THE STRIKE
For a moment amazement held Professor Skeel motionless. Several boys
were filing through the door before he could manage to make a move. Then
he sprang to the portal.
“Stop!” he commanded. “I demand that this nonsense cease. Return to your
seats, and continue the recitation!”
“Will you hear us on just one day’s lesson--the usual length?” asked
Tom, turning back.
“No! Certainly not! You will do exactly as I say, and recite the double
lesson. I will make no compromise.”
“Then it’s a strike,” replied Tom. “Come on.”
The boys continued to follow him. For a moment it looked as if Professor
Skeel would resort to physical measures and hold the boys in his room,
but he did not.
He scowled at them, but the fact that there were several large lads in
the class, lads who had a reputation as boxers, probably deterred him.
The last student filed out, and under the leadership of Tom they all
stood in the corridor.
“Well, we did it,” remarked Jack, and there was a trace of awe in
his voice. It was the first time, in his experience that a class had
“struck,” against a disliked teacher. He was a little doubtful of the
outcome.
“Of course we did it,” replied Tom. “It was the only thing to do.”
“And what’s the next thing?” asked Bert Wilson.
“Go to history lecture, as soon as it’s time,” declared Tom. “We’ve
half an hour yet. I suggest that we act quietly and as if nothing had
happened. Report as usual in history class.”
“But what will Skeel be doing?” inquired Jack.
“We’ll have to wait and see. It’s up to him now. I know one thing,
though, I’ll never go back to his class until he admits that he was in
the wrong, and releases us from double lessons. That’s what I’m going to
do, and I don’t care if they suspend me!”
“The same here!” came from several, and then the lads dispersed to their
rooms, to do a little studying on history, or to various parts of the
campus.
As for Professor Skeel, that worthy did not know what to do at first.
Clearly he had been outwitted, and by Freshmen! He must recover and
maintain his reputation as a disciplinarian, somehow, but how?
“I’ll--I’ll suspend every one of them until they beg my pardon!” he
exclaimed. “As for that Fairfield, I’ll see that he is expelled! The
insolent puppy!”
But mere words never did any good yet, and Professor Skeel knew this. He
must act, and he resolved to hit on some plan that would give him the
victory. But first blood had been drawn by the students, and he realized
that.
He decided to remain in his lecture room until the period was up, in
order that he might think, and so that none of his fellow members on the
faculty would not ask embarrassing questions as to how his class had
disappeared.
“I’ll get even with them,” he declared. “They shall beg my pardon, and
do more work than ever before.”
He decided that he must first lay the matter before Doctor Meredith,
for he could not act on his own initiative. He would ask that stringent
measures be taken. With this in view, at the time when Tom and his chums
were filing into history class, as if nothing had happened, Professor
Skeel sought the head master.
There was a little feeling of nervousness on the part of our hero and
his associates as they faced Professor Whitely, who had ancient history
at his finger tips, but, though he had heard some rumors of trouble in
the Freshman Latin class, he did not refer to it, but plunged at once
into the work of the day.
Nor did anything take place during the remainder of the lectures which
filled up time until about two o’clock. In the meantime, however,
Professor Skeel had placed the matter before Doctor Meredith.
“They went on strike, you say?” asked the head master. “Bless my soul! I
never heard of such a thing! I have known laboring bodies to refuse to
work, but how can students strike?”
“By refusing to recite, or to remain in class,” answered the Professor.
“And did the Freshmen do that?”
“They certainly did.”
“Dear, dear! What a situation!” exclaimed Doctor Meredith. “What a
peculiar position! I really never heard of one like it.”
“Nor I,” admitted Professor Skeel dryly. “But something must be done.”
“Oh, assuredly; most assuredly,” Doctor Meredith answered his colleague.
“And something drastic!” went on the Latin instructor.
“Oh, yes,--er--I suppose so. Really it is rather a novelty--a strike of
students.”
“Novelty!” puffed Professor Skeel.
“Yes. I never heard of such a thing. Really I think some sort of
psychological study might be made of it--the causes and effects you
know. What peculiar action of the brain cells brought it about. The
reason for it. I think I shall write a paper on it for the International
society. It will create a sensation, I think.”
“I think so myself. But, in the meanwhile, something must be
done--something drastic. The strike must be broken.”
“Oh, of course. I--er--I perfectly agree with you,” and Doctor Meredith
spoke dreamily. He was already forming in his mind the chief points for
a paper he determined to write on students striking. “We should have to
begin with the cause,” he murmured. “Ah, by the way, Professor Skeel,
what was the reason the Freshmen walked out, and refused to recite?”
“They declared they would not do the lessons I had set for them.”
“Why not?”
“They said they were too long--or rather, their leader, Tom Fairfield,
did.”
“Ah, and so they have a leader, just as in an industrial strike. Very
interesting, very.”
“Interesting!”
“Yes--er--that is from a psychological standpoint, of course.”
“Oh, I see. But something must be done. Even though, as a punishment
for careless work, I doubled the usual lesson, that is no excuse for
striking.”
“Oh, and so you doubled their lessons? Well, I suppose they naturally
resented that. But, of course, as you say, I presume that was no excuse.
But I will do something. I will act at once. I have thought of the best
plan.”
“What is it?” asked Professor Skeel, hoping it was the suspension of the
entire class, and the expulsion of Tom.
“We will treat with the strikers, just as is done in industrial
strikes,” said Doctor Meredith with an air of triumph, as if he
had discovered a most unusual way of settling the trouble. “We
will arbitrate. That is the best way. I will send them a personal
communication, when they have assembled. I must make some notes. If you
will kindly post a bulletin, requesting the class to assemble in, say,
the gymnasium, I will send a communication to them. That, I believe is
the usual way the authorities treat with strikers. I will personally
communicate with them,” and with a delighted air, and a childish
eagerness, Doctor Meredith took out pen and paper.
“I am to post a bulletin, calling the students together, am I?” asked
Professor Skeel, not altogether relishing his work.
“Yes, and I will communicate with them. Wait, better still, I will speak
to them in person.”
“And what will you say?”
“I will ask them to return to your class room, and resume the interrupted
session and lecture,” spoke the head master with an air of triumph, as
though he had made a most astounding discovery. “I will point out to
them how foolish it was to strike, I will assure them that there will be
no more double lessons in the future, and I will talk with them, and get
at the reasons that impelled them to strike. I can use their answers in
the paper I propose to write.”
“Is--is that all you will do?” asked Professor Skeel, much disappointed.
“That is all that will be necessary,” replied Doctor Meredith mildly.
“You will see, Professor Skeel, I will soon break the strike. I think
that ‘break’ is the proper word; is it not?”
“Yes, but it will not be broken that way, Doctor Meredith. Drastic
measures are needed. Very drastic!”
“We will try my way first,” decided the head master quietly. “Write out
the bulletin, Professor.”