FIRST IMPRESSIONS.
How many of the fathers of the boys who are reading this story look
back on their school days with any great degree of satisfaction as
concerns the time spent in the schoolroom? Not a large number, it is
safe to assert, if the truth were known. You young fellows do not
appreciate your advantages, or, at least, you have small comprehension
of what lessons and masters were like twenty and thirty years ago.
Not that we were badly treated, in one sense. Even then floggings
were in tolerable disrepute; the birch was practically discarded,
and if the ferule was employed with some frequency in extreme cases,
its popularity as an educator was on the wane. Our teachers, though
rarely genial, intended to be just, and though strict were not harsh.
Stiffness and constraint were still deemed essential to secure decorum,
but the czar-like despotism which made the pedagogues of former
generations terrible had passed away.
On the other hand, we were one and all mere machines for the acquisition
of so much Latin, Greek, and mathematics; machines, of which some ran
faster than others and with a certain show of brilliancy, but the best
of which did their work in the mechanical, unintelligent way that
machines invariably do. Most education then was a grand system of
memorizing, of getting by rote whole pages of Latin grammar, and other
subjects, so as to be able to spin them off as fast as the tongue could
move without hesitation or mistake. If you made either, and were
ambitious, it meant disaster, for there was always some slick-haired,
pale-faced lad on the watch to pick you up anywhere and put you down a
peg in the class as a consequence. What feats of marvelous mechanism in
this line were daily performed with the dry bones of “Andrews &
Stoddard’s” and “Baird’s Classical Manual”! Ask your father, any one of
you, if he can repeat that memory-confounding list of adjectives which
have no superlatives. There are twenty-eight of them, beginning with
“_adolescens adolescentior_ young, _agrestis agrestior_ rustic.” If he
cannot, there was a time when he could, and when――at least if he were
what was called in those days a good scholar――he could rattle off,
besides, the twenty-six prepositions governing the accusative and the
nouns of the third declension with either _e_ or _i_ in the ablative,
not forgetting at the same time that “_occiput_ has only _i_, _rus_ has
either _e_ or _i_, but _rure_ commonly signifies ‘from the country’ and
_ruri_ ‘in the country’; _mel_ has rarely _i_.”
We were expected to divine, apparently, for few hints were given us
of the beauties of Cæsar and Virgil and Ovid, of the Anabasis and the
Iliad, of the manners, thoughts, and customs of the Greeks and Romans,
and the relations of the classic tongues to ours. But every one of
us was expected, when the master gave out from that gloomy little
compilation on ancient geography, “Baird’s Classical Manual,” _Sybaris_
for instance, to be able, if called upon, to answer like a flash:
“Proverbial for the luxury of its inhabitants;” and then to continue
in sequence: “_Thurii_ founded by the Athenians B. C. 443, with whom
were Herodotus and Lysias the orator. In the west also, on the coast
_Elĕa_, _Helĭa_, or _Velīa_, the birthplace of Zeno and Parmenides, the
founders of the Eleatic School of Philosophy;” and so on until bidden
to stop. It is no exaggeration to state that there were boys who, if
started at any point in its sixty closely printed pages, could recite
to the end without slip or falter, and yet who had no further knowledge
concerning the places or individuals enumerated than was contained in
the brief paragraphs of which those just cited are prolix examples.
It may have been noticed by the parents, if not by the boys who have
followed Jack’s experiences up to this point, that very little has been
said on the subject of his lessons, and that consideration has been
mainly given to his sports, his snow-ball fights, his mischief-making,
and what he did in general outside the schoolroom.
Let us look the matter squarely in the face and acknowledge that the
least said regarding his schooling before he went to Utopia the better.
