Chapter 3 GIVING NICK A CHANCE

"Why, he cribbed them after all!" Hugh exclaimed, as he jumped to his feet, and hurried over to the table, hardly able to believe his own eyes.

Something caught his attention. A dirty dollar bill and a fifty cent silver piece lay in place of the skates. Then Nick had not exactly stolen Hugh's property, but imagined that this forced sale might keep him within the law.

Hugh at first flush felt indignant. He gave the money an angry look, as though scorning it, despite the hard work Nick may have done and sacrifices also made in order to build up that small amount.

"Why, the contemptible scamp, I'll have to set Chief Wambold after him, and recover my skates!" he said, warmly for him. "Serve him right, too, if this is the last straw on the camel's back, to send him to the House of Refuge for a spell. He is a born thief, I do believe, and ought to be treated just like one."

Hugh, aroused by the sense of injustice, and a desire to turn the tables on the slippery Nick, even stepped forward to snatch up his cap, with the full intention of hurrying out to see if he could overtake the thief; and, if not, continuing on until he came to the office of the police force. Then he stopped short with a gasp.

He had suddenly remembered something. Into his mind rushed the details of a certain recent conversation in which he had indulged with his closest chum, Thad Stevens. Again he saw the picture of that good priest of the story, looking so benignly upon the wretched Jean Valjean, brought into his presence with the valuable silver candlesticks and spoons found in his possession, which he kept insisting his late host had presented him with, however preposterous the claim seemed.

"Why, this is very nearly like that case, I declare!" ejaculated Hugh, almost overcome by the wonderful similarity, which seemed the more amazing because of the resolution he told Thad he had taken.

He dropped back into his seat, with the money still gripped in his hand. He stared hard at it. In imagination he could see Nick, who never liked hard work any too well, they said, busying himself like a beaver, putting in coal for some neighbor, perhaps; or cleaning a walk off for a dime. He must have done considerable work to earn that first dollar.

"Then after that," Hugh was saying to himself, "he sold a pair of his pet pigeons, and I reckon he thinks a heap of them, from all I've heard said. Yes, Nick must have wanted my old skates worse than he ever did anything in all his life. And when I refused to sell them to him he just thought he'd do the trading by himself. It's a queer way of doing business, and one the law wouldn't recognize; but, after all, it was an upward step for Nick Lang, when he could have taken the skates, and kept the cash as well. This certainly beats the Dutch! What ought I to do about it, I wonder? Of course, if I told the whole thing to mother, I suppose she'd let me have the new skates ahead of time; or I could borrow Kenneth Kinkaid's, because, after breaking his leg that way in the running race he says he isn't to be allowed to skate a bit this winter. But ought I let the scamp keep my skates?"

He mused over it for several minutes, as if undecided. Then the sound of voices outside caught his attention. One seemed to be gruff and official, another whining.

Hugh jumped up and stepped to a window. He could see down the street on which the Morgan home stood. Three persons were in sight, and hurrying along toward the house. One of these he recognized as his chum, Thad, who must have returned from Hobson's mill-pond earlier than he had expected. Another was the tall, attenuated Chief Wambold; and the party whom he was gripping by the arm-yes, it was none other than Hugh's late visitor, Nick Lang!

"Oh, they've caught him, it seems, just like those awful police did poor, wicked Jean Valjean," Hugh muttered, thrilled by the sight; "and right now they're fetching Nick back here, to ask me if he wasn't lying when he said I'd sold or given him my skates!"

He realized that, undoubtedly, by some strange freak of fortune Thad must have seen the other gloating over his prize; and recognizing the skates, for they were well-known to him, he had beckoned to the policeman who happened to be near by, with the result that Nick was nabbed before he realized his peril.

Hugh had to decide quickly as to what he should do, for they were coming in through the gate even now. Once again did the wonderful story he had been reading flash before his mind.

"I must try it out!" he exclaimed suddenly, gripped by the amazing coincidence between this case and that so aptly described by Hugo. "I said I would if ever I had a chance. It worked miracles in the story; perhaps it may in real life, Anyway, it's going to be worth while, and give me a heap of enjoyment watching the result. So here and now I say that I've sold my skates to Nick, and that they really belong to him at this minute. But I reckon he'll be scared pretty badly when he faces me again, expecting the worst."

Thad knew how to get in by the side door that opened on the back stairs; so he did not waste any time in ringing the bell. Now Hugh could hear heavy footsteps. They were coming, and the great test was about to be made.

The door opened to admit, first of all, Thad, his face filled with burning indignation, and his eyes sparkling with excitement. Close on his heels the others also pushed into the room on the second floor, transformed into a genuine boy's den by pictures of healthy sport on the walls, besides college burgees, fishing tackle, a bass of three pounds that had been beautifully stuffed by Hugh himself to commemorate a glorious day's sport; and dozens of other things dear to the heart of a youth who loved the Great Outdoors as much as he did.

