Crawford’s mother had died before he was five years old. His father
outlived her but a few months, and by the father’s will his lawyer, who
was also an old friend, was appointed guardian to the child and trustee
of the large property to which the boy was heir.
This lawyer, Mr. Chase, was a scrupulously honorable man, but he was a
very busy one, and, being a bachelor, knew little about the bringing up
of a boy.
At six, Crawford was sent to boarding-school. His bills were
promptly paid, and, from the time he was ten, he received a liberal
allowance--far too liberal for his own good. His vacations were spent
at school or at some gay summer resort, and he was allowed to do pretty
much as he pleased, provided he did not run in debt. So that it was
not to be wondered at that the boy had grown up wild and selfish and
brutal. He had never had a home since he could remember, and thus far
in life he had found that money would secure about everything that he
wanted.
Once or twice his guardian had remonstrated with him mildly about his
low standing in his classes, or the reports of idleness and mischievous
behavior in the school-room, but his private opinion was, “Boys will be
boys, and he’ll settle down and be steady enough, after a while.”
It was at Crawford’s own request that he had been sent to the high
school. The first year he had gotten on fairly well, but this second
year his conduct had been so unsatisfactory, that Mr. Horton and
Professor Keene had both written to Mr. Chase, and that gentleman had
at last come to the conclusion that he must have a serious talk with
his ward.
So, desirous to have it over as soon as possible, he went to Crawford’s
rooms the next day after the trouble in section D. He found the boy
stretched out in a big easy-chair, a cigarette in his mouth and a novel
in his hand.
“Faugh!” the lawyer exclaimed in a tone of disgust, as Crawford sprang
up; “do throw away that vile-smelling thing. A good cigar is bad
enough, but how anybody can abide the smell of cigarettes, is more than
I can understand.”
Crawford tossed the objectionable roll into the grate, as he said, with
a laugh, “Pity you don’t smoke, sir. You don’t know how much you miss.”
“Pity you _do_, I should say,” replied Mr. Chase, sternly. “You’ll ruin
your health and spoil your brains if you don’t stop it. In short, my
boy, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s high time for you to turn
over a new leaf. I am not at all pleased with the reports I have from
your teachers.”
“Oh, you know, then,” exclaimed Crawford, in a tone of relief.
“Know what? That you’ve been idling away your time and playing silly
tricks here, as you have at the other schools you’ve attended? George,
there must be an end of this. You are not a little boy any longer. Here
you are seventeen--nearly eighteen years old--almost a man. It is time
that you showed some ambition, and set to work to make something of
yourself.”
Crawford laughed lazily and indifferently, as he asked:--
“Did you get a note from Keene, to-day?”
“No,” said Mr. Chase, briefly.
“Well, you will to-morrow then, and I’ll tell you beforehand, the
contents of it. Prof. Keene will write to inform you that I am
suspended for two weeks. At the end of that time I may have the
privilege of returning, provided I will make a sufficiently humble
apology, and promise to be a good little boy for the future. Much I’ll
apologize!” he added, with a scornful laugh. He was wholly unprepared
for the way in which his news was received.
“Suspended!” exclaimed the lawyer, starting up. “This is a pretty
piece of business. Tell me what you have been doing. You needn’t try
to smooth it over. Tell me the whole story, for I shall certainly see
Prof. Keene about it to-day.”
Considerably taken aback, but still trying to preserve his careless
manner, Crawford told what he had done.
“Well, sir, all I have to say is, that you richly deserve what you have
got; and now let me tell you that you may as well make up your mind
first as last, to go back at the end of the two weeks, and make the
apology and give the promise that Prof. Keene requires--for that is
what you’ve got to do.”
“Never! I’ll _never_ do it,” cried Crawford, angrily.
“You _will_ do it, or I’ll put you where you’ll have to behave yourself
whether you like it or not,” was the stern reply.
“What do you mean?” questioned the boy.
“I mean, George, that I am beginning to realize that you’ve had
altogether too much liberty. It is evident that you cannot be trusted
to manage yourself and do as you choose. You do not choose the things
or associates that I approve. I hear of you around with that wild young
Henderson continually, and in places where you have no business to
be; and now you have disgraced yourself and gained a name at school
that you ought to be ashamed of. I’ll give you just one more chance.
If you attend to your studies for the next two weeks and keep up with
your class, and at the end of that time make a suitable apology to
your teachers, and hereafter behave yourself and try to redeem your
character in the school--very well.”
“And if I refuse to do all this?” questioned Crawford, his face flushed
with anger.
“If you refuse,” said the lawyer, slowly, “I will put you in a reform
school, if I can’t find any other place where you will be forced to
behave yourself.”
