OLD DUT GIVES WISE COUNSEL
Boys attired in their best tip-toed about in creaking new shoes,
resplendently polished for the occasion. Every boy had a flower
in his upper button-hole.
Exhibition Hall, usually so bare and barnlike in appearance, was
now a jungle of potted plants and ferns, with clumps of bright
flowers everywhere.
Over the broad stage hung a fourteen-foot American flag. Flags
of other nations, in smaller bits of bunting, trailed off on either
side. The piano stood before the center of the stage, down on
the floor. Grouped near were the music stands and chairs for
other members of the orchestra on this festal day of graduation.
Here and there women teachers still superintended little squads
of girls who were putting on the last bright touches of ornamentation.
One teacher was drilling a dozen much-dressed-up boys of the
seventh grade, who were to act as ushers on this great Thursday
afternoon. It was half an hour before the doors were to be opened.
Curiously enough, there were no eighth-grade pupils present.
These were assembled in Room 1, on the floor below, seated behind
the desks that had been theirs during the school year.
"Young ladies and gentlemen," began Old Dut, rapping on his desk
and rising. As he looked about there was a curious expression
on his face, and some water in his twinkling eyes.
"I am going to take occasion to say the last few words that I
shall have a chance to say to you confidentially and in private,"
continued the principal. "I am conscious that I am taking one
of my last looks at you all as my pupils. I might call this the
dying class, if it were not for the fact that, for most of you,
to-day will be the real birth. You will go forth into the world
to-day, the larger portion of you. You will leave school behind
and tackle the world as budding men and women. You will begin
soon to grapple with the work, the problems, the toil---the tears
and the joys that come with the beginnings of grown-up life.
Those of you who are to be favored with a chance to go further
in your education, and who will be schoolboys and schoolgirls
yet a while, I most sincerely congratulate. For those who, on
the other hand, will step straight from Exhibition Hall into the
world of work---aye, and the world of deeds and triumphs, too---I
bid you to be of good cheer and courage!
"Be bold, true and loyal! If you have any wonder, any misgivings
as to what the world and life may have in store for you, I tell
you that these are questions that you will decide mainly for yourselves.
It's the hardest thing in this universe to down any man or woman
who faces grown-up life with a good and honest claim on the good
things of existence. Yet on this subject one word more. Uprightness
of heart, of word and deed are not alone sufficient. There is
one more great quality that you must link with general honesty
and loyalty. Castle Great cannot be stormed except by those who
move forward with backbone---Courage! Be bold, steadfast, unwavering.
Never lose anything that you justly want through fear that you
can't get it. Go after it! The soldier is the type of courage
and a good one. Yet you don't find more than one of our soldiers
of life in a military uniform. There are soldiers, boys, in every
crowd that you mingle with on the street. Be one of them yourselves!
"Boys, be brave, but be gentle. Remember that the bravest men
are gentle as any woman. As a soldier proves his courage by his
conquests, so must you prove your courage, if you have any to
show, by your achievements in the life that starts to-morrow for
most of you. Honor and courage! Together they will carry you
to lofty heights. If you fail, then reflect that you don't possess
these two qualities of manhood. Get these qualities---at no matter
what cost---and start out again to victory.
"Girls, be women. Stop and think what it means to be women.
All the sweetest, truest and gentlest attributes of the human
race. Be women, every minute of your lives, and you will have
reached heights where not even the most soldierly boys may follow
you. Be women, and the men of our race will reverence and honor
you.
"Young ladies and gentlemen, this day comes to me once in every
year. It is an old practice with me, as I see each class go forth
in our last hour together, to feel that I am watching the departure
of the best and truest class that I have yet taught. But this
year I am moved more than ever to that feeling. There are those
among you who have shown me traits of character that have filled
me with even more much more than my usual amount of faith in the
future of the American nation. Young ladies and gentlemen, my
fellow citizens, permit me to thank you for your loyal work to
make this graduating class what it is, and what it is destined
to become. Go forth to uphold the traditions of Gridley and the
glory of America, and may God bless you, one and all."
His voice rather husky, and his eyes a little more wet, Old Dut
sank back into the well-worn chair from which he had taught so
many eighth-grade classes.
"Three cheers for our principal!" proposed Danny Grin. The cheers
were given lustily, with half a dozen tigers.
