Hamlin’s failure to induce the L. A. O.’s to admit Clark to their
society made him the more determined to show all possible friendliness
himself towards his lonely schoolfellow, and he made it a point to walk
to and from school with him, or to have a chat with him at recess, as
frequently as he could. Clark appreciated the other’s kindness, and
understood perfectly well that it was through no lack of effort on
Hamlin’s part that he--Clark--was not asked to join the L. A. O.’s.
Several other boys, Gordon and Graham among them, began to follow
Hamlin’s example so far as to nod and say a pleasant word to Clark
now and then, but he felt that they were doing this merely to please
Hamlin, and did not respond very cordially to their advances.
As to Freeman--Clark’s attempts to draw him away from the Crawford
crowd had signally failed. Freeman seemed to have lost all desire for
his cousin’s companionship, and coldly and even curtly refused all
Clark’s invitations to walk or talk with him.
Clark had little time and less inclination in these days for visiting,
but he went occasionally to see his aunt and cousins. One afternoon he
found Edith alone, and looking so pale and troubled that he could not
help asking what was the matter.
The girl’s lip trembled, and her blue eyes filled with tears as she
answered simply, “I’m so worried about Ray, Stanley.”
“What about him, Edith? Is it anything in which I can help you?” he
asked kindly.
“Oh, I don’t know. He is so changed lately. He used to be the dearest
boy, and now, since he has been with Crawford and Henderson so much, he
is so different. He doesn’t seem to care for mamma or me, and he goes
out evenings and won’t tell us where he goes, and he seems to have lost
all interest in his school work. His last report was the poorest he has
ever had.”
“I am so sorry, Edith,” Clark answered, “I’ve tried to get him away
from that set, but he doesn’t care to be with me any more. He as much
as told me to ‘mind my own business’ and let him alone, the last time I
spoke to him.”
“Yes,” sighed Edith, “that’s the way he answers me. But Stanley, Ray
isn’t really a bad boy, and I’m sure that something is troubling him,
and that is what makes him so cross, lately.”
“Perhaps it is his low rank in class,” suggested Clark.
Edith shook her head. “No, it’s something more than that, I’m sure,”
she said. Then she added earnestly, “Don’t give him up, Stanley. He has
always looked up so to you, and I’m sure he does care for you a great
deal more than for those horrid big fellows that he goes with now,
and--and, we _must_ get him away from them somehow.”
Her voice trembled, and Clark’s face expressed the sympathy he felt.
“I’ll do all I can, cousin Edith. If only Crawford and Henderson
wouldn’t come back to school, I think there would be much less trouble.
They are the evil influence in the class,” he said, thoughtfully.
“Yes, and the evil influence that is leading my brother astray,” said
Edith, sadly.
After this conversation, Clark was constantly on the watch for any
opportunity to help his young cousin, not only for his own sake, but
yet more for that of the sister whose loving heart was so heavily
burdened with anxiety on her brother’s account. Clark had the true
knightly spirit, and counted it the duty of a boy to care for his
mother and sisters, and ward off from them, as far as possible, all
sorrow and trouble. No mother ever had a more tender, thoughtful son
than his mother had in him, and since he had no sister, he felt himself
in duty bound to do for Edith, as far as he could, what her own
brother failed to do; and above all, to bring back that brother to the
path of duty and uprightness from which he had strayed.
But how to do this was the question--since Freeman avoided him and
responded so coldly to all his advances. Clark pretended not to see
this, and persisted in being friendly, yet he felt more than a little
discouraged, and was often tempted to give it up, and leave the boy to
do as he would. It was only the remembrance of Edith’s sorrowful face
that kept him from doing so.
Out of school hours, Freeman now spent half his time in Crawford’s
rooms, and during the weeks of Crawford’s and Henderson’s absence, he
spent every recess with Coyle, Green, and others of like character.
When it was known in school that Crawford and Henderson had been
suspended, there was much wondering and speculation among the L. A. O.
as to whether or no they would return and make the apology, and give
the promise required. After the meeting at Crawford’s rooms, the Antis
knew that the two boys would return, but they took good care not to let
the L. A. O.’s know anything about the matter.
Every face in the room was full of eager interest and curiosity, as
nine o’clock approached on the morning after the two weeks were ended.
When, after the opening exercises, Prof. Keene entered the room
followed by Crawford and Henderson, there was a silence that could be
felt. Every eye was fastened on the two boys, who stood with downcast
faces while Prof. Keene said a few earnest words to the class.
In spite of their bravado, and the hidden purpose that sustained them,
both boys found it more of an ordeal than they had anticipated to stand
there and acknowledge that they had done wrong and were sorry for it,
and to promise that they would endeavor from that time on to keep all
the rules of the school, and give no further cause of complaint.
