The interest and excitement over the drill had by no means died out
when the school assembled on Monday morning. Nothing else was discussed
by the pupils who were there early, and all sorts of reports as to the
punishment of those who had been guilty of such flagrant misdeeds were
current.
Eager eyes watched for the appearance of Henderson and the members of
his company, but when nine o’clock struck, none of them had been seen,
and Freeman’s seat was also vacant.
Crawford did not appear until the last moment, and then he dropped into
his seat with an evident desire to avoid notice.
Mr. Horton looked grave and troubled, and his brief morning prayer was
so full of deep feeling that it impressed even the most careless of his
pupils. As soon as the opening exercises were over, he told the class
to form in line and march to the hall, and much more silently than
usual, and in perfect order, the boys passed up to the hall, where, in
a few minutes, the whole school was assembled.
All the teachers except Professor Keene were on the platform, and every
face was grave and sad.
Never had those nine hundred boys and girls gathered there on an
occasion like this, and never had such a breathless silence reigned in
any of their gatherings as reigned now during the few moments while
they awaited the appearance of the principal.
They had not long to wait. He came upon the platform, followed by
Freeman and eight of the members of Company C, but Henderson was not
among them.
Professor Keene’s words to the school were very brief, but very grave
and earnest. Then he turned to the boys on the platform, and gave them
such a severe reprimand as he had never before given in public to any
of his pupils.
Turning again to the assembled school, he said: “To perform such a duty
as this, is almost as hard for me as for those whom I am obliged thus
publicly to reprimand, but I am very glad to be able to add that every
one of these schoolmates of yours has made to me private acknowledgment
of his wrong-doing, and has promised henceforth to do his duty in
the school, and to try, by his conduct in the future, to efface from
all our memories the dishonorable doings of last week; and similar
acknowledgment will now be made before us all.”
As the professor took his seat, Freeman stepped forward. His face was
colorless, and his voice so low and husky that only those near the
platform could hear him at first. Then he caught sight of Clark’s
face, full of loving sympathy and encouragement. He seemed to gather
strength from that look, and drawing himself up, he made a frank, manly
apology to his teachers and to the school, and earnestly declared that
it should be his purpose in the future to do his duty in the school as
faithfully as he possibly could. As he dropped into the nearest chair,
the professor held out his hand, and said in a low tone, “You did well,
Freeman, and I am sure that you will live up to what you have promised.”
Baum was the next to speak, and perhaps to no boy in the school could
the ordeal have been more trying than to him. He was one of the most
silent of boys, never speaking unless spoken to, and then replying in
the fewest possible words. He never originated any mischief in the
school-room, and would certainly not have done what he did at the
drill, but for his intense and bitter mortification over his blunder,
and Henderson’s angry, scathing censure before the company. Desperate
over all this, he snatched at the opportunity to redeem himself in his
captain’s estimation, without stopping to think about the right and
wrong of the services required of him.
But in the two days past, he had had time to think the matter over, and
he was sincerely ashamed now of what he had done. As he stood there
facing the school his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and his
heart beat so that he could scarcely breathe, while the perspiration
stood in great drops on his forehead.
“Go on, Baum,” said the professor, in a low tone, and the boy burst
out, “I don’t know how to speak, boys, but if I should talk all day,
I couldn’t begin to tell you how I despise myself for what I did, and
for lying about it afterwards. If I ever cut up so again, hope I may be
shot.”
Had the boys dared, they would have given a hearty cheer for Baum, but
they knew better than to attempt it; but when, feeling sure that he had
made a fool of himself, he dropped into his seat with flushed face and
trembling hands, he had really risen many degrees in the estimation of
his classmates--though he would not have believed it had any one told
him so.
The other seven boys made their apologies with more or less sincerity,
and then the classes were sent to their separate rooms. But the intense
feeling of the morning had unfitted them for study or recitation, and
both teachers and scholars were glad when the bell gave the signal for
recess.
“Say, Gordon, let’s go and speak to Baum. He came out like a man in
the hall this morning,” said Hamlin. “There’s too good stuff in him to
be wasted on that rough crowd he goes with.”
“That’s what I was thinking this morning,” said Gordon, as he followed
Hamlin. Baum was leaning against the fence watching the various groups.