But in justice to the masters who had to undergo the discouragement of
seeing their efforts to make him learn prove of no avail, it should
be stated that the fault lay neither in them nor seriously in their
system of teaching. Already the theory of cultivating the memory alone
at the expense of the other faculties had fallen into disrepute in
the public schools of his native city, and was being supplanted by
methods calculated to make boys and girls think for themselves instead
of developing into mere machines. But it is to be feared that up to
this time the advantages of living in an enlightened age had been lost
upon our hero, if the interest he took in his daily tasks be regarded
as evidence. To tell the truth, he had been incorrigibly idle; his
thoughts rarely kept themselves fixed for five minutes at a time on
any branch of knowledge disassociated with the Frog Pond, Ma’am Horn,
Joe Herring, or some one or other of the interesting localities or
personages whose acquaintance we have already made. It had always been
a moment of supreme happiness to him when the bell sounded, announcing
that he was at liberty to pitch his dog’s-eared, pencil-marked books
into his desk and to depart for the day, and the hours preceding that
welcome summons were too apt to drag heavily unless relieved by oases
of mischief. It is no easy task, be the master ever so conscientious,
to engage the interest of those boys in a large class who count the
school hours in much the same spirit that a prisoner counts the weeks
which must elapse before he is free. To one fond of his calling and
ambitious to have his pupils shine, the good scholars must inevitably
commend themselves, and he is only too likely to let the rag, tag, and
bobtail shift for themselves, feeling, doubtless, that time and energy
spent in endeavoring to make them fond of their books cannot fail to
be wasted. It was to the rag, tag, and bobtail emphatically that Jack
had belonged. With three or four other boys, among whom was the ever
faithful Dubsy, he had disputed the doubtful distinction of being at
the foot of his class, and the monthly reports which he had brought
home to his mother were monotonous in their uniform lack of excellence.
It will, therefore, be seen that the good advice, regarding the purpose
for which he had been sent to Utopia, delivered by Dr. Meredith on
that first evening, was peculiarly adapted to Jack’s needs, and should
have sunk deep into his heart. But just as one swallow will not make
a summer, a single homily will rarely suffice to change an idle boy
into an industrious one. If the truth must be told, there is reason to
doubt whether Jack gave that part of the Doctor’s lecture――although it
impressed him greatly for a moment, I dare say, and made him inwardly
resolve to be very diligent for the future――a second thought after he
went away under the wing of Mrs. Betty. And if he neglected to consider
the matter further that night, he certainly did not think much about
it in the morning, when, having escaped molestation from Jack Spratt
and his Wife, he awoke and found himself face to face with, and fairly
entranced by, the great school world. No wonder that the master who
examined the pair after breakfast, with a view to discovering their
acquirements, held up his hands in horror upon making his report to Dr.
Meredith, and observed, pathetically, that he was at a loss to decide
which of the two had made the worse showing.
“They both seemed bright boys when I saw them last night,” answered the
Doctor.
“Oh, they’re bright enough,” said Mr. Percy. “I judge, however, that
neither of them has ever been made to study.”
“Then we shall have to begin at first principles,” was the reply.
Accordingly Jack and Haseltine were enrolled in the lowest of the six
classes into which the school was divided, but in the first of the two
divisions composing the class. As they were not to take their places
until the following morning, they were free for the rest of the day
to look about them. They were left pretty much to their own devices
during the forenoon, for until half an hour before dinner time the
whole school was busy with recitations and study. So they improved
their opportunities, to begin with, by wandering around the large
quadrangle, peering up at the buildings, stepping for a moment into
the chapel, where they admired, with bated breath, the carving and
the stained-glass windows, and bringing up finally at the gymnasium.
Here they spent some time in the inspection of the bars, weights,
rowing-machines, and other apparatus, the use of which was explained
very kindly by the superintendent, Dr. Bolles, who introduced himself
to them, and who, at the close of his instructions, invited them into
his private office that he might take their measurements. After they
had stripped themselves to the skin, Dr. Bolles――having entered their
names, age, and birthplace in a large ledger, a separate page of which
was devoted to every boy in the school――proceeded to tap their bodies
and to listen to their lungs and hearts, in a very attentive manner.
Then he weighed them, ascertained their height, and the number of
inches they measured round the chest, forearm, biceps, hips, and calves.
Haseltine, who was the first to go through the ordeal, looked a bit
lanky, stripped, and somewhat flat-chested. There was not much flesh on
his bones, as was apparent from the manner in which his ribs stuck out.
“You must learn to hold yourself up straight, and not to stoop,
Haseltine,” said the superintendent, scrutinizing him critically.
“You’ll become round-shouldered if you don’t have a care. You should
use the upright bars every day. Appetite good?”
