Nick. I honestly believe that fellow has
seen a great light. I think he's made up his mind to turn over a new
leaf and redeem his rotten past. And I want to say here and now it's
up to every boy in Scranton High to treat him decently while he's
still fighting his old impulses of evil. I know I shall let him feel
I believe in him, until he does something to forfeit my esteem."

"That's just like you, Hugh; and I guess the rest of us ought to be
ashamed to throw any stumbling block in the way of a chap who is
trying to get out of his old rut. But it passes my comprehension how
he can change, and play fair and square, when all his life he's been
so tricky and low-down mean."

"As for that, lots of men who were once down in the gutter have
reformed, and proved giants in helping others to get up to
respectability again. Take that Jean Valjean we were talking about
the other day, who changed right-about-face, and became just as fine
a man as he was bad before. You don't suppose it all came in a
flash, do you?"

"Why, no, of course not, Hugh. He was the lowest sort of a beast, as
pictured by Hugo, with the vilest ideas concerning human nature.
After he had that revelation, and saw the good priest actually tell a
lie in order to save him, he woke up, and, as you said, began
thinking for himself. Then the change came gradually, and he
determined to work to help those who were down and out like himself."

"All right," said Hugh. "This case of Nick Lang is like this, in a
small way. But, Thad, do you feel like taking a walk this fine crisp
winter morning?"

"Just for the exercise, or have you any scheme in your mind, Hugh?"

"Both, I might say. The mile walk will do us good, and then we may
be able to satisfy ourselves about a few things. It is just half a
mile out to the cross-roads, and Deacon Winslow's house and smithy,
you know."

Thad looked interested at once.

"So, that's the way the wind blows, is it?" he remarked. "You want
to interview the deacon, too, as well as Chief Wambold?"

"But not from the same motive, Thad. On the contrary, while he went
out to try and find a reason for believing Nick guilty, in spite of
his alibi, I mean only to ask a few questions that will clear up a
little point that is a bit muddled."

"Perhaps I could guess what that is," said Thad quickly. "You're
puzzled to understand why Nick should have been out there on just
last night of all times, when any other would have done just as well.
How about that, Hugh?"

"That's one of the things I'd like to have cleared up," Hugh
admitted. "Between us, Thad, I've got a pretty good notion Nick knew
about this contemplated raid on Kramer's store. Perhaps in times
past they may even have plotted such a thing, so as to get all the
cigarettes and candy they wanted for once. I even believe he was
refusing Leon and Tip Slavin, who were urging him to join in with
them, when I saw him shake his head and skate away yesterday."

"Go on, Hugh, you've got me interested again; sure you have."

"While Nick wouldn't think of betraying his former associates, from
whose company he had broken away, at the same time he was smart
enough to see he would be placed under suspicion. And he must have
arranged this alibi so as to prove his positive innocence. If that
turns out so, it shows Nick to be a wise one."

Shortly afterwards the pair were trudging along the road outside the
corporation limits of the town of Scranton. It was some time before
the customary church hour, and they were almost certain to find the
old deacon at home, Hugh believed.

On the way they met a car coming along the road. In it was Chief
Wambold. Scranton had advanced far enough toward the dignity of
cityhood to have an auto for the police force, since the Chief often
had to go to neighboring towns on matters of business, taking a
prisoner, or getting one to fetch back.

He nodded to the boys as he shot past.

"Doesn't look very amiable, does he?" muttered Thad. "So I rather
guess he didn't get much satisfaction from the old deacon. But he's
awful stubborn, is our efficient head of police; and if he can find
any way to put that business on Nick's shoulders he will, take my
word for it."

Hugh only smiled as though he was not worrying about anything Chief
Wambold could accomplish. He had known the other to make several
"bone-plays" since coming to Scranton, and hence Hugh did not have a
very high opinion of the official's merits, though not doubting his
honesty of purpose at all.

After a short time they arrived at the smithy. Deacon Winslow lived
close to his shop. He was a big man, with the proverbial muscles of
the blacksmith; and for many years he had been looked upon as a
pillar in the church he attended.

Besides this he was reckoned a good man, who could always be counted
on to go out of his way to do a favor for anybody. The poor of
Scranton loved him better than they did anyone they knew. His acts
were often "hidden under a bushel," since he did not go around, as
Thad once said, "blowing his own horn, and advertising his goodness
as one would soft soap."

