“Look here, old man, we ought to have a meeting. Holidays are over, and
we must brace up and attend to business,” said Frank to Gus, as they
strolled out of the schoolyard one afternoon in January, apparently
absorbed in conversation, but in reality waiting for a blue cloud and a
scarlet feather to appear on the steps.
“All right. When, where, and what?” asked Gus, who was a man of few
words.
“To-night, our house, subject, 'Shall girls go to college with us?'
Mother said we had better be making up our minds, because every one is
talking about it, and we shall have to be on one side or the other,
so we may as well settle it now,” answered Frank, for there was an
impression among the members that all vexed questions would be much
helped by the united eloquence and wisdom of the club.
“Very good; I'll pass the word and be there. Hullo, Neddy! The D.C.
meets to-night, at Minot's, seven sharp. Co-ed, &c.,” added Gus, losing
no time, as a third boy came briskly round the corner, with a little bag
in his hand.
“I'll come. Got home an hour earlier to-night, and thought I'd look
you up as I went by,” responded Ed Devlin, as he took possession of the
third post, with a glance toward the schoolhouse to see if a seal-skin
cap, with a long, yellow braid depending therefrom, was anywhere in
sight.
“Very good of you, I'm sure,” said Gus, ironically, not a bit deceived
by this polite attention.
“The longest way round is sometimes the shortest way home, hey, Ed?” and
Frank gave him a playful poke that nearly sent him off his perch.
Then they all laughed at some joke of their own, and Gus added, “No
girls coming to hear us to-night. Don't think it, my son.
“More's the pity,” and Ed shook his head regretfully over the downfall
of his hopes.
“Can't help it; the other fellows say they spoil the fun, so we have
to give in, sometimes, for the sake of peace and quietness. Don't
mind having them a bit myself,” said Frank, in such a tone of cheerful
resignation that they laughed again, for the “Triangle,” as the three
chums were called, always made merry music.
“We must have a game party next week. The girls like that, and so do
I,” candidly observed Gus, whose pleasant parlors were the scene of many
such frolics.
“And so do your sisters and your cousins and your aunts,” hummed Ed,
for Gus was often called Admiral because he really did possess three
sisters, two cousins, and four aunts, besides mother and grandmother,
all living in the big house together.
The boys promptly joined in the popular chorus, and other voices all
about the yard took it up, for the “Pinafore” epidemic raged fearfully
in Harmony Village that winter.
“How's business?” asked Gus, when the song ended, for Ed had not
returned to school in the autumn, but had gone into a store in the city.
“Dull; things will look up toward spring, they say. I get on well
enough, but I miss you fellows dreadfully;” and Ed put a hand on the
broad shoulder of each friend, as if he longed to be a school-boy again.
“Better give it up and go to college with me next year,” said Frank, who
was preparing for Boston University, while Gus fitted for Harvard.
“No; I've chosen business, and I mean to stick to it, so don't you
unsettle my mind. Have you practised that March?” asked Ed, turning to a
gayer subject, for he had his little troubles, but always looked on the
bright side of things.
“Skating is so good, I don't get much time. Come early, and we'll have a
turn at it.”
“I will. Must run home now.”
“Pretty cold loafing here.”
“Mail is in by this time.”
And with these artless excuses the three boys leaped off the posts, as
if one spring moved them, as a group of girls came chattering down the
path. The blue cloud floated away beside Frank, the scarlet feather
marched off with the Admiral, while the fur cap nodded to the gray hat
as two happy faces smiled at each other.
The same thing often happened, for twice a-day the streets were full
of young couples walking to and from school together, smiled at by the
elders, and laughed at by the less susceptible boys and girls, who went
alone or trooped along in noisy groups. The prudent mothers had tried to
stop this guileless custom, but found it very difficult, as the fathers
usually sympathized with their sons, and dismissed the matter with the
comfortable phrase, “Never mind; boys will be boys.” “Not forever,”
returned the anxious mammas, seeing the tall lads daily grow more manly,
and the pretty daughters fast learning to look demure when certain names
were mentioned.
