broken-hearted, for he thought it was possible that he had unknowingly
upset the ink on the spelling-book himself, in some skylarking bout he
had denied it for form s sake and because it was custom, and had stuck
to the denial from principle.
A whole hour drifted by, the master sat nodding in his throne, the air
was drowsy with the hum of study. By and by, Mr. Dobbins straightened
himself up, yawned, then unlocked his desk, and reached for his book,
but seemed undecided whether to take it out or leave it. Most of the
pupils glanced up languidly, but there were two among them that watched
his movements with intent eyes. Mr. Dobbins fingered his book absently
for a while, then took it out and settled himself in his chair to read!
Tom shot a glance at Becky. He had seen a hunted and helpless rabbit
look as she did, with a gun levelled at its head. Instantly he forgot
his quarrel with her. Quick something must be done! done in a flash,
too! But the very imminence of the emergency paralyzed his invention.
Good! he had an inspiration! He would run and snatch the book, spring
through the door and fly. But his resolution shook for one little
instant, and the chance was lost the master opened the volume. If Tom
only had the wasted opportunity back again! Too late. There was no help
for Becky now, he said. The next moment the master faced the school.
Every eye sank under his gaze. There was that in it which smote even
the innocent with fear. There was silence while one might count ten the
master was gathering his wrath. Then he spoke: Who tore this book?
There was not a sound. One could have heard a pin drop. The stillness
continued; the master searched face after face for signs of guilt.
Benjamin Rogers, did you tear this book?
A denial. Another pause.
Joseph Harper, did you?
Another denial. Tom s uneasiness grew more and more intense under the
slow torture of these proceedings. The master scanned the ranks of
boys considered a while, then turned to the girls:
Amy Lawrence?
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