Crawford fairly choked with rage.
“I’ll--I’ll run away first,” he sputtered.
The lawyer laughed. “I’ll risk that,” he said. “A very brief experience
of roughing it, and earning your own living, would bring you to your
senses. No, George, you’ve come to a turning place in your life. Now
make up your mind to face the situation manfully, and make a record
that you and I can both be proud of. I’ll be around again in a day or
two, and I am sure that you will have made up your mind not to be so
foolish as to throw away this chance.”
Crawford had never been taught to control his temper, and he gave full
vent to his furious anger, after the departure of his guardian. He
fumed and raged like an overgrown child, and vowed that he would never
“knuckle under to Keene and Horton to please old Chase.” He had just
begun to cool off a little when Henderson appeared. His face was as
black as Crawford’s as he flung himself into a chair saying:--
“You look about as I feel, Crawford; wonder if you’ve had as pleasant
an interview with your old man as I’ve had with mine.”
“I’ve had a sweet lecture from old Chase,” replied Crawford, moodily,
“and I’ve been trying ever since he left to decide whether or no I’ll
cut the whole business and clear out somewhere. I’ve more than half a
mind to go out west and go to work.”
“Oh, no, don’t think of that. You’d be a big fool to clear out when you
can have all the money you want here.”
Crawford looked up quickly. “And you,” he said, “are you going to go
back and promise to be a good little boy?”
“Expect I’ve got to,” replied Henderson, moodily.
“Well, I never would have believed you’d back down so quickly,” said
Crawford, scornfully.
Henderson’s face flushed angrily.
“I’ve no choice in the matter,” he said, shortly. “The old man says if
I don’t I can shift for myself hereafter.”
“Well, that’s my case too. Why not go out west together? We’ve heads
and hands of our own--why shouldn’t we earn our living for three years?
Chase can’t keep me out of my money after I’m twenty-one.”
“Oh, it’s easy enough to talk about earning a living,” said Henderson,
impatiently, “but I tell you what, Crawford, you’d sing another tune
after you’d tried it a few months. You wouldn’t find it much like
living as you do here, driving out when you choose, and always having
your pockets full of money.”
“They are anything but full most of the time,” put in Crawford.
“Yes, but you can get all the credit you want. It would be a very
different thing, I tell you, if you had nothing but what you earned.
Neither you nor I have learned anything by which we could earn a
dollar,” said Henderson, gruffly.
“But I say, Hendy, it will be mighty tough to have to go back to school
and eat humble pie. Think how the fellows’ll chaff us if we meekly
agree to be good little boys and keep the rules hereafter.”
“Let ’em chaff,” growled Henderson. “We’ll soon show them that we mean
to play our little games in the future about as we’ve done in the past.”
“But we’ve got to promise not to do anything of the sort before we can
go back,” objected Crawford.
“Promise!” echoed Henderson scornfully. “Who cares for a promise? We’ll
get back on our promise and then forget all about it. What cuts me in
this business,” he went on, moodily, “is that I’ve got to drop out of
the company. I was a fool not to think of that before I told that yarn
to Bobby.”
“I declare, I haven’t once thought of that. You’ll have to resign, of
course,” said Crawford.
“Of course,” echoed Henderson. “It makes me mad as fury to think that I
was such a fool to get into a scrape like this just now, when it’s so
near the drill. I believe we’d have won the prize sure this year, for
the fellows are so wild to get it away from Company A, that every man
of ’em has worked with a will. I was going to give them extra drills
once or twice a week evenings, for this last month, and now with a new
captain they won’t stand half as good a chance.”
“I declare that’s too bad, Henderson. Wish now I’d never sent that note
in to you.”
“You can’t wish it so much as I do,” said Henderson. “But there is
no use crying over spilt milk. Maybe, Company C will win after all.
We must try to think of some way to help their chances. But you see,
Crawford, it’s enough sight worse for me to go back than for you--since
you’ve no rank to lose.”
Crawford drummed on the table and looked thoughtful. After a moment’s
silence he said, “It _is_ harder for you than for me, Henderson, and I
suppose if you are going back I must keep you company, since I got you
into this fix.”
“Shake hands on it,” said Henderson quickly, holding out his hand.
“I was awfully afraid you’d refuse, Crawford, and to have gone back
without you would have been altogether too much for me.”
“We shall have to be mighty careful for a while at any rate. Bobby will
watch us with all the eyes he has,” said Crawford gloomily.
