GERALD REVOLTS
Gerald wasn’t getting on very well with his studies. With English and
Latin he was having little trouble, but French was a stumbling block,
while as to mathematics--well, Gerald and algebra weren’t friends.
And the worst of it was that Kilts, as Mr. McIntyre was called by the
students, had got it into his head that Gerald wasn’t really trying
to get along. This, at first, wasn’t true. But by the middle of
February it must be acknowledged that Gerald had taken such a dislike
to algebra, and Kilts, too, for that matter, that the latter had good
reason for his suspicion. Kilts was a severe disciplinarian, and had
small sympathy for boys who were not willing to work. He could forgive
dullness, was often patience itself with a student who tried to learn
and couldn’t, but he could make life very unpleasant for any member of
his classes who didn’t try. And by the middle of February affairs were
at an acute stage between Kilts and Gerald.
“Tell me, Mr. Pennimore,” he asked one morning with his best sarcasm,
“is there any subject I could substitute for algebra that would
interest you?” As Gerald made no reply--having learned by this time the
wisdom of declining McIntyre’s challenges to debate--but merely sat
with red cheeks, listening to the suppressed giggles of the fellows
around him, Kilts construed the boy’s silence to please himself.
“Ah, there is, then! Now, tell me what it is, sir, and I’ll bring the
matter up in Faculty Meeting, and perhaps we can make the change. Would
it be embroidery--or jack-straws--or puss-in-the-corner? Would it be
any of those, Mr. Pennimore?”
Gerald sat silent with burning cheeks.
“Come, come, Mr. Pennimore! Let us hear it, pray. Don’t be afraid to
speak up. What would it be, now?”
“Manners!” blurted Gerald, trembling with anger. Mr. McIntyre’s
little Scotch eyes blazed and the class sobered instantly. But the
instructor’s voice was surprisingly gentle as he replied:
“Ah, an excellent choice, sir, an excellent choice. I ken ye know your
own requirements, and I’ll see what we can do for ye. (Mr. McIntyre was
liable to fall back into Scotch brogue on occasions, occasions which
the boys who knew him well were prone to dread.) Ay, ay, manners are
what ye need, doubtless.”
Mr. McIntyre smiled gently and took up his book again. Some one
ventured to laugh nervously, but the look which he received killed
his mirth instantly. Proceedings were resumed, and for the rest of
the half-hour Kilts took no notice of Gerald. When class was over
Gerald hurried out of the room and over to Clarke with blazing eyes,
half beside himself with anger. Dan happened to be in the room, and
to him Gerald poured forth his tale. But if he expected sympathy or
indignation, he was doomed to disappointment. Dan heard the story
calmly.
“Well, I guess it’s you for the Office, Gerald,” he said with a frown.
“What made you be such an ass as to say that to Kilts? Don’t you know
he’s got a temper like a ginger-jar?”
Gerald stared in amazement.
“But--but see what he said to me!” he gasped. “Do you think I’m going
to sit quiet and take that, Dan? I guess not! What right had he to
insult me before the whole class? He--he’s nothing but a Scotch beggar,
anyway!”
“He’s one of the best mathematicians in the country,” replied Dan
quietly, “and no matter what else he is, he’s your teacher and you
ought to treat him politely. If he was impolite to you, that’s no
reason for you to answer back, Gerald.”
“Well, I did it!” cried Gerald hotly. “And I’ll do it again if he ever
says things like that to me.”
“Maybe you won’t have a chance,” replied Dan dryly. “You’d better wait
until you’ve seen Collins. You’ve got yourself into a nasty hole,
Gerald, and you might as well realize it. Fellows have been suspended
here for less than what you’ve done.”
“Let them suspend me, then,” said Gerald hotly. “I don’t care what they
do! I’m sick and tired of this place, anyway. Every one’s down on me,
the teachers and every one else! And you don’t care, either. You’re
just like Loring and Dyer and those fellows. I hope they send me home!
I’d rather be there than here!”
“And how about your father?” asked Dan gently. “Think he’d be pleased,
Gerald? Now, look here!” Dan laid a hand kindly on the boy’s shoulder.
“Don’t make any more of a mess of it, Gerald. You were wrong in
answering back, and you must see that. Why, it’s sort of as though you
were in the army, Gerald. Kilts is your superior officer, you see,
and it’s your place to take what he says and keep your mouth closed.
And you know as well as I do that you haven’t been pegging at algebra
lately the way you ought to. You’ve got it into your head that you
can’t do it, and now you don’t try. And Kilts sees that and doesn’t
like it. He’s got a sharp tongue, has Kilts, and I dare say he said
things he shouldn’t have said, but that’s not for you to bother about.
What you want to do is to knuckle down and see that he doesn’t have a
chance to get after you again. I’ll say one thing for Kilts, and that
is, if he sees a fellow is trying to get along he will help him all he
can. I’ve seen that myself, lots of times.”
“He’s a brute,” muttered Gerald rebelliously.
“No, he really isn’t. He’s awfully human, and he’s got a temper. Look
at the way he acted last Fall when Jones painted up the front of Dudley
that time! When Toby came along Kilts was out there with soap and water
trying to wash out the paint so the fellow who did it wouldn’t get
into trouble. He’s hard to get along with, but he’s pretty fair in the
long run. Now, you listen to what Collins has to say, and tell him you
were angry and excited and didn’t mean to insult Kilts. Then you take
your medicine and buckle down and make up your mind to show Kilts that
you are just as smart as any other fellow in your class. Maybe Collins
will let you down easily this time. But you don’t want to talk to him
the way you’ve talked to me, Gerald. That won’t do at all. Let him
understand that you’re sorry and--”
“I’m not sorry,” declared Gerald. “I’m glad.”
