CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
IV—[Sharp Axes and Sharper Wits]
V—[Experiments in Gravitation]
XII—[Sweet Solace]
XIII—[The Boy Who Was Not Afraid]
CHAPTER I.
A NAUTICAL EXPEDITION.
"You're the worst boy in town!"
The speaker was Farmer Parkins, and the person addressed was Jack Wittingham, only son of the most successful physician in Doveton. Farmer Parkins had driven to town quite early in the morning to make some necessary purchases, and he had been followed by his faithful yellow dog, Sam, who had been improving the opportunity to make some personal calls and tours of observation. One of these last-named recreations carried him near the back door of a butcher shop to which Jack had gone to deliver an order for his mother. Adjacent to the butcher's place of business was the shop of the village tinman, and behind this were strewn sundry kitchen utensils which had proved to be too badly damaged to be mended. Jack had noticed the dog when that animal first put in his appearance in search of a scrap of meat or bone, and had thereafter observed his motions with that peculiar interest which dogs seem always to inspire in boys. Then he happened to see a very dilapidated tea-kettle behind the tin-shop, and when dogs and tea-kettles become closely associated in the mind of a boy, even if the boy himself be of excellent birth and breeding, and quite tender-hearted beside, the juvenile traditions of many generations have generally the effect of causing the dog and the kettle to enter into an entangling alliance which the animal regards with accumulative aversion, and about which the tea-kettle, whose expressions are ordinarily so cheery, indulges in much unrythmical noise. Into such a combination were Farmer Parkins' yellow dog Sam and an old kettle forced very soon after Jack first beheld them both, and as yellow Sam hurried down street in an honest attempt to rid himself of his superfluous tin-ware, and as Jack followed him to note the results, with a view to the more accurate affixing of tin kettles to the tails of the dogs of the future, yellow Sam dropped exhausted in front of his master's horses, and the dog's master came out of a store near by, just as Jack, with a fragment of barrel-hoop, was trying to stimulate the animal to renewed exertion. It was then that the farmer remarked, with admirable vigor,
"You're the worst boy in town!"
Jack had heard this very expression so many times before that he was half inclined to believe it true, yet how it could be a fact was a something that bothered him greatly. He laughed when Farmer Parkins said it, and he replied also, by several facial contortions, which were as irritating as they were hideous; he stuck his hands into his pockets, and bravely tried an ingratiating smile or two upon such passers by as had overheard the farmer's remark, but as soon as he had reached an alley down which to disappear, Jack suddenly became a very chop-fallen, unhappy looking boy, and he murmured to himself,
"That's what everyone says. I don't see why. I don't swear, like Jimmy Myers, nor steal, like Frank Balder, I don't tell lies—except when I have to, and I go to Sunday-school every Sunday, while there are lots of boys in town who spend the whole of that day in fishing. I didn't mean to hurt old Parkin's yellow dog; I only wanted to see what he'd do. And just didn't he travel?—oh, oh! But I don't see why I'm the worst boy in town. I declare. If it isn't just the morning to go fishing—warm, cloudy, worms easy to get. I wish't was Saturday, so there wouldn't be any school, and I wish school teachers knew what fun it is to go fishing; then they'd be easier on a fellow who played hookey, and they'd ask him where he caught them, and how many, and how big they were, instead of picking up their everlasting switches and making themselves disagreeable. Perch would bite splendidly to-day, and there are people in this town who'd be glad to have a good mess of perch. I declare! I've just the idea; school or no school, whipping or no whipping, it ought to be done. I'll go right away and see if Matt can't go with me."
Jack moved rapidly through streets which crossed the main thoroughfare of the town; then he approached a wood-pile where a boy of about his own age was at work; before this boy's eyes Jack dangled two new fish-lines and some hooks, and exclaimed—
"Come along, Matt!"
"I can't," said Matt, gazing hungrily at the new fishing tackle, "the governor wouldn't like it at all."
"Oh, never mind the governor," said Jack, "I'll explain things to him when we get back."
Matt seemed to be in some doubt as to whether the influence of his tempter with the governor amounted to much, for the functionary alluded to was master Matt Bolton's own father, a gentleman who held quite firmly to the general opinion about Jack. Besides, Matt was vigorously attacking the family wood-pile, his honest heart alive with a sense of the need there was for him to do all in his power to relieve his overworked father, and alive, too, with the conviction that he would have to work industriously if he would chop and split a day's supply before school-time. Besides, a fishing excursion implied truancy, which, in turn, implied the certainty of a whipping in school and the probability of punishment at home.
