FEUDAL FOOLERY
There seemed to be a dissatisfying influence, a feeling perhaps akin to
envy, or at least as offending class pride in the sentiment that arose
among a certain clique concerning Bill Brown. The boy had become popular
and it was thought by some unduly, or somewhat undeservedly so. Bill's
classmates had not shown this tendency, or if so individually it was not
made evident. But to certain older fellows, that a mere freshman should
so shine both in the opinion of teachers and the student body generally,
seemed most inconsistent.
Siebold, the moving spirit of wholesome mischief among the upper
classmen, seemed to be the chief instigator of the tendency to belittle
Bill, aided by one Luigi Malatesta, a Sicilian. Siebold never had
forgiven Bill and Gus for the electrical trap sprung on his hazing
party. He had a certain following that shared most of his opinions and
plans.
Malatesta was also a soph, with a very decided penchant for getting into
trouble and showing temper. It might have been expected that between the
only two natives of Italy in the school there would be at least some
fraternal feeling, but these lads appeared instinctively to avoid each
other, and Tony's being a senior, made this easily possible on his part.
Malatesta, seeing that Bill and Gus were both exceedingly friendly with
Tony, seemed to take especial pleasure in making contemptuous remarks
concerning all three, or in making offensive, insulting gestures that
they could not help seeing. At first this was altogether puzzling
because the motive was not apparent. It became more evident, however,
following an incident.
Bill and Tony were coming from the school library, to be followed later
by Gus, who remained to add some notes. The subject with which they were
all wrestling covered voltmeter tests and relative amperage, principally
with regard to battery construction. The boys were building their own
batteries and must make no mistakes.
Bill was thumping along, talking, and Tony listening, as usual. They
came through the double swinging doors of the dormitory on the way to
the shop and passed a small group of upper classmen in the hallway,
Malatesta among them, holding forth. The two went down the basement
stairway, a door closed behind them and they were alone. Tony stopped.
"I may ask you, _mio amico_, you did see that fellow, my countryman, up
there?"
Bill nodded, wondering.
"Well, it is so," continued Tony, "that he watches us--you because of
me, and me because of--to tell you it is something, shall I? Yes, it
will give me satisfy. That Malatesta--Luigi his name it is--why you
think he comes on this school? I will say he comes to spy to me. Perhaps
you think this is absurd quite, but not so. In Italy his people and my
people are at fighting--no, you call it 'scrap,' eh? We make war, by
family. My mother's people, one of the years long ago, kill one of this
fellow's people at the town _festa_ and they seek to kill all her people
and my father's people take no part--know nothing. But when my father
meet my mother and they are declared to marry, then the Malatesta fight
with him and his people. Is it not strange and very ridiculo?
"And now I am come to the family war because no more longer a little
child and this Luigi he swear he look after me here in America, and
already I see the poniard lifted to strike at my breast, but I shall
dodge and then maybe use my own, though hating the vendetta--feuds. Why
shall all this be? How have I made anger and strife with these
assassins? But to reason with them is to invite a more insult than
death. You understand my telling?"
"Sure I do," said Bill. "It is what we call in this country a feud, but
it is rotten. Why don't you go to the Doctor and----"
"Oh, no! My friend Bill, you cannot intend so. That would be
poltrone--coward! We fight without people stopping--to end, if must be."
"But a fellow like that--to come to school here just----"
"Oh, but he is smart, Luigi Malatesta, and to him learning is also good,
though some of his people are low and many years ago they were of the
banditti. And some were of the boat builders and some were rich."
The boys had reached the shop and were still alone. Bill forgot his
loved problems in trying to comprehend this state of affairs.
"But I can't understand how such a thing could really be," he said. "We
have the black hand, it is true, but----"
"Ah, no, this the black hand is never!" declared Tony. "This is of
families--not to rob, though maybe they do rob in time and ask of
ransoms. Such was done by some Malatesta of my mother's cousin and he
was lost to us, never returning."
"But, confound it, Tony, here he wouldn't dare----"
"Here he will dare more than in Italy, because there all who make family
wars are suspect and many such quit and have become friends when time
goes, but other forgetta never. This Luigi he forgetta never, and maybe
you will see. We--my father thought we had left behind this fighting,
but to this country also come Malatesta, for small is the world and
large is hate."
Bill pondered this and turned to his work, but dropped his tools in a
moment, explaining to Tony that there were other figures they must have
for calculating the strength of the battery and he would go back and
tell Gus.
Bill reached the basement stairs, and in an alcove, alone, as though
seeking to hide, was the fellow Luigi. He turned sharply, facing Bill
and glaring in evident resentment at the latter's broad, curious stare.
Then the Sicilian spoke:
"Well, you see me. I it is, freshman. Stare at me some more as if I were
something to step on and I will give you more reason to stare."
"What's the matter with you, you, you--" demanded Bill, stopping short
and much incensed.
"Ah! Wop? Guinea? Dago? Sphagett--so I am insulta--is it? And by a
short-leg!"
"I'd rather have short legs than short brain."
"I like you so well I smash you in the face!"
Suiting the action to the word Luigi advanced upon Bill, who turned and
swung his crutch menacingly.
What then would have occurred it is impossible to surmise, for the
crippled boy was handy with the familiar implement that so readily could
be used as a weapon, though the Italian was sturdier, heavier and much
older--in fact, although small, he was almost a man.
But just at the moment there was a quick, descending footfall on the
stair and the door opened. Gus, with wide eyes, stared at the near and
unequal combatants.
"Hold on!" said the big fellow, glaring. The Italian hesitated, though
but for a moment. "You wouldn't really hit a fellow who is lame, would
you?"
"Ah, get away! Go off!" snarled Malatesta, attempting to thrust Gus
aside as the strapping youth stepped in front of him. But the thrust was
futile and then Luigi, growing furious, struck at Gus a powerful blow.
The fellow was muscular and quick, but there was no thought behind the
blow. And there was in contrast a smile on the face of the easy,
athletic American.
The Italian's fist was clutched by a ready hand, much as a baseball
would have been caught, and then a very differently directed fist shot
out and came in contact with Luigi's upper stomach--he got that
generally final solar plexus blow. Luigi gave a soft, aching grunt and
sank to his knees, then to his elbows and rolled over on his side, in a
half-minute more sitting up and gazing around, but still in pain. He was
again alone.