DAN TELLS SOME WHOLESOME TRUTHS
“How is Humbert Loft getting on with the rest of the boys?” asked
Mr. Holwell, glancing over to where the lad in question was talking
earnestly with Dan, who had changed his mind about going with the
“foraging party,” on account of a bruised heel, caused by a shoe that
chafed him.
Dick shook his head as though he rather despaired of weaning the nephew
of the town librarian from his stilted and unpleasant ways.
“He’s been well drilled at his home, sir, I’m afraid,” he went on to
say, “by that uncle of his who knows about as much about real boys as
he does of Egyptian mummies, and perhaps a good deal less. I’ve talked
with him a number of times, but everything he says is just an echo of
what Mr. Loft has been telling us right along.”
“Then you don’t really believe these lofty ideas are his own, but
acquired from association with older people?” asked the minister,
looking amused, for he personally had no sympathy with the principles
of the pedantic librarian.
“Why, Mr. Holwell, it’s impossible for a boy to think as he claims to
do, unless he was brought up among a lot of stuffy people who filled
him with their ideas. A boy to be natural is just bound to want to read
stories that are full of action. We all think that the writer who can
give us healthy adventure, and perhaps put some good, strong traits
into his characters, is doing us all the good we’ll stand for.”
“My opinion exactly,” said the minister, heartily.
“Still,” went on Dick, “Humbert has waked up some and is taking to the
water and to swimming like a fish; so, you see, there may be hope for
him in other things as well.”
“Let us hope so,” the minister said with a smile.
“I hope you have told Mr. Loft how we boys feel about our reading,
sir,” ventured Dick, boldly.
“Oh! many times when we have been warmly discussing these same
matters,” came the reply. “But it seems as useless as water dropping on
a stone. In the course of ages it may wear the stone away, but neither
of us is likely to live to see the day. Mr. Loft is very bigoted, and
has a false idea concerning boys and what they ought to read.”
“Still, he seems to be more civil to us nowadays,” observed Dick, with
a gleam of amusement in his eye as he spoke.
“H’m! for a very good reason,” laughed Mr. Holwell. “Since you and your
comrades started the Boys’ Library, with a select list of books, all
approved by myself, Mr. Henry Fenwick, and several other gentlemen who
love boys, Mr. Loft has been reading the handwriting on the wall. He
begins to fear that if he keeps on thrusting his classical ideas of
boys’ literature upon the patrons of the town library he may lose his
job. So he believes it good policy to quiet down.”
“Let’s wander over a little closer to where Dan and Humbert are
sitting, sir,” suggested Dick. “I’d just like to hear what they are
saying, because from the way Dan is laying the law down I expect it’s
about books and Mr. Loft’s ideas for boys. Dan, you know, is head and
heels interested in that library of ours; and he fairly despises Mr.
Loft. I’ve heard him call him a ‘human icicle’ many a time.”
“Just as you say, Dick,” consented Mr. Holwell, smiling at the
apt designation given by Dan, for, regardless of the librarian’s
intellectual gifts, it seemed to fit him.
When the two sauntered near the place where the boys were talking, Dan
was getting up as though to leave. He did not notice the presence of
Mr. Holwell, but was shaking his forefinger in Humbert’s face. That
individual looked worried, as though he felt the crushing force of the
arguments Dan had been heaping up before him.
“I tell you, Humbert Loft,” they heard Dan say with emphasis, “boys
can’t be treated as if they were machines. Boys have feelings, and they
know what kind of reading they want every time. Their books have got
to have a certain amount of good, lively, healthy adventure in ’em, or
else nobody’s going to bother spending his time over ’em.”
“But my uncle says----” began Humbert feebly, when Dan interrupted him.
“Oh! what does your uncle know about boys, tell me? I guess when he was
a baby they must have fed him on Latin verbs and Greek nouns. All he
thinks of is stuffing us boys with ‘standard literature,’ as he calls
it, when we’re just shouting for things that appeal to our boy natures.”
“But what he wants boys to read are the books that all cultivated
people consider the finest fruits of human endeavor!” urged Humbert,
desperately.
“Who says they ain’t?” demanded Dan, with a reckless disregard for all
rules of grammar that must have chilled the other boy’s heart. “But
they never were meant for boys’ consumption. When we get older we’ll
gradually drop reading boys’ stories, and some of us may take up the
classics, while others will get out in the busy world and go to work.”
“I don’t know--I’m only telling you what my uncle thinks about it,”
pleaded Humbert, weakly.
“Stop and think for a minute, will you?” continued Dan, still waving
that threatening forefinger back and forth. “If every boy in Cliffwood
were built on the same model as _you_, Humbert Loft, what a terrible
desolation there would be in that poor town. Why, with not a single
boy playing ball, or giving a shout when he felt real good, the people
would think the end of the world had come. Isn’t that so, Humbert?”
Humbert smiled in a sickly fashion.
“Why, I guess it would seem pretty queer,” he admitted, slowly.
“And another thing, Humbert,” finished Dan as a clincher, “since you’ve
been up here with us I’ve noticed that you begin to show some interest
in our doings. I really believe you’re beginning to find your real
self, and that when we go back to Cliffwood you’ll be a different sort
of fellow. Think it over, won’t you, and just join in with the rest of
us in our fun? Forget your uncle, and remember that you’re a living,
breathing boy, not a mummified classic.”
With that Dan tore away to do something he had in mind. Mr. Holwell
touched Dick on the arm, and the two of them retreated without
Humbert’s being aware that his heart-to-heart talk with Dan had been
overheard.
“See him shaking his head, and then smiling, sir,” said Dick, with
considerable interest. “I really do believe those sledge-hammer blows
Dan gave him have made an impression on Humbert. Given a week or ten
days up here, and he may throw off the heavy load he’s been carrying so
long, and act like a regular boy for once.”
“We’ll hope so, Dick,” returned Mr. Holwell. “But while Humbert is
growing less pedantic and dropping some of his foolish pose, I trust
the rest of you will pick up a genuine love of books. The love of good
books is always a joy and sometimes a solace when other things fail
one.”
The morning passed away, and those in the camp found many things to do
under the supervision of Mr. Bartlett and the athletic instructor.
It must have been all of half-past eleven when Dick heard the sound of
hasty footsteps in the woods near by. Then several figures burst into
sight, hurrying toward the camp, and making extravagant gestures as
they stumbled along. At the same time they cast frightened looks over
their shoulders, and Dick heard Nat Silmore cry:
“This here island’s no place for our camp, fellers. There’s a terrible
wild man loose on the same, and he roared at us something fierce. We’d
better get away from here while the going’s good, I tell you! Wow! I’m
nearly all in.”