"Father would be very angry," said Matt, as he sighingly withdrew his eyes from the new fishing tackle, "and he has already enough to bother him, without having things made worse by me."
"But Matt, he won't feel bad when he knows what you did with the fish. We'll give them to widow Batty. (This resolution of Jack's was newer even than his tackle, for he had formed it while he talked). "She's been sick, you know, and I heard your father say the other day that she must have a hard enough time, at best, to feed that large family of her's."
"But suppose we don't catch any?" suggested Matt.
"Then you can tell him what we meant to have done if we had caught some. Besides, we can't help catching a lot at such a splendid fish-hole as the mill-dam. I think it's awful that a whole family should go hungry just because it hasn't got any father. Didn't your governor ever read you out of the Bible of visiting the fatherless and widows in their affliction?—mine has."
Boys are no more likely than adults to resist Satan when he appears as an angel of light, so Matt speedily agreed to go as soon as he had prepared a day's supply of firewood.
"Got another axe, and I'll help you," said Jack, and within five minutes those two boys were making chips fly at a rate which would have been the wonder of a hired wood-chopper, while Matt's mother, who happened to glance through a window wondered why Jack's father could accuse that boy of laziness. Then both boys carried the wood to the kitchen door, unearthed some worms between sundry logs at the wood-pile, and disappeared as stealthily as if in their benevolent project they were animated by the scriptural injunction, to not let the left hand know what the right hand was doing.
Reaching the brow of a little hill upon which the village was situated, Jack exclaimed—
"I vow, if the river hasn't overflowed its banks."
"Umph," replied Matt, "I knew that a week ago."
"Well," said Jack, "so did I, but I forgot it. We can get to the dam easily enough, though; it's only half a mile across the lowlands to the river, and there are fences all the way. Riding rail fences is bully fun. Wait till I get my rod; I've got two and I'll lend you one."
Jack extracted two bamboo rods from the blackberry thicket where he habitually kept them, lest they should occasion unpleasant questions, as they certainly would have done had his frequent expeditions with them begun at the house of his excellent father. Then both boys mounted the fence, which was of rails, and their trip to the dam was fairly begun.
Now to travel by fence-rail is a delightful method of passing time, as all liberally educated boys know, if one is bound for no where in particular, but when one is two, and both are boys, and are in quest of fish, and the middle of the day is approaching, in which fish do not bite, half a mile of rail fencing is a trip which consumes patience with great rapidity. Had the adventurers been other than boys, they would have turned back at once, but when a boy gets a project clearly into his head he never gives any one an excuse to say that the mule is the most obstinate of all living animals. Jack soon grew impatient of his slow progress, and conceived a brilliant idea. Raising himself to his feet on a rail of reasonable flatness (for a fence rail) he steadied himself with his rod, and accomplished with safety and celerity the trip to the angle where the rail terminated.
"Hurrah, Matt!" he shouted, "look here!" and he walked along another rail.
Matt saw and was glad, and following Jack's example, he made some excellent time himself.
"We'd never have learned that trick if it hadn't been for the overflow. How glad I am that I came, and—Ow!" Jack's abrupt termination was due to his own course having temporarily terminated, for the third rail upon which he ventured, not having been designed for the particular object which Jack had in view, had been split triangularly, and one of Jack's shoes had slipped to one side, the other slipping in an opposite direction, and the young man came down astride the unyielding oak with a thud whose sound was something inaudible when considered in the light of the anguish which it caused. No new word presented itself for use just then; Jack continued to remark "Ow," with a variety of long-drawn inflections, while Matt precipitately lowered himself to a position of safety, and manifested no inclination to go farther. After some moments devoted strictly to facial contortion, Jack succeeded in changing his position so that both legs hung upon the same side of the fence, then he examined the rail closely, as if to see if the tip of his spine had not driven a hole through it, and remarked,
"We'd better do this in our stockinged feet."
Matt thought so too, so both boys removed their shoes, tying them together with the strings upon which the fish were to be strung, and slinging them across their shoulders. Their progress thereafter was considerably more rapid, but a sudden shriek and a splash of voluminous sound and displacement announced that Matt had fallen entirely from his rail, and when Jack came to view the scene, Matt was swelling the flood with his own tears.
"I declare," exclaimed Jack, "that's too bad, old fellow! And you had the worms in your pocket, too—I hope the water hasn't got into the box and drowned them so they can't wiggle when they're on the hooks. Say, its warm; your clothes will dry on you, before we reach the dam. Oh, I'll tell you what,—we'll take them off and wring them out, and go swimming at the same time."
