Page 59 - The Adventures of a Freshman

He had kept with his personal account the fund of his class, and every cent of it was gone with the rest. He
had held it in trust as treasurer. It had amounted to something over one hundred dollars.

But he had drawn it out unconsciously? No; he knew he had used all his own money long ago.

But surely he had meant to return what he had borrowed from the class fund? Oh, yes; but this kind of
"borrowing" is called embezzlement--an ugly word. It really means theft and breach of trust combined.

Young could not take it all in at first. For awhile he stood there, saying to himself, "Isn't it funny this letter
was in my pocket all the evening while I was playing--isn't it funny?"

Then he looked up, sniffed, and said, "That lamp is smoking." He turned it down, and stared at the flame for
nearly a minute. Then suddenly he blew it out, and was alone in the darkness.

Oh, yes, it was all true. There was no way of getting out of it. He realized it all now vividly. He, William
Young, a member of the church, son of honest old Farmer Young, was a gambler and--yes, he might just as
well call it by its right name-- a thief!

He was the one of whom the others at home used to stand in awe because he was going East for a higher
education. He was the one for whom the minister predicted such great things. He was the one who had his
tuition remitted in consideration of "high moral character." He was the one whose letters from college were
read aloud at the sewing society by a proud little mother, who thought he was the best son in the world.

Why hadn't he stayed at home and remained an honest man, working hard in the bank or as a plain farmer,
like good little Charlie? Oh, how did he ever sink so low? If he only had a chance to do it all over again--if he
could only wake up and find it all a dream--if he could only wipe it all out of existence, how joyous and sunny
would be life and duty and hard work again!

But it wasn't a dream! It was all very real, indeed. None of it could be wiped out. It was all there and staring
him in the face, real, horribly real. And that was not all; matters could not remain only as bad as this. He was
an out-and-out embezzler, liable to be found out and exposed as such at any moment--and then what?

Leave college with a disgraced name--but that would not be all. The news would go home; it would get there
before he did. Everyone in the county would hear it, and talk about him. Some of them would laugh and sneer,
and say, "Too bad!" and really be secretly glad.

Perhaps the authorities would send and--it made him weak and sick to think of it--have him arrested--by an
officer of the law--and put in jail. This would kill his honest, old gray-bearded father. And as for his
mother--but that hurt too much! He shut his eyes; he simply would not let himself think of that.

But what could he do? Time was flying. Just now he had heard Old North strike four in the dark, silent
distance--good Old North, on whose steps he had hoped to sing as a Senior some day. Every moment brought
him nearer to ruin. Something must be done.

He took hold of his head to quiet its buzzing. "It will do no good to think about it any more," he said aloud.
"Act, act, act--you must!"

First, he spent a few bitter moments on his knees by the bed It is no one's concern what he said to God. Then
he arose, quite calmly struck a match, and with an almost steady hand lighted the lamp. Then very
deliberately, in a matter-of-fact way, he drew up the rocking-chair so that the light would come over his left
shoulder. He dragged over another chair to put his feet upon. He sat down. He did a little figuring at first on
the envelope in his hand. Then he opened his trigonometry and studied furiously until chapel-time. There was,