Strange as it might seem, Deacon Winslow had taken quite a fancy to
Nick Lang, and possibly he was the only respectable man in all
Scranton who did. Perhaps he admired Nick's muscular build, and
believed he would make a fine smith, if the husky boy only took a
liking to the vocation of hammer and forge and anvil.

Then again it was likely that the deacon, who was a shrewd old fellow
as well as good-natured and honest, saw deeper into that bad boy's
soul than ordinary people, judging from surface indications. Hugh
himself was inclined to believe this might be the case.

Be that as it may, Nick had been known to go out there to the Winslow
shop occasionally after supper, and work alongside the old man for
hours at a time. Folks considered it only another odd fad on the
part of the deacon. They prophesied that he would sooner or later he
sorry for having anything to do with such a good-for-nothing
scapegrace as Nick Lang, who would not hesitate to play some nasty
practical joke on his benefactor when the notion seized him and he
had grown tired of bothering with blacksmithing.

The deacon himself came to the door. He knew both lads, and asked
them to step in and sit with him before his cheery fire, as he had
half an hour on his hands before starting to church.

Hugh plunged into the matter without waste of time. He told Deacon
Winslow how he had been reading that wonderful story of Jean Valjean;
and then what a strange freak of fate allowed him to play the same
part that the good priest had done.

Step by step he carried it along, and Deacon Winslow appeared to be
deeply interested, if one could judge from the way he rubbed his
hands together, and nodded his head approvingly when he learned of
the motives that had influenced Hugh to act as he did.

Even what had occurred on the ice on the preceding afternoon was
narrated, for, as Hugh explained, he believed it had a great deal to
do with the startling event that had stunned Scranton that same
Sunday morning.

When he had finally ended with a profession of his belief in Nick's
innocence the old man once more nodded his head. His wise eyes shone
with a rare delight as he gazed at Hugh. The boy could not help
thinking that the good priest in the story must have been a whole lot
like old Deacon Winslow; who could believe wrong of no one, boy or
man, but was always finding some excuse for forgiving, even those who
deceived him in business transactions.

"You have done well, my lad," said the old man warmly, patting Hugh
on the arm affectionately. "And rest assured Nick is entirely
innocent of this crime. I have become deeply interested in that boy.
He has had a bad name, it is true; but somehow I seemed to feel that
there were elements of great good in him, if only he could be brought
to book, and made to change his ways of life. He must have a new
viewpoint of human nature, to start with. I thought I might arouse
him through talking, and fatherly advice, but so far I could not see
success following my labors. But you have hit upon an ingenious
device, my boy, that promises wonderful results. We may yet make a
second Jean Valjean of the despised Nick Lang; and that would be an
achievement worthy of anyone."

Hugh felt more than repaid for all he had done when he heard the old
deacon say this with such warmth.

"There was one thing I wanted to learn, sir, if you don't mind
telling me," he went on to say. "It concerns his engagement to come
out here and help you last night. Were you expecting him? Was
Saturday night the one he generally took to come and help you get rid
of some of your extra work that couldn't be done in the daytime, for
all the horse-shoeing you have on your hands?"

The deacon smiled, and Hugh really had his answer before the old man
even opened his lips. All the same he was pleased to hear him say:

"Up to now it has always been on Monday night Nick came out. That
was more convenient for me, as a rule, and he accommodated himself to
my wishes. But yesterday afternoon he dropped in to see me here,
with his skates dangling across his shoulder, as if he had been
skating. He said he would like very much to come for that once on
Saturday night, instead of Monday; and that he had a good reason for
making the change, which meant a whole lot to him."

"I see," remarked Hugh; "and it was clever of Nick. You agreed, of
course, sir, seeing that he was here?"

"It made no particular difference to me," added the blacksmith, "and
I was glad to know the lad cared enough about the work to want to
make the change. So I told him to be along as usual about seven, as
I had a raft of work on hand that would keep us until well on after
eleven. As a fact, it was fifteen minutes after that hour when Nick
started for home."

"You remember that positively then, sir,--the hour, I mean?" asked
Hugh.