Some of the Antis began to clap, as the two slipped into their seats,
but Prof. Keene stopped that instantly, remarking sternly that this was
no occasion for applause.
During the remainder of the session, Mr. Horton threw more than one
puzzled glance at the two boys. There was something in their faces
that he could not understand, but they certainly gave him no cause for
complaint, for they were models of good behavior.
The L. A. O.’s cast many curious and wondering glances at them also as
the hours passed, and these two, who had so long been ringleaders in
disorder, sat apparently unconscious of the half-subdued buzzing and
whispering and laughter of their own set, who seemed to be intensely
amused at this new state of things. And when not only Henderson, but
Crawford as well, had perfect recitations in each study, the surprise
of the L. A. O.’s was evident, to the ill-concealed delight of the
Antis.
After school, Mr. Horton detained the two boys to say a few earnest
words to them, and then to tell them how much pleasure their fine
recitations and orderly deportment had given him. As he begged them to
use their influence, which he knew to be great, on the side of law and
order, Crawford hung his head and a flush of shame dyed his cheeks as
he thought how little he deserved commendation; but Henderson looked
boldly into his teacher’s eyes and coolly promised to do his best.
“I say, Henderson, you’re a bigger hypocrite than I am,” said Crawford,
as they went down stairs.
“Oh, pshaw! What’s one lie more or less?” said the other coolly.
“Besides, I’m going to be a model of good behavior now, you know--a
perfect little lamb,” and he laughed at the remembrance of “Bobby’s”
face, and the way they had “taken him in.”
Never had Mr. Horton been so perplexed and so worried and tormented in
his class-room, as in the weeks that followed the return of Crawford
and Henderson. Having no clue to the real state of the case, he was
completely deceived, and took the greatest satisfaction in the change
in these two, while at the same time he was at his wit’s end to
understand what caused the increasing disorder and disturbance in the
room, and who was at the bottom of it all.
The L. A. O.’s, after much persuasion, had induced three of the Antis
to change sides, so that now there were twenty-three L. A. O.’s and
thirteen Antis besides Crawford and Henderson. One boy had left the
class, and Clark belonged to neither side, so the L. A. O.’s had a
large majority; but all the same, thirteen bad boys, especially with
two such leaders as Crawford and Henderson, can accomplish a deal of
mischief, and this thirteen certainly did.
Could Mr. Horton have been an unseen listener at a spread given to
the Antis by Crawford and Henderson at the rooms of the former, he
would have understood the matter, for the boys, as they disposed of
the feast, laughed and rejoiced over the success of their schemes, and
planned yet more and more exasperating trials for their long-suffering
instructor.
Among those present at Crawford’s “spread” was Charlie Reed. Thus far
Reed had looked upon life as a huge joke, and his one purpose was
to get as much fun as possible out of every hour in the day. He had
refused to join the L. A. O.’s, because he declared that there was “no
fun” in keeping the rules and working for honors. So he was always
ready to carry out any mischievous suggestion of the Antis, and not a
little of the class disorder might justly have been laid at his door.
And after all, he meant no harm. With him it was pure thoughtlessness
and love of mischief. One of his favorite amusements was to adorn the
blackboard, out of school hours, with absurd sketches of the boys or of
the teachers.
One morning before school he had drawn a sketch of a very dudish young
man and a lady arrayed in bridal costume; and, lest anybody should
fail to recognize the intended likenesses, he had written above this
artistic production the legend, “Bobby leading Miss Carr to the altar.”
The boys shouted, as Reed finished his sketch, for Miss Carr was the
oldest teacher in the school, certainly twice Mr. Horton’s age, and not
at all prepossessing in appearance.
Suddenly a boy at the window called out, “Hi, fellows--look over there.
There she comes now, and isn’t she a daisy!”
The boys rushed to the window. It was a rainy morning, and Miss Carr,
in waterproof and overshoes, was picking her way through the puddles,
and, as it happened, Mr. Horton, who had overtaken her a moment before,
was holding his umbrella over her head as they crossed the street.
In watching these two, the boys forgot all about the sketch on the
board, even Reed himself never giving it a thought, and there it was
when Clark, a moment later, entered the room, Mr. Horton being only a
few steps behind him. At that instant somebody cried out in smothered
tones, “You’re in for it, Reedy. Look at the board.”
Reed started up with a cry of dismay, but dropped into his seat again
as he heard Mr. Horton’s voice in the hall.
Clark glanced at the board, and taking in the situation, instantly
snatched the eraser and rubbed out the drawing as he passed the board.