“First rate,” answered Haseltine, looking rather crestfallen at this
depreciation of his physique.
“Food runs to muscle, then. No spare flesh here,” he observed, passing
his hand over the little fellow’s frame. “Pretty wiry. Sound as a
trivet; but those chest-muscles need strengthening; we must build you
out. Good arm, very good,” he added, as Haseltine doubled up his
biceps with a smile of conscious pride. “Base-ball, I suppose; yes,
out of all proportion to the left; I thought so. Ever been examined
before?” Haseltine shook his head. “I suppose not. You’ve come here
just in time. We’ll make a man of you yet. Now Hall.”
Jack was all of a tremble. In the first place, the stethoscope business
was rather alarming and suggested all sorts of possibilities in the
way of broken wind and heart-disease, and then he did not relish at
all being picked to pieces before Haseltine. He wondered whether he
looked equally scraggy, and derived his first ray of consolation from
the complimentary expression of Dr. Bolles’ eye, as the superintendent
(after taking several measurements in silence) stood off and surveyed
him with evident complacency.
“Ah, Carlisle, good morning,” Dr. Bolles exclaimed to a delicate
appearing boy who had just entered the office. “There’s a good all
round fellow for you to model yourself on. No dyspepsia in him. He
doesn’t know what nerves mean. If you don’t grow up into a healthy,
well-formed man,” he continued to Jack, “it’ll be your own fault.
You’ve got a good start; you can’t be a Hercules, there’s not enough
of you for that, but you’re cut out for health if you take care of
yourself. You’ve been looked after at home, evidently. That’s all.”
Jack put on his clothes again, feeling proud as a peacock, and entirely
reconciled to the fact that Haseltine’s biceps was bigger than his own.
The boy addressed as Carlisle, who was sauntering about in the office
quite at his ease, gave Jack and Haseltine a critical glance from his
handsome dark eyes, and then examined for a few moments the doctor’s
entries in the ledger regarding them. He was a striking-looking lad,
with an intelligent and at the same time attractive expression, and
though he was slight and evidently far from robust, there was nothing
effeminate either in his appearance or manner.
“How are you, to-day?” Dr. Bolles inquired of him.
“Oh, I’m better; I feel like a fighting-cock,” was the reply.
“You look better. But now, my dear boy, pray give yourself a chance.
You can’t do everything,――be a ball-player, good oar, crack sprinter,
and the head of your class, all at the same time, with your present
physique, and keep well. Hall and Haseltine,” the superintendent
added, “let me make you acquainted with Louis Carlisle, our champion
short-distance runner, and poet laureate. He has been in the infirmary
for the past fortnight because he wouldn’t take care of himself. I dare
say that if you two boys are so inclined, he will stroll with you up to
the lake to show you the boat-houses and enlighten you a little as to
how we live at Utopia.”
“I shall be very glad, I’m sure,” answered Carlisle politely. “The walk
will do me good.”
He was half a head taller than either Jack or Haseltine, and evidently
two years their senior. In a tone not unduly patronizing he proceeded
to make a running commentary on what they saw, as they accompanied him
a few minutes later on the projected tour of investigation.
“What dormitory are you in?” he inquired at the start.
“Fullham,” said Jack.
“That’s mine, too. I’m to go back in a day or two. It’s dreadfully
lonely in the infirmary when no one else is sick. I caught cold after
winning the hundred-yard dash, and Dr. Bolles says I was threatened
with typhoid. There’s the infirmary,” he added, pointing to a
good-sized cottage in the field behind Granger Hall. “You can just see
it. Every one who is sick is sent there. A year ago there were eighteen
cases of measles at the same time. Can either of you leg it any?” he
inquired, eying them each in turn with a scientific air.
“I used to run pretty fast at prisoner’s base,” said Jack.
“I’ve practiced stealing second a good deal,” replied Haseltine.
“There’s the track,” continued Carlisle, indicating the flagged
half-mile course which surrounded the foot-ball field. “Like to see it
near to?”
The boys assented and followed their guide over the terrace for a few
yards, until they came to a kind of stand not unlike a witness-box,
to which they ascended. “Here’s where the judges sit and where we
finish,” he said. “We have athletic sports, that is, running and
jumping, and all that sort of thing, twice a year, once in the spring
and once in the autumn. The spring meeting comes off in about a month.