He looked surprised when the two boys approached him, and when they
stopped and spoke to him, his plain face lighted up with pleasure. To
be thus publicly sought out by the captain and lieutenant of the prize
company was an honor that Baum knew how to appreciate, and from that
hour he ceased to find pleasure in the companionship of the Antis, and
privately resolved that, if possible, his name should be on the list of
L. A. O.’s next quarter.
“Where’s Freeman?” asked Hamlin, as he and Gordon joined Clark.
“He’s gone home. Horton told him to. He was not fit to come to school
to-day, anyhow, but he wanted to be in the hall this morning,” answered
Clark.
“He spoke well there,” said Hamlin, “and it must have been an awful
hard thing for him to do.”
“So he did,” said Gordon, “and,” he added, “I hope that you and he will
both join the L. A. O.’s next fall. We want your help, Clark.”
Clark was so taken by surprise, that for a moment he could not speak,
and in that moment Gordon and Hamlin passed on.
“I’m glad you said that, Gordon,” Hamlin said, as soon as they were
out of hearing; “Clark deserves it, and if the other fellows in the
society will only treat him as they ought, he’ll be glad enough to join
us, I know, and he’ll be a big help, too. There won’t be more than one
meeting of the society this term, will there?”
“That’s all,” answered Gordon, “and I want to give all the Antis one
more chance to join us. They are subdued now, and some of them, I
think, might join if we ask them now--but if we wait till fall, they
will have gotten over all this, and perhaps, be as bad as ever.”
“I’ve not much faith in Green’s promises,” said Hamlin.
“Nor I,” said Gordon. “He looked to me as if he apologized to escape
being expelled, and not because he was really sorry for having had a
hand in this business.”
“They say Henderson has cleared out. Have you heard anything about it,
Gordon?”
“I heard so. Somebody said his father was so furious over his disgrace
that he had turned him out of doors.”
“Well, it’s a bad business,” said Hamlin, “but one thing I’m sure of,
and that is, that there’ll be a heap less trouble in section D next
year if Henderson is not here.”
“I think so, too, though if Crawford is here there’s sure to be trouble
enough.”
“Yes, he and Green are a bad team. I hope Freeman will keep away from
them now.”
“Clark thinks he will,” said Hamlin.
“I hope he’s right,” replied Gordon; “I believe there’s good stuff in
little Freeman.”
The school year was nearly ended now, and for the next two weeks
written examinations were held almost every day.
When the last reports were given out, the L. A. O.’s all stood well,
and some had excellent records. Clark and Gordon each had a hundred for
the quarter, while Henderson and one or two others were well up in the
nineties; but in spite of all this, the class record was a very poor
one.
At the last meeting of the L. A. O.’s, this was the first subject
discussed. Parliamentary methods had not, as yet, been introduced into
these meetings to any extent, and all the discussions were perfectly
free and informal.
It was Raleigh who began. “I’m about sick of this old school,” he began
gloomily. “Just see how we’ve worked and dug these last two terms, and,
in spite of it all, section D stands no higher than it did the first
quarter. We’re still at the bottom of the heap, and still known in the
city as the ‘tough section.’ I’ve made up my mind to cut it all next
year and go to a private school. My father says I may.”
“And my father says I must,” said Bates, who had long since joined the
L. A. O.’s. “After the doings at the drill, he said I shouldn’t come
back here next year.”
“Oh, come, now, fellows, that’s too mean--to back out that way,” said
Hamlin. “My father told me I could go somewhere else, if I wanted to,
and I said, ‘No, sir-e-e! I’m not going to desert the old Central in
that fashion.’ I’m coming back next year, and I’m going to do my best
to make D the finest section in the school.”
“Good for you, Hamlin,” said Gordon’s clear, quiet voice. “My father
was a high school-boy, and he says that in his time the school stood
higher than any private school in the city, both as to scholarship and
character. I mean to come back next year, and do all I can to bring the
reputation of the school up to that point again.”
“But we _can’t_ do it,” grumbled Raleigh. “See how it is now. After all
our hard work, a dozen mean, lazy cubs have spoiled our class record,
and, worse than that, made section D the talk of the town.”