It could not be stopped without great parental sternness and the danger
of deceit, for co-education will go on outside of school if not inside,
and the safest way is to let sentiment and study go hand in hand, with
teachers and parents to direct and explain the great lesson all are
the better for learning soon or late. So the elders had to give in,
acknowledging that this sudden readiness to go to school was a comfort,
that the new sort of gentle emulation worked wonders in lazy girls and
boys, and that watching these “primrose friendships” bud, blossom,
and die painless deaths, gave a little touch of romance to their own
work-a-day lives.
“On the whole I'd rather have my sons walking, playing, and studying
with bright, well-mannered girls, than always knocking about with rough
boys,” said Mrs. Minot at one of the Mothers' Meetings, where the good
ladies met to talk over their children, and help one another to do their
duty by them.
“I find that Gus is more gentle with his sisters since Juliet took him
in hand, for he wants to stand well with her, and they report him if he
troubles them. I really see no harm in the little friendship, though I
never had any such when I was a girl,” said Mrs. Burton, who adored her
one boy and was his confidante.
“My Merry seems to be contented with her brothers so far, but I
shouldn't wonder if I had my hands full by and by,” added Mrs. Grant,
who already foresaw that her sweet little daughter would be sought after
as soon as she should lengthen her skirts and turn up her bonny brown
hair.
Molly Loo had no mother to say a word for her, but she settled matters
for herself by holding fast to Merry, and declaring that she would have
no escort but faithful Boo.
It is necessary to dwell a moment upon this new amusement, because it
was not peculiar to Harmony Village, but appears everywhere as naturally
as the game parties and croquet which have taken the place of the
husking frolics and apple-bees of olden times, and it is impossible to
dodge the subject if one attempts to write of boys and girls as they
really are nowadays.
“Here, my hero, see how you like this. If it suits, you will be ready to
march as soon as the doctor gives the word,” said Ralph, coming into the
Bird Room that evening with a neat little crutch under his arm.
“Ha, ha, that looks fine! I'd like to try it right off, but I won't till
I get leave. Did you make it yourself, Ral?” asked Jack, handling it
with delight, as he sat bolt upright, with his leg on a rest, for he was
getting on capitally now.
“Mostly. Rather a neat job, I flatter myself.”
“I should say so. What a clever fellow you are! Any new inventions
lately?” asked Frank, coming up to examine and admire.
“Only an anti-snoring machine and an elbow-pad,” answered Ralph, with a
twinkle in his eye, as if reminded of something funny.
“Go on, and tell about them. I never heard of an anti-snorer. Jack
better have one,” said Frank, interested at once.
“Well, a rich old lady kept her family awake with that lively music, so
she sent to Shirtman and Codleff for something to stop it. They thought
it was a good joke, and told me to see what I could do. I thought it
over, and got up the nicest little affair you ever saw. It went over the
mouth, and had a tube to fit the ear, so when the lady snored she woke
herself up and stopped it. It suited exactly. I think of taking out a
patent,” concluded Ralph, joining in the boys' laugh at the droll idea.
“What was the pad?” asked Frank, returning to the small model of an
engine he was making.
“Oh, that was a mere trifle for a man who had a tender elbow-joint and
wanted something to protect it. I made a little pad to fit on, and his
crazy-bone was safe.”
“I planned to have you make me a new leg if this one was spoilt,” said
Jack, sure that his friend could invent anything under the sun.
“I'd do my best for you. I made a hand for a fellow once, and that
got me my place, you know,” answered Ralph, who thought little of such
mechanical trifles, and longed to be painting portraits or modelling
busts, being an artist as well as an inventor.
Here Gus, Ed, and several other boys came in, and the conversation
became general. Grif, Chick, and Brickbat were three young gentlemen
whose own respectable names were usually ignored, and they cheerfully
answered to these nicknames.
As the clock struck seven, Frank, who ruled the club with a rod of iron
when Chairman, took his place behind the study table. Seats stood about
it, and a large, shabby book lay before Gus, who was Secretary, and kept
the records with a lavish expenditure of ink, to judge by the blots. The
members took their seats, and nearly all tilted back their chairs and
put their hands in their pockets, to keep them out of mischief; for, as
every one knows, it is impossible for two lads to be near each other
and refrain from tickling or pinching. Frank gave three raps with an old
croquet-mallet set on a short handle, and with much dignity opened the
meeting.
“Gentlemen, the business of the club will be attended to, and then
we will discuss the question, 'Shall girls go to our colleges?' The
Secretary will now read the report of the last meeting.”