“Bobby!” said Henderson with a sneer. “I reckon we’re sharp enough to
hoodwink Bobby, and if with the help of Coyle and Green and the rest
of our crowd we don’t make it lively for those precious L. A. O.’s, I
miss my guess, that’s all. But now, see here--the governor says that
if I don’t stand as well in class as I have done, or if I give Bobby
any cause to complain of me hereafter, then that’s the end of it. I can
drop out of high school and go where I like, but never a dollar will he
give me if I starve.”
“Whew!” whistled Crawford. “He’s in earnest, isn’t he?”
“I should say so. I never would have believed he’d cut up so rough,”
growled Henderson.
“My orders are much the same,” said Crawford; “only, as the money
belongs to me after all, Chase can’t carry it with quite such a high
hand, you know. I hate the idea of it all, though. Think of going back
and pegging away like Clark, and Gordon and that lot, and never have
any fun,” grumbled Crawford, gloomily.
“Oh bosh! You’ve brains enough, Crawford, and after all it’s time you
did brace up and work a little. It’s just laziness that has kept you so
low in class, and if you half try, you can stand as high as Clark or
Gordon. Only think how that would grind them.”
Crawford laughed. He was secretly pleased at the other’s estimate of
his ability, and the idea of standing as high, or possibly higher than
Clark and Gordon was an alluring one.
“I’ve half a mind to try it,” he said. “It would be something new under
the sun for me to go digging, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” assented Henderson. “I fancy it would astonish some people; and
see what an advantage it would give you, too. Bobby comes down on you
twice as hard as he does on me, and it’s only because I stand high in
class and you don’t. Now, you just go to work, and Bobby will soon be
so proud of you, and so delighted at the change, that he will wink at
lots of things that now he would not overlook; while Chase will be so
pleased that everything will go smoothly in that quarter.”
“Oh, but, Hendy,” objected Crawford, “think how slow and stupid it will
be--just deadly dull--all hard work and no fun.”
“No fun? Don’t you believe that. You and I will be models of good
behavior in the school-room, but all the same if we don’t make life a
burden to Bobby, then I miss my guess.”
“But how, how?” questioned Crawford eagerly.
“Why, this way. We’ll plan the mischief, and let the rest of the Antis
execute it, and bear the blame. We’ll see all the fun, and go scot
free.”
“They won’t agree to that,” said Crawford.
“You see if they don’t. It will cost something, but if I carry off the
honors of the class, I’m sure my dad will be ready enough to increase
my allowance, and Chase would do the same for you, wouldn’t he?”
“Probably, but what then?” questioned Crawford.
“Why--a spread for the Antis now and then, or an excursion down the
bay--we footing the bills--will buy over all our crowd, I reckon. As to
Green and Coyle, they’ve _got_ to do as we say, till they can pay the
money we’ve lent ’em.”
“Well, that _is_ a scheme,” said Crawford, thoughtfully; “I wonder if
we can carry it out.”
“Don’t see why not,” replied the other; “and by the way there’s another
thing,--we must start in on it to-morrow.”
“Studying, you mean?” queried Crawford.
“We must do that, but that was not what I was thinking of. We must stir
up a rumpus in the class-room to-morrow.”
“How can we? and why not wait till we go back?”
“Why, don’t you see that if there is no disorder while we’re away, and
plenty of it after we come back, Bobby’ll lay it all at our door. As to
how--let’s call a meeting of the Antis here this evening. We can plan
enough to make things lively in the school-room for a week to come, and
if we promise the fellows a spread next week, they’ll be ready enough
to carry out our plans.”
So it was that a message reached every one of the Antis before six
o’clock that evening, and almost every one responded to the call. Some
of them were really bad boys, more were neither good nor bad, but ready
to follow any leader who promised them “fun.”
The session that day had been the most quiet and orderly one of the
year, and Mr. Horton had thought to himself that he might hope for a
continuance of this state of things for two weeks, at least. He found
out his mistake before an hour of the second day was over. There was no
act of open disorder or disobedience, but the Antis were restless and
noisy, ready to laugh at the slightest excuse, and to keep on laughing
as long as they dared.
When, in the history recitation, one of them remarked that “Warren
Hastings went to the same school and sat on the same seats as the
pheasants of his native country,” an uproarious burst of laughter
followed, and all through the session similar blunders were made in the
gravest and most innocent manner imaginable, by different boys. When
the hour came for the algebra recitation, an unusual quiet prevailed in
the room, and when Mr. Horton sent Reed to the closet for a piece of
chalk, more than one boy waited breathlessly for what was to follow.