The hundred-yard dash, which I won, was an extra match got up by the
backers of Coleman, Junior. His brother, Coleman, Senior, who went to
Harvard last year, was champion of the school for three years, and he
is trying to follow in his brother’s footsteps.”
“Were you ever licked?” asked Jack, looking up in the crack runner’s
face with respectful admiration.
“Oh yes, often. Coleman, Senior, licked me right along until the last
time, when I beat the school record. I dare say Jessup’ll make it warm
for me before long. He’s only in the fifth, but I’d almost back him
to-day against Coleman, Junior. Are you both in the sixth?”
The boys nodded.
“I’m in the third; quite a patriarch, you see. There’s no reason why
both of you shouldn’t make good sprinters if you give your minds to it.”
This prophecy sounded agreeable to Jack and Haseltine as they trotted
along, one on either side of him, on their way to the lake, passing out
of the quadrangle through the same arched portal by which they had
entered it the night before, and so over the base-ball practice field
to the main road, from which Carlisle presently diverged to take a cut
across the meadows. He explained to them, among other things, that
every one had to be inside the quadrangle at the close of the curfew,
as the supper-bell at half-past six was called, on pain of an interview
with Dr. Meredith.
“Are you on the nine?” inquired Haseltine, who had been burning to ask
the question.
“Not on the school nine. I was on the dormitory nine, but I’ve decided
not to play this year. I’m trying not to spread my butter too thin, as
Dr. Bolles calls it. He thinks I do too many things,” he added by way
of explanation. “You know each of the dormitories has its separate nine
and foot-ball team, and there’s great rivalry between them. Fullham
beat Dudley the first match of the season last Saturday, and plays
Rogers this afternoon.”
This announcement was very interesting. Before they reached the lake,
Carlisle had also informed them that there was a cricket eleven, a
weekly newspaper called “The Utopian,” of which he was one of the
editors, a glee club, and four eight-oared crews,――the Atalantas,
Orions, Nimrods, and Mohicans. “There are, besides, ten single-scull
shells and several pair oars,” he said, leading the way into one of the
two tastefully built boat-houses, perched side by side on the bank of
the broad lake, each with a covered piazza in front.
The main space in the centre, as they entered, was filled by the
eight-oared racing-boats, the sight of which lying side by side
delighted and almost awed Jack, who had never examined anything of the
sort, and who straightway made the resolution that, no matter what
else he did or did not do at Utopia, he would go in for rowing. He had
often heard his mother tell that his father had been a famous oar in
his day, and he himself was entirely at home in a dory, and able, in
his own opinion, already to scull nearly if not quite as well as the
fishermen at Nahant and Swampscott, whose companion he was wont to be
in the summer time on their expeditions after cod and haddock. He had
often wished to look at a paper shell near to, and now his ambition
was gratified. There were rests on each side of the building, reaching
nearly to the ceiling, along which the small boats were arranged in
tiers, and in one corner was a snug little room hung with flags, and
photographs of winning crews and crack oarsmen, and furnished with a
round table and chairs, where, Carlisle said, the meetings of the club
were held. In the adjoining boat-house were more boats, including an
eight-oared barge, of which, as Carlisle told them, Mrs. Meredith was
the coxswain whenever she was willing to go out on the lake.
“It’s great fun here a little later in the season,” observed their
guide as they sat down to rest on the piazza after everything had been
inspected. “On a pleasant, still afternoon there are sometimes more
than twenty boats out, of one kind and another.”
“Who’s the fastest rower?” asked Jack.
“The Doctor is the crack single sculler.”
“The Doctor? Does he row?”
“Oh, yes, indeed. He came pretty near being beaten, though, last year.
Whitehead crawled up on him so that there wasn’t more than half a
length between them at the finish. You never saw such excitement.”
“Wasn’t he mad?” inquired Jack, to whom the idea of a master being
beaten by one of his scholars seemed most extraordinary.
“Who, the Doctor? Not a bit of it; he’s a true sport,” said Carlisle.
“There was no one more pleased than he at being forced to pull for all
he was worth.”