Clearing his throat, Gus read the following brief and elegant report:--
“Club met, December 18th, at the house of G. Burton, Esq. Subject: 'Is
summer or winter best fun?' A lively pow-wow. About evenly divided.
J. Flint fined five cents for disrespect to the Chair. A collection of
forty cents taken up to pay for breaking a pane of glass during a free
fight of the members on the door-step. E. Devlin was chosen Secretary
for the coming year, and a new book contributed by the Chairman.”
“That's all.”
“Is there any other business before the meeting?” asked Frank, as the
reader closed the old book with a slam and shoved the new one across the
table.
Ed rose, and glancing about him with an appealing look, said, as if sure
his proposition would not be well received, “I wish to propose the name
of a new member. Bob Walker wants to join, and I think we ought to let
him. He is trying to behave well, and I am sure we could help him. Can't
we?”
All the boys looked sober, and Joe, otherwise Brickbat, said, bluntly,
“I won't. He's a bad lot, and we don't want any such here. Let him go
with chaps of his own sort.”
“That is just what I want to keep him from! He's a good-hearted boy
enough, only no one looks after him; so he gets into scrapes, as we
should, if we were in his place, I dare say. He wants to come here, and
would be so proud if he was let in, I know he'd behave. Come now, let's
give him a chance,” and Ed looked at Gus and Frank, sure that if they
stood by him he should carry his point.
But Gus shook his head, as if doubtful of the wisdom of the plan, and
Frank said gravely: “You know we made the rule that the number should
never be over eight, and we cannot break it.”
“You needn't. I can't be here half the time, so I will resign and let
Bob have my place,” began Ed, but he was silenced by shouts of “No, no,
you shan't!” “We won't let you off!” “Club would go to smash, if you
back out!”
“Let him have my place; I'm the youngest, and you won't miss me,” cried
Jack, bound to stand by Ed at all costs.
“We might do that,” said Frank, who did object to small boys, though
willing to admit this particular one.
“Better make a new rule to have ten members, and admit both Bob and Tom
Grant,” said Ralph, whereat Grif grinned and Joe scowled, for one lad
liked Merry's big brother and the other did not.
“That's a good idea! Put it to vote,” said Gus, too kind-hearted to shut
the door on any one.
“First I want to ask if all you fellows are ready to stand by Bob, out
of the club as well as in, for it won't do much good to be kind to him
here and cut him at school and in the street,” said Ed, heartily in
earnest about the matter.
“I will!” cried Jack, ready to follow where his beloved friend led, and
the others nodded, unwilling to be outdone by the youngest member.
“Good! With all of us to lend a hand, we can do a great deal; and I tell
you, boys, it is time, if we want to keep poor Bob straight. We all turn
our backs on him, so he loafs round the tavern, and goes with fellows
we don't care to know. But he isn't bad yet, and we can keep him up, I'm
sure, if we just try. I hope to get him into the Lodge, and that will be
half the battle, won't it, Frank?” added Ed, sure that this suggestion
would have weight with the honorable Chairman.
“Bring him along; I'm with you!” answered Frank, making up his mind at
once, for he had joined the Temperance Lodge four years ago, and already
six boys had followed his example.
“He is learning to smoke, but we'll make him drop it before it leads
to worse. You can help him there, Admiral, if you only will,” added Ed,
giving a grateful look at one friend, and turning to the other.
“I'm your man;” and Gus looked as if he knew what he promised, for he
had given up smoking to oblige his father, and kept his word like a
hero.
“You other fellows can do a good deal by just being kind and not
twitting him with old scrapes, and I'll do anything I can for you all
to pay for this;” and Ed sat down with a beaming smile, feeling that his
cause was won.
The vote was taken, and all hands went up, for even surly Joe gave in;
so Bob and Tom were duly elected, and proved their gratitude for the
honor done them by becoming worthy members of the club. It was only
boys' play now, but the kind heart and pure instincts of one lad showed
the others how to lend a helping hand to a comrade in danger, and win
him away from temptation to the safer pastimes of their more guarded
lives.
Well pleased with themselves--for every genuine act or word, no matter
how trifling it seems, leaves a sweet and strengthening influence
behind--the members settled down to the debate, which was never very
long, and often only an excuse for fun of all sorts.