Reed flung open the door and reached up to the shelf for the chalk-box,
but the next moment it fell from his hands, and with a cry, he sprang
back and slammed the door, but not before a snake had slipped out into
the room. It was a big black fellow, nearly three feet long, and as it
wriggled about under the seats, there was such a commotion in the room,
that for a moment the teacher could not make himself heard; and in that
moment Green flung open the door, and the snake was quickly hustled out
into the hall. A girls’ class-room was directly opposite, and to the
delight of the disorderly element, the girls’ door stood ajar, and the
boys succeeded in driving the snake _accidentally_ through the opening.
Then ensued shrieks and screams as the girls jumped up on desks and
seats, some of them even mounting to the window-sills.
But in a moment Mr. Horton, understanding what the noise in the girls’
room meant, appeared there, seized the snake by the tail, and flung it
from the window.
When order was restored, and the teacher questioned his own class,
every boy denied all knowledge as to how the snake came to be in the
closet, and although Mr. Horton had his own opinion on the subject, he
had no proof, and could do nothing.
The next day was no better. Never had the class been more trying or
more disorderly than in the two weeks that followed, and never had the
teacher found it so difficult to decide whom to punish.
The L. A. O.’s were almost in despair. It was in the second week that a
meeting was held, and the matter very earnestly talked over.
“It does seem a shame that a few mean fellows should be able to upset
everything as they do in this class,” Gordon said indignantly. “I did
hope that it would be different at least while Crawford and Henderson
were away. I thought that they were at the bottom of it all, but that
can’t be, for it has been worse than ever for the last week. Does
anybody know who _is_ the ringleader?”
“Seems to me the Antis are _all_ ringleaders,” said Raleigh.
“I’ve found out who put the snake in the closet,” announced Hamlin.
“Who, who?” shouted a dozen voices eagerly.
“Green,” replied Hamlin.
“How’d you find out?” asked Gordon.
“I was in Smith’s bird-store down the avenue yesterday. I’ve bought
fancy pigeons of him several times, and he’s a friendly sort of chap,
and as I happened to think of that snake, I asked him if he had sold
one within a week or two. He said yes--he sold one to a sandy-haired
fellow about my size--a fellow with an anchor on his left hand. Well,
that fits Green to a T.”
“So it does. So he was at the bottom of that; and I know it was Coyle
that mixed up all our overshoes yesterday, so it took us an age to sort
’em out. I don’t see the fun in such tricks, for my part,” said Raleigh.
“Well, say, boys--what are we going to do about it? If every L. A. O.
in the class should get a hundred this quarter, it wouldn’t bring our
class record up to a decent mark, so long as the Antis cut up as they
do.”
“Does every fellow except us here belong to the Antis?” asked one.
“Yes, all except Clark,” said Gordon.
“I say it’s a shame that Clark’s name is not on our roll,” broke in
Hamlin. “_I_ believe he’s a splendid fellow, and I don’t think we do
right to shut him out just because of what his father has done.”
A silence followed, while the boys looked at one another uneasily.
“It isn’t all--his father,” remarked one.
“No--it’s the things that happened the first of the year,” said another.
“But I, for one, don’t believe that he deserved the blame he got in
either of those cases,” said Hamlin boldly; “and no one can deny that
he’s the best all-around scholar in the class; and as to deportment, no
fellow could do more to help our record than he does.”
“He’s too much of a prig,” muttered one; while the Georgian, saying
something about “convicts,” turned away and looked out of the window.
With a disappointed air, Hamlin dropped the so evidently unwelcome
subject of Clark’s admission to the society, and the discussion of what
should be done was resumed.
“Seems as if we might persuade a few of the Antis to come over to our
side,” said Raleigh. “Some of the smaller fellows--Freeman and Vale,
for instance.”
“Vale might possibly be talked over, but Freeman seems to be a hopeless
case. I’ve done my best, but he’s too much in with the worst ones. I
don’t think it’s any use to talk to him,” said Gordon.
“Well, let’s try Vale again. You tackle him, Gordon, and I’ll try
Claflin, and the rest of you see if you can talk over anybody else,”
said Hamlin.
“I wonder if it would be possible to get Bobby to divide the section,
and mark the L. A. O.’s and the Antis separately,” suggested Gordon
thoughtfully.
“We might talk to him about it. He’ll do anything he can to help us, I
know,” said Hamlin.
For an hour the discussion was continued, but when the boys separated
it was with a most uncomfortable sense of the fact that--try as they
might--they never could change the reputation of section D so long as
nearly half of their number were determined to do all in their power to
prevent such a change.
Mr. Horton willingly agreed to keep the records of the Antis
separately, but he told the boys that that could make no real
difference, since the section must rank according to its marks as a
whole.