Further inquiry revealed that the Atalantas were for the time being the
champion of the eight-oared crews; and after a score more questions,
which Carlisle answered most good-naturedly, the boys retraced their
footsteps so as to get back in time for dinner. Seeing that their
mentor was so well disposed, Jack took occasion on the way to impart a
little of what Horace Hosmer had dropped regarding Jack Spratt and his
Wife, which Carlisle listened to at first with no other comment than an
occasional sidelong glance, which struck them as far from reassuring.
Once Carlisle started to speak, but some impediment in his throat
checking him, he seemed to change his mind, until Haseltine’s remark
that they were fortunate in being in a different dormitory from the
formidable pair drew out the laconic observation, “That won’t help you
much.”
“Why?” asked Jack.
“Those fellows are all over the lot,” was the answer. “They’d think
nothing of snaking a new boy out of bed in the small hours of the
morning, no matter where he was.”
“But I wonder the Doctor allows it,” said Haseltine, hoping for a more
satisfactory response to this exclamation than it had elicited from
Horace.
“Who’s to tell him?” cried Carlisle sternly, looking straight at
the offender. “You boys may count on one thing, and that is that
tale-bearing doesn’t go down at Utopia. Any fellow who told tales here
would be hustled out of the school, and the Doctor’d be the first to
avoid him.”
The decision with which these words were spoken caused Jack and
Haseltine to hang their heads guiltily, and presumably to reflect that
the couplet――
“Tell-tale tit,
Your tongue shall be slit,
And all the dogs in the town
Shall have a little bit,”
formed a no less important part of the code of youth than of childhood.
“It’s hard on new boys, I admit,” continued Carlisle, after a moment,
in a contemplative tone, “and if those fellows keep on in their cruel
ways they’ll kill somebody next.”
“Horace Hosmer told us they did kill two boys last term,” said Jack, in
a stage whisper.
“Yes,” exclaimed Haseltine; “it was reported to be chicken-pox, but he
says he helped to lay them out after they were dead, and they were a
mass of bruises from the crown of the head to the soles of the feet.”
Carlisle looked very grave and nodded his head with an ominous air. “I
didn’t suppose Horace knew about it,” he said; “it was kept very dark.”
“Then you knew of it?” asked Jack.
“Bless you, yes. It ought to have taught Tobey and Donaldson a lesson,”
Carlisle added gloomily, “but it didn’t. They’re just as bad as ever,
this term.”
“What is the best thing to do if――if they should ever happen to fix on
us?” asked Jack presently, with a slight gulp.
Carlisle whistled reflectively. “I’ll be doggoned if I know,” he
replied at last. “I’d keep a stiff upper lip, if I were you, and be
as sandy as you can. They’ll let you off easily, perhaps, if they see
you’ve got grit; but if you funk, I wouldn’t give much for your chances
of getting through with a whole skin. I’ll say a good word for you in
advance. It may save you a broken leg or arm.”
After the delivery of this speech, Carlisle indulged in a short,
hysterical laugh, which seemed to his listeners quite out of keeping
with their own feelings. But it was evidently a mere spasmodic
expression of sympathy, for his countenance immediately regained the
expression of deep gloom which it had worn ever since the subject of
Spratt and his Wife had been introduced.
“Thank you very much indeed,” answered each of the boys in turn.
“Not at all――not at all. I fear that my words cannot avail you much,”
he responded.
They were now within school bounds again, and there was only just
time to go to their rooms before dinner. Carlisle, in keeping with
his previous kindness, announced that as it might be advisable to say
what he had to say to Tobey and Donaldson at once, he would take his
dinner with the school. Accordingly, assuring the boys that he felt
well enough for this exertion, he started off at a lively jog for the
infirmary so as to be on hand.
Jack and Haseltine had been given provisional seats at breakfast, but
Mrs. Betty, who presided over the younger boys, now assigned them to
places not far from one another at her own table. It was an impressive
moment, and one could have heard a pin drop while the Doctor asked a
blessing in his clear, manly tones on the repast spread for his two
hundred hungry pupils, who stood behind their chairs in long lines up
and down the big hall waiting for the signal to fall to, which they
did with a vengeance you may be sure, when they got it. Dr. Meredith
and his wife, the married masters, and a few of the prefects occupied
a table on a platform at one end of the room at right angles with the
others and overlooking them all. There was a master at the end of each,
who did the carving and kept good order.
