FORCED OUT
“This warrants serious discipline.”
Dr. Livingston’s words, with their uncomfortable portent kept racing
through Jeff Thatcher’s mind as he sat in his room in Carter Hall. He
knew all that this would mean to him. Not that, ordinarily, he was
afraid to face whatever punishment was due him, but in this case he
realized it would be far more serious to him than it would to almost
any other boy in school. And the unpleasant part of it was that
although Gould would receive the same disciplining, he would not suffer
half as much as Thatcher would. Disciplining to the Sophomore, and to
Pell for that matter, for he would unquestionably be implicated, would
mean nothing more than so much punishment to be endured until they had
paid the penalty, then they would be free to go on in their usual happy
routine at school.
But for Thatcher it meant a great deal more. It meant disaster. It
meant the sacrificing of an opportunity to play baseball on the best
school team in the state; it meant that he would have to forego the
happiness of school life, and most of all, it meant sacrificing his
opportunities for an education. Thatcher realized that all this was
in the balance and there is little wonder that he regretted his rash
actions in getting into a fight with Gould on the school ground. It
would have been far better if he had passed on, or if it had to be
a fight, he should have refused to fight except out of bounds where
school laws did not reach; across the bridge over Wading River, or on
the other side of the town.
“What a fool I was,” he muttered as he sat on the edge of his bed, his
elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands.
Footsteps sounded in the hall outside his door, and presently it was
pushed open, then shut with a bang.
Thatcher raised his head just long enough to see that it was Wade
Grenville, his roommate, who had entered.
“Hello, Wade,” he mumbled, scarcely rousing himself from his
disconsolate attitude.
“’Lo, Jeff. For the love of Pete, what’s the matter with you? Still
feeling sore over Gould’s dirty trick? Cut it, Jeff, cut it. Don’t take
it so blamed hard. The rest of the fellows have forgotten it already;
passed it up as a mucker’s trick and figure to get square on Gould and
the Sophs some other time. That’s the way you want to take it. Buck
up,” and he flung his cap on his own bed across the room and went over
and clapped his hands affectionately on Jeff’s shoulder.
Jeff looked up and smiled ruefully.
“I’m square, I guess, or nearly so, but――”
“What? Say, Jeff, what’s that cut on your cheek? and――and――say, by
jingoes, you’ve been fighting. Jiminy, was it with Gould? Did you lick
him? Good stuff, old Kid, only why didn’t you tip a fellow off. I’d
like to have seen you clout him one just for luck and the rest of the
fellows would have enjoyed it too. Where did you pull it off?”
“Why――why――it wasn’t prearranged. It just happened. We ran into each
other out back of the gym. and had it out and――and――well, we got
caught.”
“Great cats, you don’t say!”
“Yes. It’s true. Wish it wasn’t.”
“Jiminy. Who caught you?” Wade looked at Jeff admiringly as he asked
the question.
“The old man himself, of course. Who should it be but Dr. Livingston,”
Jeff replied bitterly.
“Jingoes, that’s rough, Jeff.”
“Worse than that.”
“Aw, never mind. You’ll be out of trouble by baseball time, though.
Buck up.”
“Out of trouble by baseball time? Yes, I guess I will. And out of
Pennington, too.”
“Aw, he won’t fire you out. He’s not a stickler like that. He’d only
take away your special privileges and――Jiminy, you’ll lose your table
job, won’t you?” Wade began to look concerned.
“Yes, and my newspaper and magazine privilege, and my laundry business
and that will be the finish.”
“Finish?”
“Yes, finish.”
“Why, what do you mean, Jeff?”
“Hang it, man, don’t you see, if I lose all my special privileges I
won’t be able to stay in school. Those jobs pay my way here. I haven’t
a cent otherwise and if they are taken away from me I’ll have to quit
school and go to work. I haven’t a cent coming in from home――haven’t
any home, really. I lived with my uncle, you know, and he can’t
contribute anything. I’ve been hustling for my own living ever since
Dad died, and that’s three years ago. So you see, if I lose my jobs
here, I’m a goner. I’ll have to leave school and go to work to support
myself.”
“Jingoes, that’s tough, Jeff. But maybe Dr. Livingston will take all
those things into consideration and――and――”
“’Fraid not, Wade. You know what a stickler he is for rules and
obedience. Fighting on the school grounds is a serious offense, as he
said, and the penalty is only one thing,――all special privileges are
withdrawn and the unfortunate chap has to spend two weeks in bounds.
Of course it doesn’t make a bit of difference with Gould or Pell, they
both have rich fathers to foot their bills――Gould has, at least――and
they have been too lazy to work up jobs the way I’ve had to. The only
special privileges that will be taken away from them will be the
privilege of leaving the school grounds, going to the basketball games
and attending whatever ‘spreads’ and ‘hops’ that might take place in
the next couple of weeks. The worst privation they’ll suffer is that
of going without their cigarettes; they won’t be able to go across
the bridge to steal a smoke. At that they’ll probably take a chance
and sneak their smokes in their rooms. Wish that was all I’d have to
suffer, believe me, smokes don’t mean a single thing to me, but leaving
Pennington means the whole world, right now. Gee, it’s going to be
tough.” And Jeff slumped back into the attitude of dejection that Wade
had seen him in when he entered the room.
Wade sat down on his bed, too, and was glumly silent for a long time.
He knew that Jeff had spoken the truth. There was small hope that Dr.
Livingston would waive rules even in the case of Jeff Thatcher, and
Wade thought of all that Jeff’s going would mean to him. They had been
roommates and pals for months now; since the beginning of the school
term in September. It was going to be a hard ordeal to part with
Jeff,――life at Pennington was not going to be the same for him; at
least that was how he felt at the moment.
“Jiminy, it’s going to be rough on the both of us, Jeff,” he said
finally, “but it’s going to be especially tough for you.”
“Well,” said Jeff with a forced smile, “the worst is yet to come. Come
on to bed. I don’t much feel like trying to digest Cæsar and his Gaelic
Wars to-night, and anyhow I guess it won’t make much difference whether
I’m prepared in Latin to-morrow or not. Come on, turn in.”