At the prospect of an unlooked for sport, Matt dried his tears, and a broad flat rail having been found the boys disrobed and took whatever comfort could be found in water eighteen inches deep with a field of corn stubble at the bottom of it. Matt's clothes seemed rather clammy as he again resumed his normal position inside them, but Jack described so delightfully the assortment of fish which he wished to catch, that damp clothing became a mere thing of the forgotten past. Started again, Jack moved rapidly for some moments, but suddenly stopped and shouted,
"Hurry up, Matt; here's the splendidest thing that ever was!"
Matt obeyed orders, and while yet twenty rail lengths behind he heard Jack shout,
"Here's a bridge that floated away from one of the little brooks; we'll just make a raft of it and reach the dam in less than no time."
Matt eyed the bridge with manifest favor; it was simply two logs,—mud sills—connected by three cross-ties, upon which the planking was laid.
"Won't the current trouble us when we reach the river road?" he asked.
"We won't go that way," said Jack. "We'll go through the fields and then along a wood road that goes through the timber. It's half a mile the shorter way, besides being the safer. Come ahead; we'll use our rods for poles to push the raft with."
"Then we've got to knock down fences," said Matt.
"Well," said Jack, who had a conscience in hiding somewhere about him, "we'll come back in a few days, when the flood has gone down, and put them up again. And we'll play the raft is a ram—a regular Merrimac, you know,—and the fences are an enemy's fleet, or a chain stretched across the river. Let's back out and get a good start."
The bridge, which did not draw a foot of water, was backed across the road, one boy stood at each side, and at a signal from Jack it was driven against the fence, through which it crashed most gloriously, sprinkling a dozen fence-rails about the surface of the water.
"Hooray!" shouted Jack, "now for the next one! The Union forever!" and then Jack, while en route for the next fence, finding himself unequal to the task of extemporizing a stirring address to his command, began to quote from "Rolla's Address to the Peruvians," which was considered the gem of that much used book, "The Comprehensive School Speaker"—"My brave associates, partners of my toils, my feelings and my fame, can Rolla's words add fresh vigor to the——"
Just then the raft struck the fence, but this latter being of the "staked and ridered"[[1]] pattern, the result was that the raft came to a sudden standstill, and the crew were thrown flat upon it, their respective heads hanging somewhat astern and in danger of being water-soaked.
[1]. A rail fence across the angles of which two rails meet in X shape, their lowest ends driven into the grounds a little way and a rail lying in the upper angle of the X.
"Blazes!" exclaimed Jack wrathfully, as he endeavored to staunch a bleeding nose, "what did a man need to have a staked and ridered fence just here for? Well, we'll have to push down a couple of stakes and break our way through."
The commanding officer's plan was speedily acted upon, and the raft went on swimmingly until it seemed to slide upon some obstruction, then it came to a dead stop.
"Grounded on an old corn hill, I suppose," said Jack. "Well, 'starn all,' as old Barnstable says in the Fourth Reader."
But no amount of pushing availed to move the raft, and the sudden breaking of Jack's rod gave affairs a new and discouraging aspect.
"We can't both fish with one rod," said Jack, after descending into and emerging from the depths of his mind. "I'll tell you what let's do, we'll take off our clothes, make them into a bundle, and carry them ashore on our heads, as explorers sometimes do when they ford rivers."
"What!" asked Matt, "and not get any fish for poor Mrs. Batty and her children?"
"That is a pity," said Jack, with some signs of embarrassment, and the gathering together of the loose and fleeting ends of previous plans and resolutions. "But, you see, it must be nearly eleven o'clock; we've used up an awful lot of time, and we've got to get ashore yet, and be back home by the time school is out, else the folks'll know we've been playing hookey. I wonder if we couldn't get the poor old woman some blackberries? It's only June now, though, and I never saw a ripe blackberry before the first of July. Perhaps there's some early cherries in Milman's orchard."
With this slight salve for the consciences whose wounds had begun to smart, the boys stripped once more, waded ashore through a corn-field in which the hills of sharp cut stalks seemed omnipresent, dressed themselves, and sneaked into the Milman orchard, where they made wry faces while discussing the probable value to the widow Battay of the few pale pink cherries they found. Dinner was reached and, eaten, somehow with less appetites than was usual after a morning spent in school, and then the boys, each by himself, made hasty search for whatever suitable material might be soonest found to insert between shirts and jackets, to break the force of what, in the memory of many old fellows who once were school-boys, was the inevitable penalty of truancy.
CHAPTER II.
A CORNER IN WHISKEY.
"You're the worst boy in town!"