“Ralph, Gus, and Ed are for, and Brickbat, Grif, and Chick against, I
suppose?” said Frank, surveying his company like a general preparing for
battle.
“No, sir! I believe in co-everything!” cried Chick, a mild youth, who
loyally escorted a chosen damsel home from school every day.
A laugh greeted this bold declaration, and Chick sat down, red but firm.
“I'll speak for two since the Chairman can't, and Jack won't go against
those who pet him most to death,” said Joe, who, not being a favorite
with the girls, considered them a nuisance and lost no opportunity of
telling them so.
“Fire away, then, since you are up;” commanded Frank.
“Well,” began Joe, feeling too late how much he had undertaken, “I don't
know a great deal about it, and I don't care, but I do _not_ believe in
having girls at college. They don't belong there, nobody wants 'em, and
they'd better be at home darning their stockings.”
“Yours, too,” put in Ralph, who had heard that argument so often he was
tired of it.
“Of course; that's what girls are for. I don't mind 'em at school,
but I'd just as soon they had a room to themselves. We should get on
better.”
“_You_ would if Mabel wasn't in your class and always ahead of you,”
observed Ed, whose friend was a fine scholar, and he very proud of the
fact.
“Look here, if you fellows keep interrupting, I won't sit down for half
an hour,” said Joe, well knowing that eloquence was not his gift, but
bound to have his say out.
Deep silence reigned, for that threat quelled the most impatient member,
and Joe prosed on, using all the arguments he had ever heard, and
paying off several old scores by sly hits of a personal nature, as older
orators often do.
“It is clear to my mind that boys would get on better without any
girls fooling round. As for their being as smart as we are, it is all
nonsense, for some of 'em cry over their lessons every day, or go home
with headaches, or get mad and scold all recess, because something
'isn't fair.' No, sir; girls ain't meant to know much, and they can't.
Wise folks say so and I believe 'em. Haven't got any sisters myself, and
I don't want any, for they don't seem to amount to much, according to
those who do have 'em.”
Groans from Gus and Ed greeted the closing remarks of the ungallant Joe,
who sat down, feeling that he had made somebody squirm. Up jumped Grif,
the delight of whose life was practical jokes, which amiable weakness
made him the terror of the girls, though they had no other fault to find
with the merry lad.
“Mr. Chairman, the ground I take is this: girls have not the strength to
go to college with us. They couldn't row a race, go on a lark, or take
care of themselves, as we do. They are all well enough at home, and I
like them at parties, but for real fun and go I wouldn't give a cent for
them,” began Grif, whose views of a collegiate life were confined to the
enjoyments rather than the studies of that festive period. “I have tried
them, and they can't stand anything. They scream if you tell them there
is a mouse in the room, and run if they see a big dog. I just put a
cockroach in Molly's desk one day, and when she opened it she jumped as
if she was shot.”
So did the gentlemen of the club, for at that moment half-a-dozen
fire-crackers exploded under the chair Grif had left, and flew wildly
about the room. Order was with difficulty restored, the mischievous
party summarily chastised and commanded to hold his tongue, under
penalty of ejectment from the room if he spoke again. Firmly grasping
that red and unruly member, Grif composed himself to listen, with his
nose in the air and his eyes shining like black beads.
Ed was always the peace-maker, and now, when he rose with his engaging
smile, his voice fell like oil upon the troubled waters, and his bright
face was full of the becoming bashfulness which afflicts youths of
seventeen when touching upon such subjects of newly acquired interest as
girls and their pleasant but perplexing ways.
“It seems to me we have hardly considered the matter enough to be able
to say much. But I think that school would be awfully dry and dismal
without--ahem!--any young ladies to make it nice. I wouldn't give a pin
to go if there was only a crowd of fellows, though I like a good game
as well as any man. I pity any boy who has no sisters,” continued Ed,
warming up as he thought of his own, who loved him dearly, as well they
might, for a better brother never lived. “Home wouldn't be worth having
without them to look after a fellow, to keep him out of scrapes, help
him with his lessons, and make things jolly for his friends. I tell you
we can't do without girls, and I'm not ashamed to say that I think the
more we see of them, and try to be like them in many ways, the better
men we shall be by and by.”