“Well, you’ll get over it, then,” said Dan, a trifle impatiently.
“Don’t try to ride the high-horse with Collins, or you’ll be down and
out in no time. I know you have had a rather tough time of it in some
ways since you came, but now, just when things are getting better,
don’t go and spoil it all. Why, you made the hockey team last week, and
you’ve met a lot of fellows who will be nice to you if you’ll let them.
Don’t spoil it all now and disappoint your father, Gerald.”
Gerald made no answer, and after waiting a moment, Dan took up his
books and moved toward the door.
“Well, I must be off,” he said. “See you after dinner, Gerald.”
Gerald nodded sullenly.
But after dinner Gerald was not to be found, and the two didn’t meet
again until just before supper. Dan had been skating on the river,
and was feeling fine until he entered Number 28 and caught sight of
Gerald’s glum face bending over a book.
“Hello,” he said, peeling off his sweater, “where were you at noon?”
“Office,” answered Gerald shortly.
“Who did you see? Collins? What did he say?” asked Dan anxiously.
“Oh, he said a lot,” replied Gerald disgustedly. “Lectured me for half
an hour, I guess.”
“Well? It’s all right, eh? He didn’t punish you?”
“Didn’t he?” asked Gerald bitterly. “He says I’ve got to stay in bounds
for two weeks, and I can’t play on the hockey team.” Dan gave a sigh of
relief.
“Well, that’s good. I was afraid he’d suspend you. But Collins is a
pretty good sort. You got off easy, all right.”
“Easy! I’m glad you think so. I suppose it doesn’t make much difference
to you, though,” said Gerald bitterly. “You’ll have your fun just the
same, you and Loring and Dyer! No one cares how badly I get--get stung!”
“That’s nonsense,” said Dan. “Of course I’m sorry he put you on
probation but it might have been lots worse, Gerald. I was afraid he’d
send you home for a couple of weeks, and that would have been the
dickens!”
“I wish he had sent me home!”
“Don’t be silly,” begged Dan. “Two weeks on probation isn’t much. It’ll
be gone before you know it. And there’ll be plenty of hockey left for
you.”
“Oh, it’s easy enough for you to talk! You haven’t lost your place on
the team!”
“Yes, I suppose that does queer you there,” mused Dan. “Still, you’ve
got three years yet, Gerald, and what does it matter if you don’t make
a dormitory team this year? Just you practice all you can and then,
maybe, next year you can get on the Varsity. And that’s more than I’ve
been able to do!”
“I don’t want to wait until next year,” answered Gerald irritably. “I
want to play now. And I don’t think it’s fair to say I can’t play just
because Kilts insulted me, and I answered back. And what’s more, I
won’t stand it!”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” replied Dan impatiently. “It’s no use
going to Toby; he always stands by Collins.”
“I don’t intend to go to Toby,” replied Gerald.
“That’s right,” said Dan cheerfully. “Buck up and take your medicine.
Have you written your father to-day?”
“No.”
“You’re going to, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” muttered Gerald.
“You’d better. You tell him just how it all happened, and I’ll write a
note, too, and you can put it in your letter. You see, Collins is sure
to write to him and report the matter, and he will think it’s much
worse than it is if you don’t explain. Now, come on and let’s eat.”
At dinner Dan promised Alf to go over to the latter’s room later in the
evening.
“I guess I’ll bring Gerald along, if you don’t mind,” he said. “He’s
feeling rather down in the mouth.”
“Of course, bring him along,” answered Alf.
But when the time came Gerald refused to go.
“I don’t care to go where I’m not wanted,” he declared, and all of
Dan’s persuasion failed to move him. In the end Dan went alone, feeling
rather guilty at leaving Gerald there in the dumps.
Events proved that Dan would have done better to have remained at home
that evening, for Gerald was in a bitter mood. He really believed that
he had been treated unjustly by the Faculty in the persons of Mr.
McIntyre and Mr. Collins, and was jealous of Alf and Tom. It seemed
to him to-night that nothing but trouble had fallen to his lot since
his advent at Yardley. The fellows had shown that he wasn’t wanted,
he had been insulted by Thompson and Mr. McIntyre, and, worst blow
of all, Dan was tired of him and spent more of his time at Number 7
Dudley than he did in his own room. Gerald gloomed for a while, and
then took paper and pen and tried to write his mid-week letter to his
father in England. But the sentences wouldn’t shape themselves, and he
soon gave up the effort. He tried to study, but could make nothing of
that, either. So he started to think things over again, and the more
he thought the worse everything appeared to him, until, at last, with
an exclamation of defiance, he strode to his closet and pulled down
his suit-case from the shelf. For the next ten minutes he was busy
packing such of his things as he could take from his chiffonier without
endangering his secret. His brushes and comb, and things of that sort,
he would have to leave until morning, but it wouldn’t take a moment to
drop them in. His preparations completed, he put the bag back on the
shelf and got ready for bed, cheerful and excited. When Dan returned,
just before ten, Gerald was in bed, and apparently fast asleep.