It was barely done before Mr. Horton entered the room. He looked in
surprise at Clark turning away from the board, but the boy quietly took
his seat, while Reed, with a sigh of relief, settled back in his; and
as it was almost nine o’clock, the teacher asked no questions.
At recess, Reed joined Clark, who was walking up and down the sidewalk
alone, as usual.
“It was awfully good of you to rub out my scrawl, Clark,” he said.
Before Clark had time to reply, Hamlin joined him, and, with a nod, he
turned away from Reed, and the latter, after a moment’s hesitation,
strolled back to the boys in the playground.
It was that same day that Clark took a roundabout way home for the sake
of the air and exercise. He was walking slowly down a shady, pleasant
street, when he noticed a pretty little three-year-old girl coming down
the steps of a handsome house near the corner. The little thing had
evidently escaped from her nurse, for she cast anxious glances back at
the open door as she trotted across the sidewalk. She was just in the
middle of the street, when a fire-engine came dashing around the corner
at full speed. The child, hearing the gong and seeing the galloping
horses coming straight towards her, stopped short in a bewildered
fashion, too frightened even to cry out. It was impossible for the
driver to stop the horses or turn them aside enough to pass her, but
in that instant of time Clark sprang forward, his rapid rush carrying
both himself and the child just out of the way of the engine. He and
the little girl both rolled in the dirt, but neither was hurt beyond a
bruise or two.
As he got on his feet and lifted the frightened child, she began to cry
and held out her arms to her mother, who, with a white, shocked face,
came running down the steps. She held the little one close, and for
a moment she could not speak, but then her eyes filled with tears of
gratitude as she turned to Clark and tried to thank him. But, boy-like,
Clark felt shy and embarrassed now, and tried to slip away through the
crowd that had quickly gathered.
“Do tell me your name,” the mother pleaded earnestly.
Clark opened his lips to give it, but seeing a reporter whip out his
notebook and pencil, listening eagerly for the answer, and not wanting
to figure as a newspaper hero, he said quickly, “I’m _very_ glad that
the little girl was not hurt,” and lifting his hat, slipped through the
crowd and was gone.
With a disappointed look, the mother carried her little girl into the
house, while the reporter, casting an injured glance after Clark,
proceeded to gather from the crowd all the particulars of the affair.
When Clark reached the school-room the next morning, Reed was talking
away excitedly to a group of the boys, who were listening and
questioning him with eager interest.
“And you didn’t find out who the fellow was?” asked Crawford.
“No--he wouldn’t tell my mother what his name was, and the reporter
couldn’t find anybody in the crowd that knew him,” said Reed.
“Lucky for your little sister that he happened to be on hand just that
minute, whoever he was,” said Sherman.
Reed’s usually bright eyes were suspiciously dim as he answered in a
low tone, “Yes--I can’t bear to think of it.” Then he added, “My father
says he’d give a hundred dollars to know who the boy was.”
“Queer idea, not to give his name,” remarked Henderson.
“Well--he was a brave fellow, anyhow,” said Crawford. “Tell you
what--_I_ wouldn’t care to run in front of a fire-engine, going at the
rate they always do go.”
“Nor I,” said Coyle, “He ran the risk of being awfully hurt, if not
killed.”
“That’s what _I_ call courage,” remarked Hamlin emphatically, going
over to Clark, who had taken his own seat on the other side of the room.
“Did you hear what Reed was telling, Clark?”
“Yes, I saw the account in the paper,” answered Clark quietly, “but
I didn’t know until just now that the little girl was Charlie Reed’s
sister. I didn’t know where he lived.”
“Yes--it’s his only sister. She’s a beautiful child, and they’re just
devoted to her--the whole family. I never saw Reed so stirred up over
anything before. You know he generally turns everything into a joke,
but he doesn’t feel like joking this morning. Pity they can’t find out
who the fellow is--isn’t it?”
Clark muttered some unintelligible reply, and Hamlin, surprised and a
little disappointed at the other’s apparent lack of interest, turned
away to his own seat.
Even to his mother Clark did not mention the affair; and she, as she
read the account in the paper, had no suspicion that her own son was
the modest young hero who had refused to give his name; while Reed
never dreamed that it was his quiet schoolmate that had saved his home
from being a house of mourning. But somehow, he could not forget the
affair, or shake off entirely the impression that it had made on him.
He began to realize that life is not all “fun,” and the coarse jokes
of the Antis began to lose their flavor for him, and finally he amazed
and rejoiced the L. A. O.’s by asking for admission to their number.
The enthusiastic welcome that he received from those whom he knew to
be the “best fellows in the class” was all that was needed to make him
heartily glad of the break that he had made.