A REVOLUTION IN SCHOOL.
Mr. Slocum was terribly annoyed by what had happened. It seemed
impossible to explain his flight in any way that would reflect credit
upon himself. He could not pretend that it was all a joke, for he had
shown himself too much in earnest in the village store, where he had
taken refuge, for this to be believed. Though not remarkable for sense,
Mr. Slocum knew that if he should undertake to punish Julius and John
for their agency in the affair, he would only give it greater publicity.
He felt a strong desire to do this, however, and would have derived
great comfort from flogging them both. Finally he decided not to refer
to the matter in school, and in this decision he was unusually discreet.
Of course Julius and John did not keep the matter secret. When Mr.
Slocum came up the school-house hill, the next morning, there was not a
scholar in the school who had not heard of his adventure, and the
teacher, in his hurried glance at his pupils, detected a look of sly
meaning, which revealed to him the fact that all was known. Julius and
John were among the rest, looking very demure and innocent. Mr. Slocum
saw them, too, out of the corner of his eye, and he determined to seize
the first chance that presented itself of flogging each.
The school opened. Julius was doubtful whether any reference would be
made to the bear. He rather expected a speech, but Mr. Slocum
disappointed him. He heard the classes as usual, but refrained from
making any remarks of a biographical character. His self-complacency had
been severely disturbed, and he looked severe and gloomy.
He watched Julius and John, hoping to detect something in their conduct
which would justify him in punishing them; but they, too, were unusually
quiet, as rogues are apt to be just after a successful trick.
At length, however, something happened which led to an explosion.
Tom Allen, who has been described as the oldest and largest boy in
school, sat directly behind Julius. He was not a brilliant scholar, but
he had a keen sense of the ludicrous, and had been very much amused by
the account of the teacher’s narrow escape from Mr. Sandford’s bear. He
had a little taste for drawing, of which he occasionally made use. After
finishing his sums, having a few idle moments, he occupied himself with
drawing on his slate a caricature of Mr. Slocum pursued by the bear.
There was enough resemblance in the portraits, both of the man and the
animal, to make the subject of the picture unmistakable. It was, as was
natural, slightly caricatured, so that the effect was ludicrous.
Desiring his effort to be appreciated, he passed the slate to Julius,
who sat in front of him. Our hero was easy to make laugh, and he no
sooner cast his eyes over the picture than he burst into audible
laughter. This was the occasion that Mr. Slocum had been waiting for.
Laughter was against the rules of the school--it was disorderly--and
would give him an excuse for the punishment he was so strongly desirous
of inflicting. He strode to the desk of Julius while the latter was
still looking at the slate. Mr. Slocum, too, saw it, and his fury was
increased, for he recognized the subject only too well.
Seizing Julius by the collar, he jerked him out upon the floor, saying,
in a voice of concentrated passion: “So, sir, you are drawing pictures
instead of studying. I’ll give you a lesson.”
“I didn’t draw it,” said Julius.
“I’ll flog you for telling a lie,” exclaimed the excited teacher.
Julius was about to repeat his disclaimer, but it was made unnecessary.
Tom Allen arose quietly in his seat, and said: “Julius is perfectly
right, Mr. Slocum; he didn’t draw the picture.”
“Who did, then?” asked the teacher, pausing in his contemplated
punishment.
“I did,” said Tom, coolly. “If you want to punish anybody for doing it,
you’ll have to punish me.”
This was very disagreeable intelligence for Mr. Slocum. Tom Allen was a
stout, broad-shouldered, immensely powerful young fellow, standing five
feet ten inches in his stockings. There are few teachers who would not
have fought shy of punishing, or attempting to punish, such a formidable
scholar. Mr. Slocum was disconcerted at the interruption, and did not
care about undertaking such a doubtful job. Neither did he want to
release Julius from his clutches. He knew that he could punish him, and
he meant to do it. A lucky thought came to him.
“I do not punish him for drawing the picture,” he said, “but for
disturbing the order of the school by laughing at it.”
“I couldn’t help laughing at it,” exclaimed our hero.
“Nor could any of the other scholars,” said Tom Allen; and taking the
slate from the desk before him, he held it up, and exhibited it to the
other scholars. It was recognized at once, and there was a general shout
of laughter.