Chief Wambold looked triumphant and grim. Nick fairly writhed in that iron clutch, and his face had assumed a sickly sallow color; while his eyes reminded Hugh of those of a hunted wild animal at bay, fear and defiance struggling for the mastery.

"Stand there, you cub!" snarled the police officer, as he gave Nick a whirl into the room, closing the door at the same time, and planting his six-foot-five figure against it, to prevent such a thing as escape.

It was quite a tableau. Hugh believed he would never forget it as long as he lived. But Thad, it appeared, was the first to speak.

"Hugh, this skunk has gone and beat you after all!" he cried, pointing a scornful finger at the glowering Nick, who was eyeing Hugh hungrily, as if trying to decide whether or not the other would tell Chief Wambold to lock him up as a thief. "I chanced to see him pull something out that he had been hiding under his coat, and recognized your nickel-mounted skates. So I beckoned to Chief Wambold, and told him about it; he made Nick come back here to face you, and confess to the theft."

Nick growled something half under his breath, that sounded like:

"Didn't steal 'em, I tell you; I bought the skates fair and square from Hugh here. You're all down on me, and won't listen to a thing I say; that's the worst of it."

The tall head of the Scranton police force held up something he had been carrying all the while.

"Here's the skates he had, Hugh," he went on to say. "Thad tells me they are your property. He even showed me your initials scratched on each skate. Take a good look at the same, and let me know about it, will you, before I lug this sneak off to the lock-up. I reckon he's headed for the Reform School this time, sure!"

At that Nick grew even more sallow than before, if such a thing were possible; and the fear in his eyes became almost pitiable.

Hugh, meaning to make a straight job of his idea, calmly looked the skates over. He knew full well how Nick was watching his every action, trying to hug just a glimmer of hope to his heart that, perhaps, Hugh might be merciful, and let him off, as the skates were now once again in his possession. The shadow of the Reformatory loomed up dreadfully close to Nick Lang just then, darker than he had ever before imagined it could look. It terrified him, too, and caused him to shiver as though someone had dashed a bucket of ice-cold water over him unexpectedly.

"Yes, I recognize these skates very well, Chief," Hugh told the waiting officer.

"And do they belong to you, Hugh?" continued the officer, with a stern look at the cringing culprit near by, who weakly leaned against the table for support after his recent rough handling.

"They were my property until just ten minutes, more or less, ago, Chief," said Hugh, deliberately fixing Nick with his eye, so as to impress things on him in a way he could never forget. "Then I had an offer from Nick here to buy them. At first I was averse to letting him have them, but I changed my mind. These skates belong to Nick, Chief. You must set him free, and not hold this against him. He's going to wipe the slate clean this time and astonish folks here in Scranton by showing them what a fellow of his varied talents can do, once he sets out to go straight. And, for one, I wish him the best of success from the bottom of my heart. I hope you enjoy your skates, Nick."

He held out his hand, and the astounded Nick mechanically allowed Hugh to squeeze his digits. But not one word could he say, simply stared at Hugh as though he had difficulty in understanding such nobility of soul; then, taking the skates, he went from the room. They could hear the clatter of his heels as he hurried down the stairs, as though afraid Hugh might yet repent and send the officer after him.

Of course, Chief Wambold departed, shrugging his shoulders as though still more than half convinced there had been something crooked about Nick's suspicious actions.

Of course Thad had to be told the whole amazing story. He shook his head at the conclusion, and went on record as being a doubter by saying:

"I wish you success in your wonderful experiment, Hugh, I sure do; but all the same I don't believe for a minute the leopard is going to change its spots, or that Nick Lang, the worst boy in Scranton, can ever reform."

Hugh would say nothing further about it, only, of course, he made Thad promise to keep everything secret until he gave permission to speak. If Nick made good this would never happen.

That night Hugh had a jolly time, and it was fairly late when he crept into bed. As he lay there, instead of going to sleep immediately, he looked out of the window toward the west, where a bright star hung above the horizon. It seemed like a magnet to Hugh, who lay there and watched for its setting, all the while allowing his thoughts to roam back to the remarkable happening of that afternoon.

"It's a toss-up, just as Thad says, whether anything worth while will come of my experiment," he told himself; "but, anyhow, I've given Nick something to think over. And if he makes the first advances toward me I'm bound to meet him half-way. I only hope it turns out like the story of Jean Valjean did. But there goes my Star of Hope down behind the horizon; and now I'd better be getting some sleep myself. All the same I'm glad I did it!"

And doubtless he slept all the more soundly because of the noble impulse that had impelled him to save Nick Lang from the Reform School.