"Oh! I could swear to it," came the reply. "In the first place I
heard the town clock strike eleven, and counted the strokes myself,
remarking that we must shut up shop soon as it was getting close to
Sunday morning. Then as he was quitting Nick asked me again just
what time it was, and I consulted my reliable watch. I can see now
that possibly Nick had an object in impressing the time on my mind,
so I could say positively he was there at eleven, and after. I don't
like the idea of his having known about the intended robbery, and
keeping silent, but suppose he considered himself in honor bound to
his former chums."

So their interview with Deacon Winslow proved a very enjoyable one
after all. Hugh felt he should like to know the big amiable
blacksmith better, for he had been drawn to him very much indeed.

"And," he told Thad, as they trudged back along the road to town,
"the way things seem to be working, I'm more than ever encouraged to
keep on with my experiment."

CHAPTER VII

TURNING A PAGE OF THE PAST

"Do you know," mused Thad, as they continued on their way to town,
"the more I see of that blacksmith the better I like him. In my
opinion, he's a grand old man."

"I was just going to say that myself," Hugh told him. "He makes me
think of the priest in the story. And they say he loves boys--all
boys."

"You can't make him believe there's a boy living but who has
_something_ worth while in him," Thad advanced. "Sometimes it's hid
under a whole lot of trash, as Deacon Winslow calls it, and you've
got to search a heap before you strike gold; but if you only persist
you'll be rewarded."

"His actions with regard to Nick prove that he practices what he
preaches, too," said Hugh.

"Well, the old man went through a bitter experience many years ago,"
Thad went on to say; "and he learned his lesson for life, he often
says."

"Why, how's that, Thad? I've heard a great many things about
different people since we came to Scranton; but I don't remember
listening to what happened to the old deacon long ago."

"Is that a fact, Hugh? Well, I'll have to tell you about it, then.
Once upon a time they had a boy, an only child; and, as happens in
some families where the parents are the finest kind of Christian
people, young Joel had a bad streak in his make-up. Oh! they say he
gave his father no end of trouble from time to time. And it wound up
in a row, with the boy doing something disgraceful, and running away
from home, nearly breaking his mother's heart."

"Didn't he ever come bad again?" asked the interested listener.

Thad shook his head in the negative.

"They never looked on his face again, either living or dead," he
said. "Worse than that, they never even heard from him. It was as
if Joel had dropped out of sight that night when he left a line to
his mother saying he was going west to where they raised men, not
sissies. And so the years rolled around, and, they say, the old lady
even now sits looking into the sunset skies, dreaming that her Joel,
just as she remembered him, had sent word he was coming back to visit
them in their old age, and to ask forgiveness for his wrong-doing."

Hugh was greatly moved by the sad tale, which, however, he knew could
be easily matched in every town of any size in the country; for it is
of common occurrence, with a multitude of sore hearts turning toward
that Great West.

"That must have been how long ago, Thad?" he asked presently.

"Let me see, I should think all of forty years; perhaps forty-five
would be closer to the mark, Hugh."

"How sad," mused the other lad, with a shake of his head; "and to
think of that poor old lady, an invalid, you said, and confined to a
wheelchair, watching the sinking sun faithfully each evening as it
sets, still yearning for her boy to come back. It is a dream that
has become a part of her very existence. Why, even if young Joel had
lived he would now be over sixty years of age, but she never thinks
of him that way. The deacon, they say, is eighty-five, though you'd
never believe it to see his brawny muscles and healthy complexion."

"You see," continued Thad, anxious that his chum should know
everything connected with the subject, now he was upon it, "the old
man often takes himself to task because he didn't understand boys as
he might have done, when younger. He believes he could have spared
his wife her great sorrow if he had only been more judicious, and won
the boy's confidence as well as his affection."

"And that accounts for the deep interest he has felt in all boys ever
since," Hugh was saying reflectively; "especially those who seem to
have a streak of badness in them."

"I suppose," Thad remarked, "it is his way of doing penance for what
he considers a fault of his earlier years. Sometimes I think I'd
just like to be able to follow up that chap when he ran away from
home, and learn what really did become of him."

"He may have met with a sad fate out West, Thad; plenty of fellows
have gone out and been swallowed up in the whirlpool."

"If, on the other end, he didn't, and lived for many years,"
continued the other, "he must have been pretty tough not to write to
his poor old mother at least once in a while. I could never forgive
Joel for that. But they say he had an ugly nature, and was very
stubborn. Well, I'm glad the deacon has taken an interest in the
reformation of Nick Lang, even if I have my doubts about his meeting
with any sort of success."