“I know--it has been mighty rough on us this year,” admitted Gordon;
“but, Raleigh, we won’t have quite so much to fight next year.
Henderson won’t be here, and I hope we can win over most of the Antis,
and break up their society altogether. Freeman, I’m sure, will join us,
and I reckon Baum will, and Ridley. There won’t be so many of the tough
fellows left, and they’ve all had a lesson that I think they’ll not
have forgotten by next fall.”
“Henderson won’t be back, of course,” said another, “but Crawford will,
and Green and Coyle, I suppose, and they can keep us from making any
decent class record.”
“Crawford has behaved himself since he came back,” said Hamlin quickly,
“and nobody need say anything against his scholarship now. He came near
a hundred this last report.”
“He does well enough in class,” admitted Raleigh rather reluctantly,
“but he and Henderson have put the Antis up to all sorts of tricks this
last quarter. They didn’t deserve the marks they got for deportment.”
“I admit all that, Raleigh,” said Gordon, “but, as I said before, the
Antis have had a pretty severe lesson, and I can’t believe that they’ll
dare to do much to make trouble next year; and they’re most all bright
enough, so, if they _do_ make up their minds to work--I mean, if we
can any way arouse their ambition and awaken a feeling of pride in
the section and the school--we can make a splendid record without any
question.”
“Ambition!” echoed Raleigh scornfully. “I’d like to see Green or Coyle
show any pride or ambition in the school.”
“Well, I hope you will see it. Stranger things than that have
happened,” said Gordon, and Hamlin added:--
“_I’ve_ too much pride to be willing to give up the fight, and let
half a dozen mean fellows run the section and ruin it. I know that
both Professor Keene and Mr. Horton are heartily on our side, and I’m
pretty sure that if Green or Crawford or any of the rest of that set
should undertake to cut up as they have done this year, they’ll find
themselves bounced without much ceremony, and I do hope that all you
nice fellows will make up your minds to come back and help us make such
a record next year as the Central has never had yet.”
“We never could beat A section, no matter how hard we might work,” said
one.
“Pooh! Don’t you believe it,” replied Hamlin. “_I’m_ not going to admit
that a girl’s section can go ahead of us, if we really set out to win.”
“Well, you see they’ve got first rank, and it’s a sight easier for
them to hold it than for us to win it away from them,” said Reed.
“Possession is nine points of the law, you know.”
“There spoke our future chief justice,” laughed Hamlin, for Reed’s
predilection for the study of the law was well known. “But the girls
of section A will find themselves ousted from their possession of first
rank in the Central next year, or I miss my guess.”
When this last meeting of the L. A. O.’s adjourned, Gordon and Hamlin
felt pretty well assured that all the members except Bates would return
in the fall, and they discussed between themselves many and various
plans for the enlargement and improvement of the society the coming
year.
The graduating class was so large that it was impossible for the
members of it to take part in the commencement exercises. Once or twice
in recent years, one member had been selected to deliver an oration, or
in some other way to represent the class, but it was a difficult matter
to select one from among so many without awakening much hard feeling,
and so now the class took no part in the exercises except to sit on the
platform and receive their diplomas from the hand of some distinguished
man who had been invited to honor the occasion. This distinguished
gentleman, or some other, was also asked to address the graduates, and
such was the program on this year.
But, as the two schools numbered over twelve hundred, they and the
friends and relatives of the graduates made a very large assemblage, so
that the exercises were always held in one of the great opera houses.
As our boys in section D were to be themselves among the graduates the
next year, they were all present on this occasion, it being to them in
the nature of a rehearsal.
The girls in their white dresses and ribbons, with the beautiful
flowers they carried, made a pretty picture on the platform; but
this time, our boys were more interested in the other portion of the
graduating class. They watched the boys as they went forward to receive
their diplomas, and wondered if they themselves would be able to make
as graceful a bow as some did, or if they should be as stiff and
awkward as other poor fellows who became sadly embarrassed when they
found themselves in such a conspicuous position.
“Now for a good time,” said Hamlin, as he left the opera house when the
exercises were over. “Where are you going to spend the vacation, Clark?”
“Right here,” said Clark.