“Hear! hear!” cried Frank, in his deepest tone, for he heartily agreed
to that, having talked the matter over with his mother, and received
much light upon things which should always be set right in young heads
and hearts. And who can do this so wisely and well as mothers, if they
only will?
Feeling that his sentiments had been approved, and he need not be
ashamed of the honest color in his cheeks, Ed sat down amid the applause
of his side, especially of Jack, who pounded so vigorously with his
crutch that Mrs. Pecq popped in her head to see if anything was wanted.
“No, thank you, ma'am, we were only cheering Ed,” said Gus, now upon
his legs, and rather at a loss what to say till Mrs. Pecq's appearance
suggested an idea, and he seized upon it.
“My honored friend has spoken so well that I have little to add. I agree
with him, and if you want an example of what girls _can_ do, why, look
at Jill. She's young, I know, but a first-rate scholar for her age. As
for pluck, she is as brave as a boy, and almost as smart at running,
rowing, and so on. Of course, she can't play ball--no girl can; their
arms are not made right to throw--but she can catch remarkably well.
I'll say that for her. Now, if she and Mabel--and--and--some others I
could name, are so clever and strong at the beginning, I don't see why
they shouldn't keep up and go along with us all through. I'm willing,
and will do what I can to help other fellows' sisters as I'd like to
have them help mine. And I'll punch their heads if they don't;” and Gus
subsided, assured, by a burst of applause, that his manly way of stating
the case met with general approval.
“We shall be happy to hear from our senior member if he will honor us
with a few remarks,” said Frank, with a bow to Ralph.
No one ever knew whom he would choose to personate, for he never spoke
in his own character. Now he rose slowly, put one hand in his bosom, and
fixing his eye sternly on Grif, who was doing something suspicious with
a pin, gave them a touch of Sergeant Buzfuz, from the Pickwick trial,
thinking that the debate was not likely to throw much light on the
subject under discussion. In the midst of this appeal to “Me lud and
gentlemen of the jury,” he suddenly paused, smoothed his hair down upon
his forehead, rolled up his eyes, and folding his hands, droned out Mr.
Chadband's sermon on Peace, delivered over poor Jo, and ending with the
famous lines:--
“Oh, running stream of sparkling joy,
To be a glorious human boy!”
Then, setting his hair erect with one comprehensive sweep, he caught up
his coat-skirts over his arm, and, assuming a parliamentary attitude,
burst into a comical medley, composed of extracts from Jefferson Brick's
and Lafayette Kettle's speeches, and Elijah Pogram's Defiance, from
“Martin Chuzzlewit.” Gazing at Gus, who was convulsed with suppressed
merriment, he thundered forth:--
“In the name of our common country, sir, in the name of that righteous
cause in which we are jined, and in the name of the star-spangled
banner, I thank you for your eloquent and categorical remarks. You, sir,
are a model of a man fresh from Natur's mould. A true-born child of
this free hemisphere; verdant as the mountains of our land; bright and
flowin' as our mineral Licks; unspiled by fashion as air our boundless
perearers. Rough you may be; so air our Barrs. Wild you may be; so air
our Buffalers. But, sir, you air a Child of Freedom, and your proud
answer to the Tyrant is, that your bright home is in the Settin' Sun.
And, sir, if any man denies this fact, though it be the British Lion
himself, I defy him. Let me have him here!”--smiting the table, and
causing the inkstand to skip--“here, upon this sacred altar! Here, upon
the ancestral ashes cemented with the glorious blood poured out like
water on the plains of Chickabiddy Lick. Alone I dare that Lion, and
tell him that Freedom's hand once twisted in his mane, he rolls a corse
before me, and the Eagles of the Great Republic scream, Ha, ha!”
By this time the boys were rolling about in fits of laughter; even sober
Frank was red and breathless, and Jack lay back, feebly squealing, as he
could laugh no more. In a moment Ralph was as meek as a Quaker, and
sat looking about him with a mildly astonished air, as if inquiring the
cause of such unseemly mirth. A knock at the door produced a lull, and
in came a maid with apples.
“Time's up; fall to and make yourselves comfortable,” was the summary
way in which the club was released from its sterner duties and permitted
to unbend its mighty mind for a social half-hour, chiefly devoted to
whist, with an Indian war-dance as a closing ceremony.