For several days after their unsuccessful fishing expedition, Jack and Matt were extremely obedient and undemonstrative. Village school teachers, in that country, were not unfrequently the stout-armed sons of farmers, and when they plied the rod, any memory of the occasion was not likely soon to become dimmed. It was perhaps for this reason that even when Matt or Jack amused himself by whistling, the airs selected were sure to have been written on minor keys, and that both boys sought earnestly, each by himself, for some method of setting some positive moral success against their late failure at benevolence.
The opportunity did not linger long. Matt was sitting in the house one evening, wondering whether to go to bed at once, or wrestle again with an exasperating problem in cube root, the answer to which, as printed in the book, he felt thrice assured was wrong, when a long whistle of peculiar volume and inflection informed him that Jack was outside and had something to communicate. Matt sprang to his feet, for only a matter of extreme importance would have brought Jack across town at so late an hour. The worst boy in town was found by Matt to be hanging across the garden gate and so powerfully charged with virtuous indignation that he was unable to contain it all.
"Look here, Matt," said he, "you know what an awful thing whiskey is, don't you?"
"I should think I did," replied Matt, "Havn't I been to every temperance meeting that's been held?"
"So you have," said Jack, "Well what do you think? There's Hoccamine, the corner storekeeper, gone and bought seven barrels."
"Isn't that dreadful!" exclaimed Matt. "If he starts a rum-shop here, it'll spoil the custom of his store."
"He isn't going to have a bar," explained Jack, "he's going to sell by the gallon. But what's the difference?—rum is rum, and it does harm, no matter in what way it is sold."
"It's perfectly awful," said Matt.
"All right," said Jack, "Now I'll tell you what I propose. It wasn't brought up to the store until after dark—I suppose they were ashamed—and it is on the sidewalk beside their store, to be put down cellar as soon as the clerks come in the morning." Then Jack put his lips down to Matt's ear, and whispered, "Let's spill it for them?"
"Gracious!" whispered Matt, "how can we?"
"Easily enough," said Jack. "We'll bore a gimlet hole in each barrel, and it'll have all night to run. I've got a gimlet. You slip out of the house about twelve o'clock, and so will I; we'll meet at the church steps, and then unchain the demon only to destroy him forever." (Jack's last clause was quoted verbatim from a temperance address to which he had lately listened.)
"I'm your man," said Matt.
"I knew you would be," Jack replied; "I could have done it alone, but I was sure you'd enjoy helping, and I'm not the sort of fellow that goes back on a friend, you know. Twelve o'clock sure,—does your clock strike the hours?"
"Yes."
"So does ours. Can you keep awake until then? If you can't I'll give you half of my cloves to eat. I've saved them the past few Sunday nights when I havn't been sleepy in church."
Matt accepted the proffered assistance, and Jack departed, while Matt went into the house and to bed with the firm conviction that he was too excited to sleep any for a week to come. It was nine when he retired, and at the stroke of ten he had not had occasion to touch the cloves except to nibble the blossom end from one, just to have a pleasant taste in his mouth. It was many hours, apparently before the clock struck eleven; had it not been for the loud persistent ticking Matt would have believed the old timepiece had stopped. As it was, he had fully made up his mind that the striking weight had not been wound, when suddenly the hammer rattled off eleven. Between eleven and twelve, Matt ate all the cloves, pinched himself nearly black and blue, pulled his hair, rubbed his ears, and did everything else he had ever heard of as an antidote to sleepiness. Finally he dressed himself and descended, intending to be at the front door when the clock should strike. As he stepped from the last stair his foot fell upon the family cat, who habitually reposed upon a rug lying just there, and the cry which that cat uttered was more appalling to Matt than the roar of a royal Bengal tiger would have been. Matt's parents, however, had clear consciences, so the agonized scream did not seem to awaken them. Then Matt's heart beat so violently that he began to wonder why the sound of its throbs did not shake the house. He tiptoed to the door, but his shoes squeaked, and though he experimented, by setting down his feet, heel first, by walking on the outer edge of his shoes, and then upon the inner, the squeak continued. Then he sat upon the floor and removed his shoes, when, to his great relief, the clock struck twelve. Why that clock did not rouse him with its clamor every night and every time it struck was a great mystery to him as he softly opened the door, closed it, sped away in his stockinged feet, and determined to smuggle a bit of soap out of the house and settle with those stockings before they went to the family washtub.
Reaching the church, Matt was sure he saw a shadow hold up a gaunt forefinger by way of warning, but this speedily resolved itself into Jack, who was elevating the gimlet, and who approached and whispered—
"In hoc signo vinces," as old Constantine says in the "Universal School History."