“No!” exclaimed the other. “That’s too bad, Clark. You need a rest, and
it’s awful hot here in summer.”
“Expect it is,” replied Clark, “but I’ve no choice, Hamlin. Where are
you going?”
“Up in the mountains. We have a summer cottage in the Catskills. I wish
you’d go up with me for two or three weeks, Clark--can’t you?”
“No, I can’t possibly, Hamlin, though it’s awfully good of you to ask
me,” Clark replied. “But I hope you’ll have a grand time, and come home
in prime condition for work.”
“I’ll try to,” laughed the other, “and don’t you forget that we count
on you as an L. A. O. next year,” and with a friendly hand-grasp, he
said, “good-bye,” and ran to overtake Gordon.
A day or two later, the doors of the Central high school were closed,
and the boys and girls gathered there no more, but some at the
seashore, and some in the mountains, they sought rest and pleasure,
while many others--unable to leave the city, soon found themselves
looking forward to September, when they might take up again the school
duties that, after all, have so much that is bright and pleasant,
mingled with the hard and tiresome round.
CHAPTER XI. NEW PUPILS IN SECTION D.
School reopened the second Monday in September, and long before nine
o’clock the boys and girls began to gather about the steps, waiting for
the janitor to open the doors.
Hamlin had overtaken Clark and Freeman, and when the three reached the
schoolhouse gate they found a goodly number there before them, and many
voices called out greetings, especially to Hamlin.
“There’s a newcomer,” Clark said; “up there near the door.”
“The chap with the rosy locks?” answered Hamlin. “Yes, he’s new, but he
seems to be making himself very much at home. He’s talking away with
the old fellows as if he had known them all his life. There! Jimmy’s
opening the doors. Let’s wait here a bit. I don’t care to hustle
through that crowd.”
“Evidently, he of the rosy locks doesn’t either,” remarked Clark,
noticing that the red-haired boy had not passed in with the throng, but
remained on the upper step with two or three other boys.
“Look at him, will you! Well, if he isn’t a cheeky cad!” exclaimed
Hamlin a moment later, as the boy they were watching pulled off his hat
and made a low bow to a group of girls passing to the other door. Among
these girls was Gordon’s sister, and Grace Harlan, a cousin of Hamlin’s.
“I’d like to punch his head for him. He doesn’t know those girls--not
one of them spoke to him,” Hamlin added.
“Wonder if he’ll be in our section,” said Clark, as the three boys
passed up the steps.
“Hope not,” replied Hamlin. “We don’t want any of his sort in section
D.”
A shout of welcome met them as they entered their own class-room, and
Clark felt happier than he had ever felt before in that school-room as
one and another called out a friendly greeting. Several took pains to
speak to Freeman, whose sensitive face showed his appreciation of the
kindness.
“Wonder if Green isn’t coming back,” said Gordon, noticing his vacant
seat.
“No,” volunteered Coyle, “he’s gone to work.”
Gordon and Hamlin exchanged glances of satisfaction at this
information, and both thought, “One less of the Antis.”
Green had been one of the most disagreeable boys in the class, and
very few felt sorry that he would come among them no more. Several
other seats were vacant, but only one of the L. A. O.’s had failed to
return. That one was Bates, who had gone to boarding-school.
Soon after the opening exercises were over, Prof Keene appeared with
four new boys, and Hamlin threw a doleful glance at Clark, for the
first of the new-comers was the red-headed boy whom they had seen on
the steps. The second was a tall, handsome lad of perhaps seventeen,
and the other two were ordinary looking boys of ordinary ability, not
destined to have much influence one way or the other on the standing of
section D.
Of course the school could not get into smooth running order that first
day, and the recess was prolonged to nearly twice its usual length.
A group of the L. A. O.’s quickly got together in a corner of the
playground, and, as Hamlin, Gordon, Raleigh and Sherman were among
the number, the talk soon drifted to the subjects dear to all their
hearts--the L. A. O. and the standing of D section.
“Say, fellows,” Hamlin began, “with Green and Henderson gone, seems to
me we might get the few Antis left to join us now. If they’d only do
their best, we could easily put old section D at the top this year.”
“There’s Crawford left--and Coyle,” remarked one, doubtfully.
“Coyle’s a bad lot, I know, but he’s only one; and somehow, I’ve a
notion that Crawford has come back with different ideas, this term,”
said Gordon.
“Why--what makes you think that?” questioned Raleigh.
“I don’t know really,” answered Gordon, thoughtfully, “only somehow
there’s a different air about him. There he is over there, now.”
Every eye in the group followed Gordon’s glance to where Crawford stood
leaning against the fence. There was no one near him, and something in
his attitude, and in the expression of his face, convinced more than
one of the boys that Gordon was right, and that Crawford was changed
somehow.
“Suppose there’d be any use in asking him to join the L. A. O.?”
questioned Sherman, after a moment’s silence.
“I should say ask him, by all means. He can’t do more than refuse,”
said Gordon; “and we must ask the new fellows, of course. Hamlin, will
you interview Rosy or the black-eyed chap?”
“Neither. I’ll take the other two fellows,” said Hamlin, promptly.
“All right, then I’ll see to the black-eyed fellow; and Sherman, you
might interview Rosy. I’m going to speak to Crawford, now.”
Crawford looked greatly surprised as Gordon approached, and yet more
surprised when the latter made known his errand. He dropped his eyes,
the color mounted in his dark cheeks, and for a moment he was silent.
Then he looked Gordon full in the face and said slowly:--
“Do you really want me, Gordon?”
“I certainly do, or I would not have asked you,” was the quiet reply.
“And the other fellows?” questioned Crawford.
“I think we shall all be glad to have you join us, Crawford,” said
Gordon.
“Gordon--I don’t suppose you know what it is to be ashamed of yourself
through and through. I do--and I don’t enjoy the feeling.” There was
a ring of pain in Crawford’s voice as he spoke, and Gordon could not
question his sincerity. He held out his hand saying, heartily:--
“The best of us go wrong so often that we can’t afford to be hard on
anybody who is honestly sorry, Crawford. I want you on our side this
year to help us make the old Central proud of section D.”
Crawford grasped the offered hand and then turned away without another
word, but Gordon felt that the look on his face was more eloquent than
any words could have been.
When he went back to the group in the corner and reported his success,
some of the boys looked doubtful. They found it hard yet to believe
that Crawford was in earnest, but at least they were glad to be able to
hope that he would no longer lead the idle and troublesome element into
fresh mischief.
“If Coyle could only be gotten rid of, now,” remarked Raleigh, “we
might hope to make a fine record this year, so far as deportment goes.
It remains to be seen what kind of students these new fellows are.”
“That black-eyed chap looks as if he had brains,” remarked Reed.
“Looks to me as if he thought he had the monopoly of brains,” put in
Hamlin.
“He does have rather a high and mighty air,” said Sherman. “May be only
shyness, though. Some fellows put on airs like that when their hearts
are in their boots.”
“_He_ isn’t troubled with shyness--anything but,” retorted Hamlin.
“Neither is Rosy, for that matter,” remarked Clark laughingly.
“You’re right there, Clark,” said Hamlin; “but there goes the bell.
Say, Gordon,” he added, as they moved towards the door, “can’t we have
a meeting of the L. A. O. to-morrow, to let these new fellows get an
idea of what we want to do this year?”
“All right,” responded Gordon, “we’ll say after school to-morrow, then.”
When, the next day, Gordon called the meeting to order, his face beamed
with satisfaction as he looked around and saw that almost the entire
section was present. The only exceptions were Coyle, Barber, one of his
special friends, and the black-eyed boy whom Gordon was to have invited
to join them.
This was the first of these meetings at which Clark, Freeman or
Crawford had been present, but certainly no one in the room was more
interested than these three, who for such different reasons had
hitherto been absent.
Gordon was usually very quiet and rather reserved, but he was very fond
of the Central high school, as his father had been before him, and he
had come back full of the desire that it should stand as high, if not
higher, this year, than in the old days when his father was so proud of
its reputation. So, to-day, he was so eager and so full of enthusiastic
plans for raising the standard of the class, and gaining for it first
rank in the school, that before long the other members of the L. A. O.
caught something of his spirit, and all sorts of plans and propositions
were made. It was unanimously resolved that every member should do his
very best in class, and that not even the drill or ball games should be
allowed to interfere with the great object.
Three of the new boys were present at this meeting, but only Dixon, or
“Rosy,” as he was already dubbed in the class, made any remarks. He was
on his feet half a dozen times, asking questions, making suggestions,
or offering amendments.
When the meeting was over, and all but Gordon and Hamlin had left
the room, the latter threw himself into a seat exclaiming, “Well, I
reckon we’ll get enough of that Rosy before the year is ended! He’s of a
retiring disposition, isn’t he?”
Gordon laughed. “He won’t have so many questions to ask next time,” he
said.
“Won’t? Don’t you believe it. He’ll _always_ have a raft of ’em to reel
off. He _may_ be a very nice chap, but deliver me from having anything
to do with any more of the sort. But how about his royal highness with
the black eyes? Wouldn’t he condescend to accept the invitation?”
“No,” said Gordon quietly, though his face flushed at the question.
“Oh, come, Gordon, you might as well out with it. Your face gives you
away. What did he say?”
“Well,” said Gordon with a half laugh, “he drew himself up and looked
at me as if I were a toad or a snake, and remarked that he had come
here to study--not to fool away his time in clubs or any such nonsense,
and that he would thank me to leave him alone.”
“Whew!” whistled Hamlin, “he’ll be pretty popular here, won’t he?” Then
he added, indignantly, “Well, if he _isn’t_ a cool customer! I reckon
he’ll _be_ let alone emphatically, hereafter.”
“Yes,” said Gordon, “but there’s one good thing. If he’s a fine
scholar, and I fancy that he is, he’ll help the section that way, in
spite of himself; and certainly, that sort of a fellow won’t be cutting
up or getting others into mischief, so he won’t work _against_ the L.
A. O.”
“That’s so,” answered Hamlin; “but what a chump he is to take such a
stand as that, and lose all the good times he might have here.”
“Yes,” assented Gordon, “but see here, Hamlin, let’s not tell the other
fellows anything about this. It would turn them all against him, and I
don’t think he’s likely to make many friends anyhow.”
“Evidently he does not care to make any,” said Hamlin.
“It seems not, but you know if the fellows get set against him, some
of them will do their best to make it hot for him. You and I don’t
want to have any hand in that sort of thing, so we’ll keep mum about
this--shan’t we?”
“Oh, I suppose so,” grumbled Hamlin. “I feel as if I’d like to kick him
myself, and I reckon most of the boys would feel the same way. We’ll
let his royal highness severely alone, since that’s his pleasure. By
the way, what _is_ his name, anyhow?”
“Somebody said it was Everett St. John. Perhaps it’s on the strength of
his aristocratic name that he puts on so many airs,” replied Gordon.
On the outer steps a group of boys stood talking and laughing--among
them, Rosy. He stepped forward, and slipped his arm familiarly through
Hamlin’s, as the latter came down the stairs with Gordon.
“I say, Hamlin,” he began, not in the least disconcerted at Hamlin’s
straightening out his arm like a poker, “I wish you’d introduce me to
Grace Harlan. She’s a cousin of yours, isn’t she?”
“_Miss_ Harlan is my cousin,” answered Hamlin coldly, “but I never
introduce boys to her except at her own request.”
“Ho, ho, Rosy--got squelched that time,” snickered Coyle, as Hamlin and
Gordon passed on.
“Oh, that’s nothing. I’ll get somebody else to introduce me. _Miss_
Harlan is the prettiest girl I’ve seen in an age,” responded Rosy
serenely, while Hamlin was growling in Gordon’s ear, “Introduce him to
Grace, indeed! I think I see myself doing it.”
Being a little late next morning, Hamlin took a short cut to school,
passing through a side street where he seldom went. He was going along
at a rapid pace when he saw Dixon come out of a door half-way down the
block. When Hamlin reached the place he glanced up at the still open
door. It was a low saloon.
“Dear me,” he thought, “I wish that fellow had never come near the
Central. It was bad enough before, but now that I know that he goes
into such holes as that--what am I to do about it? He’ll probably get
other fellows in there, too. Wonder if I ought to tell Bobby.”