The dinner was simple but extremely good. A clear, honest soup well
flavored with vegetables; ribs of roast beef carefully basted and
neither done to death nor so distressingly blue as some cooks are
capable of sending it up from the kitchen; potatoes, tomatoes,
macaroni, light bread, sweet butter, and for dessert a cup of baked
custard invitingly served. Everything was clean and neat, thanks to
the vigilant eye of Mrs. Betty and her assistants, and thanks, first
of all, to the founders of Utopia, who laid it down as one of the
principles of the school that so everything must be. No extravagance,
no rich dishes, no wine or beer, but plenty of blood-making,
sinew-strengthening, bone-building food, fresh, appetizing, and
unspoiled.
I have seen school tables, and between you and me private tables also,
at which such a dinner as that just described was made thoroughly
unpalatable by the manner in which it was prepared; where the soup was
a thin, unseasoned, straw-colored fluid, the beef ruined by one of
the extremes of cooking already referred to, the vegetables greasy,
the bread clammy, the butter rancid, and the cup of custard pale
and watery. There are persons who do not think such matters worth
considering, who believe that any time devoted to making our daily
repasts savory is misspent, and that young people, boys in particular,
should eat what is set before them without asking questions, thankful
that there is anything to eat at all.
It is easy to perceive that such doctrines are thoroughly pernicious
and unsound, if you reflect that our capabilities as men and women are
chiefly dependent on what our bodies permit us to be, and that the
component parts of these bodies are determined in the main by the food
we eat, the air we breathe, the clothing we wear, and the sleep we get.
There is no greater mistake in the world than to disregard the laws of
health under the plea that they are not worthy of notice; and if they
are thus important for those of us who are grown up to bear in mind as
essential to human wellbeing, how much more vital is it that the young
should be given every opportunity to fit themselves physically for
the battle of life. Bear this in mind, boys, and when you are served
with slovenly, unwholesome cookery, protest with all your might. Do
not be ashamed to know and recognize good things to eat. The temperate
enjoyment of the pleasures of the table is a legitimate and important
element of happiness.
Meanwhile our young friend, Jack Hall, has been enjoying his dinner
mightily, though it is no better, in truth, than what he has been
accustomed to at home, which is not surprising if we recall the
double devotion of his mother and the faithful Hannah, whose hearts
are doubtless pretty sore at this time. When his hunger is somewhat
appeased he ventures to gaze about him a little, exchanging a few shy
words with the boys near him, all of whom seem friendly and willing to
receive him as a companion. He makes the acquaintance of Buck on one
side of him, Horton on the other, and Travers, Bailey, and Cunningham
across the table. Horton, who is a plump, talkative little chap of his
own size, points out to him the various school celebrities, including
Ramsay, Bedloe, and Goldthwaite of the nine; Burbank, the stalwart,
bearded captain of the fifteen; and little, active-looking Bobby
Crosby, who, as Jack knows, is expected to take Burbank’s place next
year; Hazelhurst, the stroke of the Atalantas and champion oar of the
school (always excepting the invincible Doctor) now that Whitehead has
graduated; and Carlisle, who nods across the room in a friendly manner
from his seat with the big second-class boys, so that Horton asks with
interest, “Do you know him?”
“I was introduced to him this morning at the gymnasium,” replies Jack.
“He showed Haseltine and me to the boat-houses.”
“He’s the smartest boy at Utopia,――first rate at games, head of his
class, and champion sprinter. There’s Coleman, Junior, sitting with the
third next to Jumbo,――his real name’s Blair, but every one calls him
Jumbo because he’s so fat,――he can run pretty fast, and it’s neck and
neck between him and Jessup, that boy on the right of Mr. Sawyer, but
neither of them can catch Carlisle. You ought to hear Jumbo sing; he’s
the best tenor we’ve got.”
Most of this information is not new to Jack, but he is glad to hear the
heroes catalogued again at a time when he can take a good peep at them.
He feels proud of his acquaintance with Carlisle, and glances from
time to time in that direction, for he has not forgotten his senior’s
promise to speak a good word for him.
“I wonder what’s up at the second form table,” says Horton presently.
“Some one or other keeps turning round and laughing. There must be a
gag on you,” he adds, turning to Jack, who has already noticed this
tendency on the part of the boys in the vicinity of his benefactor.
“Have you done anything fresh?”
“Not that I know of,” answers poor Jack, who is feeling far from
comfortable.
The dessert is finished, and in another minute dinner will be over. All
of a sudden Carlisle gets up, and after saying a word to the master at
the head of the table, crosses to one of those occupied by the fourth
class, and stoops to speak to two boys sitting side by side, whom Jack
recognizes instantly as Tobey and Donaldson, the redoubtable Spratt
and Wife. He has not perceived them before, though he has been on
the lookout for them, and now that he takes a glance at them they do
not strike him as very terrible in appearance. They are good-natured
looking enough, but appearances are deceitful in this world, as Jack
very well knows, and he quails as he observes the gaze of the trio
rest on him and Haseltine alternately. Carlisle’s eyes sparkle as he
talks, and he keeps his hand to his mouth so that Jack cannot judge
much by its expression. Spratt and Wifey listen for a moment or two
in judicial silence, then a broad, convulsive smile, which suggests,
at least to Jack, the hilarity of a hyena, overspreads the features of
each, only to be succeeded by a look of glowing fierceness, which seems
to the unhappy lads――for Haseltine is no less conscious of it than
Jack――to argue ill for the future. While they are still beneath its
spell the school rises from table, and the two boys are swept along to
the terrace, where Carlisle presently joins them, but only to draw them
aside and whisper the ominous tidings, “I’ve done my best for you, but
they think you look too cocky,” an announcement which makes them both
feel very miserable.
Just then a big boy, bat in hand, and wearing a large =F=
embroidered on the bosom of his shirt, accosted their mentor with the
eager inquiry,――“Won’t you help us out, Carlisle? Dobson has a game
knee and can’t possibly play.”
“Wish I could, Chalmers, but I’ve promised Dr. Bolles to let up on
base-ball for the rest of the term. I’m only just out of the infirmary.”
“Yes, I know; but it’s mighty tough lines on us to have so many of our
best men knocked up. Potts had word this morning that his mother is
sick and started for home before dinner, and Plummer bust his finger
against the Stars yesterday.”
“What’s the matter with Cochrane?”
“Oh, Cochrane’s no good. He’ll fan himself out every time, cock sure,
on Bedloe’s pitching. We’re hard up for third base, and Cochrane’s
useless except in the field. They’ve got their strongest team,” said
Chalmers impatiently.
“What is it?” whispered Haseltine to Carlisle.
“Fullham against Rogers.”
“I can play third base,” continued Haseltine, to Jack’s infinite
astonishment.
Carlisle laughed gayly. “Here’s your chance, Chalmers,” he said. “This
new Fullhamite says he’s an artist.”
“What’s your name?” asked Chalmers, scanning Haseltine from top to toe.
“Frank Haseltine.”
“Have you played much?”
“I’ve played third base on the St. Louis Rising Suns for two years.”
“Are you in practice?”
“First rate.”
There was an assurance about the applicant that evidently impressed
Chalmers. “Would you try him?” he asked Carlisle.
“He talks well.”
“Talk is cheap,” growled Chalmers. “Well, be on hand, then,” he said
to Haseltine. “Get into your togs as soon as you can. The game’ll be
called in fifteen minutes.”
Haseltine looked radiant with delight as the large boy strode away. “Do
you think he’ll let me play?” he inquired beseechingly of Carlisle.
“I guess so; he’s captain of the Fullham nine. It’s a big chance for
you, youngster, to show what you’re made of. Now run along and get
ready.”
Jack felt rather envious, but not so much so as not to be thoroughly
glad of his friend’s good fortune. Indeed, as he sat by while Haseltine
got into his flannels, he was very well pleased to think that he was
not going to play himself. It was pretty evident from the way Haseltine
had spoken of the Rising Suns the day before, that they were a much
superior nine to the Massasoits, of which club Jack knew that he had
by no means been the strongest player, a conviction which helped to
reconcile him to being left out.