Billie Bradley and Her Classmates: or, The Secret of the Locked Tower

Someway Billie found her way to the platform, thanked Miss Walters incoherently for the fine volume of poetry which was the second prize, and stumbled back to happy oblivion among her schoolmates.

“It’s a shame, honey,” Laura whispered in her ear, generously forgetting her own disappointment in Billie’s. “But never mind, you got the second prize anyway – which was more than the rest of us did,” she added, with a little stab of regret at her own failure.

“And you would have won the first prize if it hadn’t been for that cat,” added Vi fiercely.

Billie pressed their hands gratefully and glanced for the first time at her prize.

“I’d like to throw it away!” she cried fiercely.

“Sh-h,” whispered Vi, for Miss Walters was making an interesting announcement.

“The winning compositions will now be read,” she said. “Miss Arbuckle has volunteered to give us that pleasure.”

There was a great clapping of hands as Miss Arbuckle stepped on the platform and smiled down at them. For the little teacher was a great favorite with the girls.

“We will read Amanda’s composition first,” she said, “as it has had the distinction of winning the first prize.”

Again there was tense silence in the Hall. The girls were agog with curiosity to hear this wonderful composition which had been written by one of the notoriously stupid girls of the school.

As for Amanda, she had not foreseen this event. She had not expected to hear her stolen composition read aloud, and before all this assembly of stern young critics. The prospect made her a trifle nervous, but her smile was as proudly triumphant as ever.

Her chief concern was with Eliza. For the girl was so white and scared that she threatened to give the deception away.

Amanda gave her a sharp nudge with her elbow.

“Cheer up, will you?” she muttered fiercely. “You’re not at a funeral.”

Miss Arbuckle began to read, and as she read the well-rounded phrases, the telling metaphors, the girls became more than ever stupefied with astonishment.

“Could it be,” they asked themselves incredulously, “that Amanda had remarkable literary ability that they had never suspected? Could she really have written a thing like that?”

The same thought seemed to be in Miss Arbuckle’s mind, for as she read on her brow became clouded and she paused now and then as though she were trying to recollect something.

Finally she stopped altogether, looked across at Amanda for a thoughtful moment, then laid the manuscript down and turned to Miss Walters. She said something that the girls could not catch, then hurried from the room.

This was something no one had counted upon. Amanda, her triumphant smile gone at last, quaked as she heard again the excited buzz of the girls about her.

Miss Walters’ voice rose over the murmur, clear and very grave.

“Miss Arbuckle thinks she has made a discovery,” she said. “She will be back in a moment, and until then I must ask that there be absolute silence in the room.”

Miss Sara Walters possessed that rare gift of authority that needed no raising of the voice or undue emphasis to command obedience.

Instantly the murmuring stopped and the girls waited in breathless silence for Miss Arbuckle’s return.

They did not have to wait long. A moment later the teacher reëntered the room, holding a book in her hand, the sight of which made Amanda’s craven heart sink in consternation.

The book looked like an exact copy of the one from which she had copied her “original” prize composition!

“Miss Walters,” said Miss Arbuckle in a voice which indignation made vibrant, “I am sorry to have to admit that one of the students of Three Towers Hall has been guilty of so disgraceful an act. But the composition that I have just read, the essay that was handed in as original by Amanda Peabody, has been copied word for word from this book.

“It is an old book that has been in my possession for years – was my father’s before it was mine – and doubtless the girl thought herself perfectly safe in copying from it. Here is the passage.” She had been marking a place with her finger, and now she opened the book at the place and handed it to Miss Walters to read.

What a hideous minute for Amanda! If she had been awaiting a death sentence she could hardly have felt more terrified.

To be publicly disgraced, to have all the girls laughing at her, gloating over her —

With intense gravity Miss Walters closed the book and laid it on the table. Amanda knew that her moment had come.

“Amanda,” said Miss Walters sternly, “will you please stand up in your place?”

Amanda stood up, conscious of a score of curious and contemptuous glances focused upon her. Her heart was beating suffocatingly, her hands were clenched tight at her side.

“You have been guilty to-day,” Miss Walters’ clear voice pronounced sentence, “of blackening the good name of Three Towers Hall by a most disgraceful act. But by your wretched duplicity you have injured yourself far more than you have injured any one else. You will go to my office. I will see you there.”

There was intense silence while Amanda, her head hanging, walked from the room. Then the eager murmur rose once more, but again Miss Walters lifted her hand for silence.

“I am sorry,” she said. “More sorry than I can express that such a thing could have happened here. Of course the first prize will now go to Beatrice Bradley and I will decide later to whom the second prize belongs. That is all.” With a little gesture she dismissed them and she herself walked quickly from the room.

Then the riot that had been suppressed so long broke loose and the girls formed into little groups talking excitedly and all at once about the dramatic turn events had taken.

Billie, the center of a little group of her own, was fairly overwhelmed with congratulations.

“We knew all along that you should have been the winner!”

“To think that Amanda should try to get away with a thing like that!” said Laura, disgustedly.

“She might have, just the same,” Connie reminded her. “It was just luck that Miss Arbuckle happened to have that book.”

“My, but I bet you’re happy, Billie Bradley!” sighed Vi. “I shouldn’t let anybody speak to me if I were in your place.”

“What’s the matter, honey?” asked Laura, regarding Billie’s sober face curiously. “I say, cheer up, old dear. What have you got to gloom about?”

“I was just thinking about Amanda,” said Billie, with all her sweet sympathy for the unfortunate. “I was wondering how it would feel to be in her shoes now.”

“Out, out upon such doleful thoughts,” Laura sang out airily. But Billie, who had turned toward the window, suddenly clutched her by the arm.

“Look!” she said, excitedly. “There’s Nick Budd!”

CHAPTER XXIV – TRIUMPH

Before her classmates knew what she was about or had fairly taken in what she had said, Billie had darted from the room and was flying toward the dormitory.

“She’s crazy again,” cried Vi. “Come on,” and she and Laura and Connie flew after her, overtaking her as she reached the stairs.

“What’s the big idea?” gasped Laura, as they ran together down the hall toward the dormitory. “What do you expect to do to poor Nick – sandbag him?”

“Something like that,” returned Billie, slipping hurriedly into her coat and hat and motioning impatiently for the girls to do the same. “If we can only get hold of him we may be able to frighten him into telling us where the machinery is.”