But to “tell on a fellow,” even in a case like this, was very repugnant
to Hamlin.
“I can’t do it yet a while,” he decided, “but I’ll keep a sharp eye on
him, and if I ever see him in such a place again, I’ll warn him that
I’ll report him unless he stops it.”
Dixon was standing by the school gate, and greeted Hamlin with the
utmost cordiality, seeming not to notice the coldness with which the
other responded. It was impossible to freeze Dixon--he simply would not
be frozen.
On this morning the regular recitations were to begin, and Gordon,
Clark and Hamlin were eager to hear the new boys recite, that they
might judge whether they would be helps or hindrances in that which
our boys were so anxious to accomplish this year--to make D the banner
section of the school.
They knew that two other sections, at least, were as eager and as
determined as they to hold the first place, and one or two poor
scholars might bring the record down in spite of all that could be done
by others in the class. So eyes and ears were alert that morning in
section D.
The first recitation was that of the Latin class. Clark had easily
held first rank in this, though Hamlin, Gordon and Sherman were all
excellent scholars. The lesson this morning was from Virgil, and
according to the usual custom, the class was seated, each boy standing
only during his own recitation.
“Reed, you may begin,” Mr. Horton said, “and when you have read five
lines, the next may continue.”
One after another, the boys rendered the lines, and, though some had
blundered, nobody had failed when it came to Clark. Clark never had
been known to fail in Latin translation. The others attended to his
recitation only because it was sure to be better than their own; but
to-day they wanted him to get through so that they might listen to
Everett St. John, who was the next in order.
The lesson was from Virgil, and Clark’s lines ended with the words of
Æneas, which he translated thus:--
“By its own fortune, a tempest drove us, carried over different waters,
to the Libyan shores--if by chance, the name of Troy has come through
your ears. I am the pious Æneas, known by fame above the air, who carry
with me in my ship the Penates torn from the enemy. I seek Italy, my
country, and a race from greatest Jove.”
As Clark took his seat, St. John rose and said coolly:--
“Those last lines were very roughly rendered, Mr. Horton. It is much
better this way:--
“A tempest, by its own chance, drove us, borne from ancient Troy (if,
perchance, the name of Troy has reached your ears), over various
waters, to the African shores. I am the pious Æneas, known by fame
above the sky, who bear with me, in my fleet, the Penates snatched from
the foe. I seek Italy, my fatherland, and an ancestry that sprang from
sovereign Jove.”
Then, without noticing in the least the astonished and indignant
glances of the boys, who resented the criticism on Clark, not so much
because it was Clark, but because it was the finest Latin scholar in
the class, St. John proceeded with his own five lines, translating not
only very correctly, but into choice and elegant English.
Mr. Horton’s face expressed his satisfaction at such an acquisition to
the classical department. He even forgot the rudeness shown to Clark,
who had come to be one of his favorite pupils, so greatly did he enjoy
the thought of teaching such a scholar, and he turned with a sigh to
the next boy, whose lame, halting sentences formed so great a contrast
to St. John’s.
Nobody except the one reciting paid much attention then, until Dixon
arose. It was impossible to ignore Dixon anywhere. Already he had
succeeded in making both friends and enemies, and now the eyes of all
the class were fixed on him.
“Good!” thought Gordon, as Dixon read smoothly on. “He won’t pull us
down, and if St. John’s as good in other things as he is in Latin,
he’ll help us up in spite of himself. Guess he’ll go ahead of Clark.
I’m sorry for Clark, though.”
And much the same thoughts were in the minds of many of the boys when
the recitation was over. Slowly, but surely, the feeling that had been
so strong against Clark was dying out. Some few of the boys still stood
aloof from him, however, and recalled, at intervals, the charges made
against him early in the previous year. But Hamlin’s strong friendship
for him, and his own quiet, steady doing of his duty, and holding
himself apart, yet without any show of enmity or ill-feeling, had had
their effect upon his schoolmates, and most of them were ready now to
be friends with him; while all, whether friends or not, were proud of
his scholarship, and had come to look upon him as the leader of the
class in that line. So they were inclined to resent St. John’s arrogant
assumption of superiority, and to wish that Clark could “dig in and get
ahead of him,” as Reed expressed it.