"Well, you may be a whole lot surprised one of these fine days, my
boy," Hugh smilingly told him.

"The age of miracles has passed, Hugh," remarked Thad skeptically.

"Not the miracles that are brought about by a complete change of
heart on the part of someone the world looks down on as a scamp,"
Hugh persisted. "But you're one of those who want to be shown; I
reckon, Thad, your folks must have come from Missouri, didn't they?"

"Wrong again, Hugh, because none of them ever saw the Mississippi,
though my grandfather fought through the Civil War, and was with
Grant when Lee surrendered at Appomattox Court House. But I admit I
am a little stubborn, and prejudiced. It runs in the blood, I
suppose. The Stevens were always sort of pig-headed."

"I've also heard considerable about the deacon as a weather seer,
Thad; how about that? Does he manage to hit it off occasionally, so
as to equal our forecaster at Washington, whose predictions come true
every now and then?"

"Oh! the deacon has made that quite a fad," he was told by the
obliging Thad. "He doesn't confine himself to figuring out just what
sort of day we'll have to-morrow, or even for the coming week. He
looks ahead, and finds out from the signs of Nature what sort of
winter or summer we're going to have next,--cold, mild, hot, cool,
dry or rainy. And say, I've heard he hits it nearly every time."

"Well, what did he say about this particular winter?" Hugh asked,
with renewed interest; for such subjects always gripped his
attention, because he believed some of these shrewd countrymen, who
watched the weather and observed what was going on all around them,
could tell better than any scientific gentleman what was liable to
come along during the succeeding seasons.

"He predicted a severe winter," replied Thad promptly. "Some people
laughed at what he said, especially when Christmas came and went, and
so far we'd had precious little of cold. But it's come along at
last, and from all reports some of the most dreadful weather ever
known is happening away out in the Northwest right now."

"And how does the old blacksmith get his ideas--from Nature, you
said, I believe, Thad?"

"He studies the bark on the trees; the way the squirrels store the
nuts away; and how the caterpillars weave their cocoons. Oh! he has
a hundred different signs that he depends on before making up his
mind. I used to laugh when I heard him talking about it, but since
I've grown older I've decided that there may be a whole lot in that
sort of weather prediction."

"I incline that same way," agreed Hugh. "Many of the little animals
of the woods are given a wonderful instinct that enables them to know
what to expect. Even bees that always lay by a certain amount of
honey for winter use, are said to stock up extra heavy on years when
a severe winter comes along. It must be a mighty interesting study,
I should think. Some time I mean to know the old deacon better, so
as to get posted on his vast store of knowledge along those lines."

"His wife is rather feeble now," continued Thad. "She's a fine old
lady though, and as cheery as can be, considering all things."

"But if, as you said, she has to move around in one of those
self-propelling wheel-chairs, how does she ever get her house-work
done, Thad?"

"Oh! they have a girl in during the daytime," came the explanation;
"though Mrs. Winslow still mixes all the cakes and bread. And, say,
she does make the greatest crullers you ever tasted in your born
days. I know, because that couple are always sending things out to
houses where there are growing boys. Their world lies in boys only;
you never hear either of them say a thing about girls."

Hugh could easily understand that. He had been in numerous homes
where there were only boys in the family; and the parents knew next
to nothing about the delight and constant anxiety of girls.

"As I like crullers about the best of any sort of cakes," he
chuckled, "I think I'll have to cultivate the acquaintance of Mrs.
Winslow. Some time I may have the pleasure of tasting her famous
cooking that you rate so highly. But to turn to another subject,
Thad, have you heard any more reports about those Keyport High
fellows we expect to go up against next Saturday?"

"Yes, I have, Hugh. Podge Huggins was over there two days back. He
saw them practicing on some thin ice over a pond, and he told, me
they were an exceptionally husky proposition. He also saw us work
yesterday afternoon in the scratch game, and when I asked him how we
compared with Keyport, why Podge wouldn't give me a straight answer;
but only grinned and turned the subject."

"Evidently then Podge doesn't have the confidence in his school team
that he ought to feel," said Hugh, apparently not at all disturbed.
"Well, we have a whole week still for practice, and ought to keep on
improving. I'm hoping that Keyport may overdo it, which is always
possible."

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