"Master Dalzell," replied Old Dut, "coming from the boy who, as
the records show, has been disciplined more frequently in the
last year than any other pupil present, I consider that a tribute
indeed."
"I meant it," said Dan simply.
Later the pupils of the five upper grades marched solemnly into
Exhibition Hall, the appearance of the graduating class being
greeted with applause by enthusiastic relatives and friends.
The orchestra played triumphal marches until all had marched in
to their seats.
Then the orchestra paused, only to begin a moment later with the
first measures of the opening chorus, sung by more than three
hundred youthful voices. It was the usual medley, contributed
by pupils who could really sing and by others who really couldn't.
An undertone of varying discord ran along under the truer melody.
Then, after his name had been called by the principal, Dick Prescott
rose. Very stiff and starched, and painfully conscious of the
creaking of his shoes as he went forward in that awesome stillness,
Dick ascended the platform, advanced to the front center, made
an elaborate bow, and then, in an almost scared voice he began
to tell the assembled hundreds of grown-ups why they were there
as though they didn't know already. This performance, which admitted
of very few gestures, was stated on the programme to be "The Salutatory."
From his being chosen to render this address, it was easily to
be inferred that Dick was regarded as the brightest boy of the
class.
Then other exercises followed. Two members of the Board of Education
also had pieces to speak. One told of the educational policy
and methods followed in the Gridley schools, on which subject
he knew vastly less than any of the eight smiling teachers present.
The other member of the Board of Education gave a lot of chilled
advice to the members of the graduating class, he did this at
much greater length and with far less effect than Old Dut had
lately done in his last private talk with his class.
There were a lot of other pieces to be spoken, most of them by
the youngsters. There were songs, also exercises in vocal gymnastics.
Pupils of the lower classes displayed their expertness at mental
arithmetic. Then, after more singing, the superintendent of schools,
who had just arrived, mounted the platform and presented each
graduating one with a diploma, showing that the recipients had
faithfully and successfully completed their Grammar School course.
More music, after which Laura Bentley, a pretty little vision
in white cloud effects, with yards of pink ribbon for the sunshine,
stepped to the platform, made her bow and launched into the valedictory.
"And now," called Old Dut from the audience, "the old eighth grade
is no more. The exercises are over. I thank all who have contributed
to make this occasion so pleasant."
"Three cheers for Old---Mr. Jones, the principal!" yelled Dan Dalzell,
as the scrambling to get out began. Needless to say, the cheers
were given. Now that the ordeal was over, it was nothing to the
discredit of fine Old Dut that the youngsters would have cheered
a yellow dog had they been so requested.
Old Dut had slipped down to the egress. There he shook hands
with each graduate, wishing them all possible success in life.
"And be sure to come back to these exhibitions whenever you can
in after years," the principal called as the last members of the
late class were going down the stairs.
"Dick," chuckled Harry Hazelton, as they descended, "when Old
Dut was calling on you to go forward and do your little stunt,
did you notice the fly on the left side of his nose that he was
trying to brush off without letting any one see the move? Ha,
ha, ho!"
"Shut up, Hazy," growled Prescott almost savagely. "Haven't you
any idea of reverence? We're going down these steps for the last
time as Central Grammar boys. I'd rather do it in silence, and
thoughtfully."
"Isn't Dickins the queer old chap?" demanded Harry Hazelton, falling
back by Reade's side.
"It's a pity you couldn't be queer, just for once, and hold your
tongue until we are outside the good old schoolyard," grunted Tom.
"They're a pair of cranks," muttered Harry to Dave Darrin.
"Imitate 'em for once," Darry advised dryly. "Remember, it's
the cranks who make the world go around."
For the most part, both boys and girls got their hats very quietly.
Then they passed out into the open, walked across the yard and
gathered in little groups outside, each holding his beribboned
diploma in his right hand.
"It's all over," sighed Tom Reade outside the gate. "Somehow,
I wish that I had another year to go---or else that I'd been a
little more decent to Old Dut."
"It was a good old school," sighed Dick, looking back almost
regretfully. "And, by the way-----"
"Speech, Dick!" cried a dozen of the boys, crowding around him.
"Get out!" laughed Prescott. "I spoke my piece two hours ago."
Yet the boys continued to crowd about him.
"He's going to tell us now what the man on the clubhouse steps
said!" proclaimed Danny Grin hopefully.