In mathematics it was much the same, though here Hamlin and Gordon
stood almost as high as Clark; would have stood quite as high, if they
had had Clark’s power of concentration and application.
“I’ve _had_ to learn how to study,” he had said once to Hamlin. “If you
and Gordon had been obliged to do it, as I have, I shouldn’t be a bit
ahead of you.”
With Everett St. John, it was not necessity, but the instinct of a
born student that gave him the power to grasp and master whatever he
studied. In the geometry class, his clear, concise demonstrations
awakened at once the despair and the admiration of most of the class,
while they aroused in our three boys an eager determination to work as
they never had worked before over those lines and angles.
Gordon drew a long breath, as he joined Clark and Hamlin at recess.
“Well, one thing is certain, and that is that St. John is bound to help
our record, if he keeps on as he has begun,” he said.
“Yes, and carry off all the prizes, too,” grumbled Hamlin.
“That’s so,” said Freeman, who was standing by. He spoke sadly, for
his only chance of a college education lay in his gaining one of the
scholarships offered as prizes to the senior class.
“Well,” laughed Hamlin, “he may win all the scholarships, but he
certainly can go to but one college, so somebody else is bound to have
a chance.”
“That reminds me,” said Clark, “I heard last evening that two new
scholarships had been offered.”
“Where?” asked half a dozen voices.
“One to Lehigh, and one to Jamestown College, I believe.”
“Good!” said Hamlin. “That makes six scholarships, and if his royal
highness--Mr. Everett St. John--_should_ come out No. 1, as likely as
not he would not go to any college that offers us a scholarship. He’s
so high and mighty that he’d probably go only to the toniest and most
expensive college in the country.”
“Rosy came out pretty well, too,” said Reed.
“Yes, better than I thought he would,” said Gordon. “Anyway, I’m glad
that neither of ’em is likely to pull us down. I believe old section D
has a fair chance to come out No. 1 this year.”
“Certainly looks like it,” responded Hamlin, “and nobody has worked
harder to bring it about than you have, Gordon.”
“I’m so glad that Raleigh concluded to come back this year,” was all
Gordon answered.
For several weeks things went smoothly in section D. Mr. Horton was
delighted, for a more orderly class-room could not be desired. Once in
a while, Coyle and Barber would try to start some mischief, but they
were in far too great a minority for anything of that sort to prosper.
By the first of November, they and St. John were the only members of
the class who were not also members of the L. A. O.; and to be a member
of the L. A. O. this year meant to be not only pledged to use all one’s
influence for good order in the class-room and gentlemanly deportment
in all places and at all times, but it also meant now to be fully
determined that no effort should be spared on the part of each member
to place section D at the head of the old Central.
In short, Gordon and Hamlin had succeeded in imparting their
enthusiasm, in greater or less degree, to every boy in the class with
the exception of the three mentioned; and this enthusiasm received
fresh impetus at the weekly meetings of the L. A. O.
Besides, the duller boys of the class were continually watched and
helped by the class leaders, and helped in such friendly fashion, and
so thoroughly, that their pride was not hurt, and a healthy ambition to
help themselves was being awakened in them.
Decidedly the most unpopular boy in the class was Everett St. John, but
this fact troubled him not at all. So long as his schoolmates let him
alone, he cared not the least what they thought of him, and they _did_
let him severely alone, for, after a week or two no one ever spoke
to him. Those who had ventured to do so had been met so coldly, not
to say rudely, that they had no desire to repeat the experience. But
however much they might dislike him, they could not fail to appreciate
and admire his ability. Never before had section D had such fine
recitations as St. John’s in Latin and English literature.
The inevitable result was that those who had stood highest in the class
heretofore were stimulated to fresh effort, and soon found themselves
doing much better work than they had supposed themselves capable of
doing--to Mr. Horton’s great satisfaction.
Nor was the spirit of ambition limited to section D. It spread to
other sections, and other teachers began to be encouraged by increased
application, and consequently, better recitations in their classes.
It was a singular fact, that this most unusual improvement in the
spirit of the school should have been so largely due to a new scholar
who cared nothing whatever about the school, and was solely interested
in himself and his own work; but so it was.