B.J. decided to take the chances of a battered skull rather than let
both the windward runner and the tiller-runner have a slash at him.
He gathered himself for a dive into the air.
But, just as he was about to leap, a sudden gust of wind lifted the
windward runner off the ice at least two feet.
Like lightning B.J. dropped face down on the ice, and the boat passed
harmlessly over him, the runner just grazing his coat-sleeve.
Having inflicted what seemed to it to be punishment enough, the
_Greased Lightning_ sailed coquettishly on down the lake, and finally
banged into a dock at home, and stopped. B.J. and Reddy made off after
it as fast as they could on the slippery ice with the help of the wind
at their backs; but they never overtook it, and the run served them
only the good turn of warming them somewhat, and thus saving them from
all the dire consequences they deserved for their foolhardiness.
When Reddy reached home, he found that Heady had preceded him. Both
were put to bed and dosed with such bitter medicine that they almost
forgot the miseries they had had upon the lake. But it was many a day
before they would consent to speak to B.J.
When they saw him coming they crossed the street with great dignity,
and if he spoke to them they seemed stricken with a sudden deafness.
B.J.'s troubles did not end with his return home; for, somehow or
other, the escapade with the ice-boat reached his father's ears. And
it is reported that B.J.'s father forgot for a few minutes the fact
that his son was now a dignified academician. At any rate, B.J. took
his meals standing for a day or two, and he could not explain this
strange whim to the satisfaction of his friends.
* * * * *
Every member of the Dozen realized the necessity of keeping the body
clean if he would be a successful athlete, and of keeping his linen
and clothes comely if he would be a successful gentleman. Taken
altogether, the Twelve were exactly what could be called "neat but not
gaudy." But presentable as all of them were, there was none that took
so much pains and pride in the elegances of dress as the boy Pretty,
who won his title from his fondness for being what the others
sometimes called a dude. But he was such a whole-hearted, vigorous,
athletic young fellow, with so little foolishness about his make-up,
that the name did not carry with it the insult it usually conveys.
The chief offense Pretty gave to the less careful of the Dozen was his
fondness for carrying a cane, a practice which the rest of the boys,
being boys, did not affect. But Pretty was not to be dissuaded from
this, nor from any of his other foibles, by ridicule, and the others
finally gave him up in despair.
When he went to Kingston there was a new audience for his devotion to
matters of dress. But at the Academy it was considered a breach of
respect to the upper-classmen for the lower-classmen to carry canes.
Pretty, however, simply sniffed at the tradition, and said it didn't
interest him at all.
Finally a large Senior vowed he would crack the cane in pieces over
Pretty's head, if necessary.
Pretty heard these threats, and was prepared for the man. When the
fatal moment of their meeting arrived, though the Senior was much
bigger than Pretty, the Lakerim youth did not run--at least, he ran
no farther than was necessary to clear a good space for the use of a
little single-stick exercise.
Pretty was no boxer, but he was a firm believer in the value of a good
stout cane. Imagine his humiliation, then, when he found, in the first
place, that the crook of his stick had caught in his coat-pocket and
spoiled one good blow, and, in the second place, that the fine strong
slash he meant to deliver overhead like a broad-sword stroke merely
landed upon the upraised arm of the Senior, and had its whole force
broken. Pretty then had the bitter misery of seeing his good sword
wrenched from his hand and broken across the knee of the Senior, who
very magnificently told him that he must never appear on the campus
again with a walking-stick.
Pretty was overcome with embarrassment at the outcome of his innocent
foppery, and of his short, vain battle, and he was the laughing-stock
of the Seniors for a whole day. But, being of Lakerim mettle and
metal, he did not mean to let one defeat mean a final overthrow. He
told the rest of the Lakerimmers that he would carry a cane anyway,
and carry it anywhere he pleased, and that the next man who attempted
to take it from him would be likely to get "mussed up."
About this time he found a magazine article that told the proper sort
of cane to carry, and the proper way to use it in case of attack; and
he proceeded to read and profit.
Now, inasmuch as Sawed-Off was working his way through the Academy,
and paying his own expenses, without assistance except from what small
earnings he could make himself, it was only natural that he should
always be the one who always had a little money to lend to the other
fellows, though they had their funds from home. It was now Pretty who
came to him for the advance of cash enough to buy a walking-stick of
the following superb description: a thoroughly even, straight-grained
bit of hickory-wood, tapered like a billiard-cue, an inch and a half
thick at the butt and three fourths of an inch thick at the point, the
butt carrying a knob of silver, and the point heavily ferruled.
Pretty had managed to find such a stick in the small stores of
Lakerim. He bought it with Sawed-Off's money, and he practised his
exercises with it so vigorously and so secretly that when he next
appeared upon the campus and carried it, the Senior who had attacked
him before, let him go by without any hindrance. He was fairly
stupefied at the impudence of this Lakerimmer whom he thought he had
thrashed so soundly. He did not know that the main characteristic of
the Lakerimmer is this: he does not know when he is whipped, or, if he
does know it, he will not stay whipped.
But once he had recovered his senses, the haughty Senior did not lose
much time in making another onslaught on Pretty.
When some of his friends were pouring cold water on this Senior's
bruised head a few minutes later, he poured cold water on their scheme
to attempt to carry out what he had failed in, for he said:
"Don't you ever go up against that Lakerim fellow; his cane works like
a Gatling gun."
So Pretty was permitted to carry his cane; and though he swaggered a
little, perhaps, no further attempt was made by the Seniors to take
the stick away from him. They had to content themselves with trying to
throw water on him from upper windows; but their aim was bad.