FIRE
“YOU quit that, Jed Burr!”
“Shut up, or I’ll lam you worse.”
Bob Bouncer paused as he was on a run to join Frank and the others
across the playground.
Bob was passing the row of shrubbery, from which he had spied the
jewelry store robbers the night before. Now, halting and peering
through those same bushes, he saw Jed cuffing a helpless member of his
crowd, three years his junior and about half his size.
This was Ned Thomas, a weak, timid little fellow, who was so afraid of
the big leader of “The Blues,” that he had fetched and carried for Jed
all the last school term. Jed imposed on him terribly. The way he held
the little fellow, was to make him believe he would work him into the
ball nine in time.
Ned was sobbing and crying. Jed had knocked his cap off. He threatened
him with his fists.
“You do as I say,” he was speaking now.
“I can’t, I won’t,” choked out Ned. “I just felt splendid at my luck in
writing what I did. And you’ve taken it.”
“I gave you mine.”
“Humph! Yours! You give it back to me, Jed Burr! If you don’t, I’ll go
home. I won’t go to school at all.”
“Do it, then,” shouted Jed. “See here,” seizing the little fellow, and
shaking him hard, “you blab one word, and I won’t let a fellow in the
crowd play with you, or even speak to you.”
“See here, Jed Burr, you drop that,” cried Bob, stepping into view and
pulling Ned away from the grasp of the bully.
“Hello! sneaking around, are you?”
“I don’t have to sneak,” replied Bob.
“Mind your own business.”
“I’m minding it fine when I save a little fellow from your meanness.”
“Say, I’ll lick you,” cried Jed, doubling up his fists.
Bob said nothing. He just looked the bully squarely in the eye.
“Some time. You see if I don’t,” added Jed.
Bob did not move. Jed edged away.
“I’ll give it to you good and hard,” scowled Jed, and went clear away.
“See here, Ned,” said Bob, going up to the weeping boy, and placing his
hand on his shoulder in a kindly way.
“Leave me alone,” sniffled the little fellow. “Jed has spoiled
everything. I’ll stay away from school. I’ll play hookey.”
Just then the school bell rang. Bob had to let the little fellow go
his own way. There was a special programme for that morning, and Bob’s
mind was full of it. This was the public reading of a composition on
“Ceylon.” A prize was to be given for the best piece.
On these occasions at times several visitors came to the school. As he
entered, Bob noticed a number of ladies whom he knew. Seated in a chair
near the platform was a young man smartly dressed, who wore a single
eye-glass.
“He’s the English artist staying at Ned Thomas’s house,” Frank
whispered to Bob.
[Illustration: _Several Scholars Read Their Pieces_]
Several scholars read their pieces, Bob among the number. They were all
very good, for the writers were allowed to consult books, and even get
help from others. The story had to be told in their own language.
Bob noticed that Ned was absent. When Jed Burr’s turn came, the bully
stood up in his usual bold way, and began drawling out the contents of
the written paper in his hand.
Even Bob had to confess to himself that Jed’s paper was very fine. It
told things about Ceylon that the other boys had not mentioned. Jed
read about the wonderful tricks of the elephants in that country.
As he did this, Bob noticed the English artist straighten up, fix his
eye-glass, and stare at Jed. He was sure he heard the artist speak the
words:
“Ah, extrawordinary, you know!”
When Jed told of how the women of Ceylon worked, carrying great loads
on their backs, the artist said, under his breath:
“I say, remawkable!”
This puzzled Bob, for the artist kept staring hard at Jed, and rubbing
his head, as if something had happened that he could not understand.
When recess came the artist went up to Miss Williams. Bob noticed that
he spoke to her quite seriously. Most of the scholars had gone out onto
the playground, and Bob was about to join them, when the teacher said:
“Will you come here for a moment, Bob?”
“Yes, Miss Williams,” he replied, going up to her desk.
“Have you seen Ned Thomas to-day?” asked Miss Williams.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you know what kept him from school?”
“I think I half know, Miss Williams, but I don’t care to say anything
about it.”
“You should speak out, my lad,” said the artist. “Some wrong work has
been going on, and we wish to get at the bottom of it, don’t you know.”
“I’ll tell you, Miss Williams,” spoke Bob; “you had better ask Ned
about it.”
“But he is not here, Bob.”