Both boys hugged every fence and wall until they reached the offending barrels; then Matt's heart began pumping again, receiving some sympathy from that of Jack. The last-named youth suddenly whispered,
"Want to strike the first blow?"
"I guess not," said Matt, flattening himself as closely as possible against the wall of the store. "You thought of it first."
Jack knelt before one of the barrels, bored a hole as low as possible, and a small stream of liquid and a strong smell of whiskey appeared instantly and at the same time. Then another hole was bored at the top, to admit air, and the industry of the stream increased suddenly, as Jack learned by a jet which struck his own trowsers and made itself felt on the skin beneath. Matt operated upon the second barrel, Jack unlocked the demon in the third, and so the boys proceeded alternately, until while over the sixth barrel Matt's enthusiasm interfered with his steadiness of hand and he broke the gimlet.
"That's too bad," whispered Jack. "I guess we'd better leave, but old Hoccamine won't find five empty barrels a very small hint to stop outraging the sentiments of the inhabitants of this town."
Both boys made haste to depart, wasting no time in formal adieux. As soon as they had reached the church and cemetery, in neither of which they feared listeners, Jack exclaimed in a low tone
"This is a proud day for Doveton, Matt; can't you make some excuse to come up town in the morning to hear Hoccamine swear when he learns about it?"
"I'll ask mother if she doesn't need something from some store," said Matt; "good night."
The boys went their separate ways, each unconsciously carrying the smell of whiskey in the shoe soles which had several times been wet with it, as they moved about the sidewalk, so when Mr. and Mrs. Bolton awoke in the morning, it was not strange that the lady exclaimed—
"Where can that strong smell of whiskey come from? I didn't know there was a drop in the house."
"Nor I," said Mr. Bolton. The odor could not be attributed to the servant, for she lived elsewhere, and had not yet come to her daily labor. Mrs. Bolton was not superior to the ordinary human interest in mystery, so she continued,
"Where can it be? Oh, husband, it can't be that Matt, our only darling boy, is getting into bad ways?"
Mr. Bolton sprang from his bed and hurried to Matt's room; there were too many other fourteen-year old boys in Doveton who had already trifled with liquor, and Matt's father had at once become suspicious. But he returned in a moment saying,
"Thank God, it isn't that; the blessed scamp's breath is as sweet as it was when he was a baby. But what can it be?"
Mr. Bolton quickly dressed himself and went through the house, but soon hurried back exclaiming—
"Thieves! The front door is ajar."
Both householders took part in a hasty search, but Mrs. Bolton found her silver spoons safe though they had been in plain view in a dining-room closet. Mr. Bolton found no clothing missing, nor could the subsequent search prove that anything whatever had been taken.
"I have it!" exclaimed Mrs. Bolton suddenly. "I heard the cat scream terribly in the night. It is plain that the rascal stepped upon her, and then ran away, supposing her noise would arouse the house. What a narrow escape!"
Matt slept throughout the excitement like one who has a conscience which was not only void of offense, but had the additional peace which comes of virtuous deeds successfully accomplished. It was only after considerable effort, indeed, that he could be roused at breakfast time. As for Jack, he was up long before the lark, and on his way to the market (which was opposite Hoccamine's store) to purchase some scraps of meat for a mythical dog. He meekly stood outside with his package, for what seemed to him centuries, awaiting the opening of Hoccamine's store. Then he hurried home, ate the merest excuse for a breakfast, and cooled his heels at Matt's wood-pile for at least an hour, and when his companion finally appeared, yawning profoundly, Jack shouted—
"Oh, Matt, 'twas worth a million dollars. Hurry up, can't you?"
Matt quickly roused himself to consciousness that life was real, life was earnest, and joined Jack, who exclaimed—
"Fun? why there was oceans of it, with hundreds of lakes and ponds thrown in. First there came along old Burt, on his way to market, and as soon as he saw the stuff in little puddles by the curbstone, and smelt what it was, he just lay down on his stomach and began to drink. He signed the pledge at the last temperance meeting, too; isn't it awful? Then Captain Sands came along, and stopped to look, and so did Squire Jones and Joe, the barber, and everybody that came to market saw the crowd and went over, so I thought 'twas safe to go over myself. All of a sudden over came Hoccamine, who had been to market, and then—well, you never heard such swearing at a fight. He declared that somebody had been stealing it, and Squire Jones told him it was a righteous judgment on him, and then Hoccamine swore some more and called the Squire names, and the Squire said he'd never buy another penny's worth from a man who had abused him in that way, and Hoccamine told him to take his infernal pennies and buy of—of the old fellow down below, you know, if he chose. