[Sidenote: Dismembering Piano]
Bert Slocum came from a miner’s home where the comforts of life were so
few as to mar sadly the development of growing children. Bert said to
himself one day:
“I know how I can have a good time. Some Saturday night I’m going to
borrow a dark lantern, take along some lunch and I’ll go to the
schoolhouse and stay all night. I’ll take enough to eat to last me over
Sunday. I’ll stay up there all day Sunday and take the piano to pieces
and put it together again. I can do it.”
The program was actually carried out. What a glorious time he had. No
one came to interrupt, no one called him to dinner and nothing marred
the luxury of those sweet hours.
His parents knew nothing of his whereabouts, but that did not disturb
him, for every so often he was absent anyway and no one was much
concerned.
Unfortunately he had to finish his work in the nightfall, as his supply
of oil was exhausted the night preceding. He had taken out nearly every
bolt and screw until he came to the sounding board and its strings. When
darkness furnished a shelter from inquisitive eyes he emerged from the
building, called on a friend, and finally reached home without giving an
alarm.
On Monday the janitor found traces of Bert’s adventure. For one thing
the piano was not all put back together, for the pedals lay in a heap at
one side.
The teachers were notified and inquiry began. The superintendent decided
it was not a little boy and looked to the eighth grade to furnish the
culprit.
After a great deal of noisy inquiry, Bert held up his hand and said to
the teacher: “I know something about that piano.”
“What do you know, Bert?” said his teacher.
“I’ll tell, but I want to know what you all will do with the kid, after
I talk about him.”
“We can’t say about that. Bert, if you know, it’s time for you to speak
out and have it over.”
“I don’t want to, now; I’ll tell some time,” was Bert’s final remark.
Later he went to the superintendent and said:
“Mr. Knowles, is your pianner hurt some? I hear some un’s been tinkering
with it.”
“I don’t know that it’s hurt much. But somebody has been doing a trick
we simply can’t stand. Just think of it. You can see the whole thing has
been in pieces. I’ll have to suspend the boy that did this thing, if I
find him. I simply can’t stand it.”
Nothing came immediately of this interview, but Bert went home, turned
the matter over carefully in his mind, and in the morning came to school
with a grim determination to act, and perish if need be. On the way he
said to himself:
“I’d eat fire, before I’d hurt the pianner. If I have hurt it, as they
think, I’ll just take my medicine like a man.” And he did. He said very
briefly:
“I tore up your pianner, Mr. Knowles.”
The superintendent replied very shortly: “I’m sorry, Bert, I’ll have to
suspend you for a month for that, so as to keep other boys from doing
the same thing, or something worse.”