“No, but I’ll try and find him.”
“I wish you would, Bob,” said the teacher.
Bob started out on his hunt for the truant. He wondered a good deal
about what was up. Nobody on the playground had seen Ned. Finally, a
boy who lived near by, and who had run home for a quick bite to eat,
told Bob that little Ned was playing over near a spring in the woods.
Bob came across Ned wading in some water. His feet were soaked and
his clothes muddy. He had been building a little dam, and he looked
reckless and unhappy.
“Teacher wants you, Ned,” said Bob.
“I don’t want to see teacher,” spoke Ned, in a sullen way.
“You’ve got to.”
“What for?”
“She’ll tell you.”
“I won’t go,” declared the little fellow, starting to wade deeper into
the water.
“No, you don’t,” said Bob, quickly, catching hold of Ned’s arm. “See
here, don’t be a gump. The artist who boards down at your house is up
at the schoolhouse with the teacher.”
“Oh, is he?” cried Ned, brightening up. “I’ll go, then, Bob.”
All the scholars looked curious as Bob crossed the playground with Ned
in his charge.
“Close the door. Bob,” spoke Miss Williams, as Bob led Ned into the
schoolroom. “You can remain, if you like.”
Bob sat down at one of the desks. In a halting, shame-faced way Ned
hunched up to the teacher.
“I didn’t mean to play hookey. It wasn’t my fault,” he blurted out.
“Ah, my lad,” here spoke the artist, “you know I was a
bit—ah—er—surprised, don’t you know, and I wanted to awsk you
something.”
“Yes, sir,” blubbered Ned, humbly, with eyes cast down.
“I gave you some stories of my journey through Ceylon for your
composition, you know. Another lad read them off here this morning.”
“He stole my paper from me,” burst out Ned. “The mean bully! He gave me
his to read, but I tore it up. I won’t stand it any longer,” and Ned
began to bawl.
“It’s a clear case, Miss,” said the artist. “A—ah, er—decidedly mean
theft. This Thistle boy——”
“Burr,” corrected the teacher, with a smile.
“Ah, yes, Burr. He should be exposed, Miss.”
“I think the school board will expel him when they know the facts of
the case,” said the teacher.
“Won’t he be boss of ‘The Blues’ any more, then?” asked Ned, eagerly.
“I fancy not,” replied Miss Williams.
“Then I ain’t afraid any more,” cried Ned. “I’ll tell the truth; yes,
I will. I’ve been a mean boy, but Jed Burr made me that. He got me to
play all kinds of tricks on the scholars; and say, Miss Williams,”
added Ned, with a quick glance at Bob, “Jed stole a spelling list from
your desk, and some of his fellows copied it, and Jed got me to put it
in Bob Bouncer’s desk, so as to get him into trouble.”
“Oh, Bob!” cried Miss Williams, coming up to him and putting out her
hand, “I have wronged you very greatly!”
“Don’t speak of it, Miss Williams,” replied Bob, smiling loyally. “It’s
all right now, isn’t it?”
“You are a noble boy, Bob,” said his teacher.
“I think it’s myself that wronged somebody,” said Bob to himself, as he
left the schoolhouse. “Here I went and suspected poor Tom Chubb of what
he never did. A fine friend I am! I’m going to tell him how mean I’ve
been.”
Tom thought Bob quite the best friend he had heard of, when Bob told
his story.
“Wouldn’t tell on a friend, would you?” said Tom. “The only mistake was
your thinking I was smart enough to get hold of that spelling list.”
“It wasn’t very smart in Jed Burr, the way it has turned out,” said
Frank.
“That’s so,” echoed Sammy. “It pays to be straight.”
At noon Jed Burr was sent home with a note to his parents. It told that
he was suspended from school until the school board were told of his
unfairness and misdoings.
Bob felt that something more than being sorry was due to Tom. He
invited him and Frank and Sammy to tea to his house that evening.
The four boys were playing a game of tennis just at dusk, when they
heard a yell down the road. Bob ran out to the gate.
A man was coming pell-mell down the middle of the road. He was waving
his arms wildly.
“Hurry, run!” he shouted, as he espied the boys.
“What’s the matter?” bawled Sammy.
“Fire!” yelled the runner, never stopping to take breath. “At the
schoolhouse—it’s on fire, and burning up!”