Mr. Slocum looked about him with an angry scowl, and his temper was
fairly aroused, so that he became, to a certain extent, regardless of
consequences.
“I won’t let you off,” he said to Julius, tightening his grasp on the
boy’s collar.
“What are you punishing him for?” asked Tom Allen, quietly.
“For laughing out in school.”
“The rest of the scholars have done the same. Are you going to punish
them, too?”
“I shall punish some of them,” said the teacher, with a smile of
complacent malice. “John Sandford laughed loudest. His turn will come
next.”
By this time it was very clear to all present what the two boys were to
be punished for. The laughing was only a pretext. They were to be
flogged for their participation in the practical joke of the day before.
“Mr. Slocum,” said Tom Allen, “I am the greatest offender. The boys only
laughed, but I drew the picture.”
“You did not laugh,” said Mr. Slocum, uneasily.
“Still, if anybody is to be punished, I am the one. Here is my hand. You
may ferule me, if you like.”
Tom Allen’s hand was hardened by labor, and he would not have minded the
feruling in the least. But Mr. Slocum had no desire to ferule Tom. His
animosity was not excited against him, but against Julius and John. He
wanted to punish them, and so wipe out the grudge he had against them.
“I don’t choose to punish you,” said Theophilus, “though you have been
guilty of inciting disorder.”
“Why not?” asked Tom. “I shall not resist; that is, if you only ferule
me.”
“There is no need of giving my reasons,” said Mr. Slocum, stubbornly. “I
have on more than one occasion noticed the insubordinate spirit of
Julius Taylor and John Sandford; and it is due to myself that I should
punish them, and I intend to do it now.”
He was preparing to punish Julius, and evidently would not have spared
the rod to spoil the child, when Tom Allen interfered again.
“Mr. Slocum,” said he, stepping out from behind the desk, “I’ve got a
word to say in this matter. You shall not punish Julius!”
“What!” roared Theophilus, almost foaming at the mouth. “Do you know
whom you are talking to?”
“I know that I am talking to a man in a passion, who wants to do an
injustice,” said Tom. “I am willing to do what’s right, and I have
offered to let you ferule me; but I won’t stand by and see an innocent
boy suffer for what he couldn’t help.”
“You are a rebel! I will expel you from school!” exclaimed Mr. Slocum.
“I won’t go,” said Tom, “as long as there are boys here who need my
protection. I have got Julius into a scrape, and I won’t let him be
punished for my fault. That’s all I’ve got to say.”
“And this is what I’ve got to say,” retorted the furious teacher,
bringing down the rod on the shoulders of Julius, who was struggling in
his grasp.
Then Tom Allen thought it was time to act. He tore the rod from Mr.
Slocum’s grasp, and flung it to the other side of the room. The
astonished teacher loosened his grasp, and Tom, forcibly drawing him
away, told him to take his seat. Then Mr. Slocum lost all prudence. His
face fiery with rage, he pitched into Tom Allen, and there was a
rough-and-tumble fight, in which Tom had the best of it. At this most
unlucky time one of the trustees, the Rev. Mr. Brandon, entered the
schoolroom on a visit of inspection, and stood appalled at the spectacle
before him.
“Good heavens! Mr. Slocum, what does this mean?” he ejaculated.
Mr. Slocum started as if he had been shot, and turned his perturbed
countenance toward the trustee.
“It means that there is a rebellion in school,” he said.
An immediate inquiry was instituted, and Mr. Brandon was at last made
acquainted with the circumstances.
“I think, Mr. Slocum,” he said, “you had better dismiss the school, and
I will call a meeting of the trustees for this evening at my house. I
will ask you to be present; also four of your scholars, including Thomas
Allen, Julius Taylor, and any two others whom you may select.”
It needs only to be said that, it being made clear to the trustees that
Mr. Slocum was incompetent to teach the school, taking into
consideration his literary qualifications alone, he was recommended to
resign; and next week, to the joy of the scholars, Dexter Fairbanks, the
former popular teacher, was installed in his place.
Mr. Slocum did not remain long in Brookville. Whether he went farther
West, or returned to Maine, was not ascertained, and few of his pupils
cared to inquire.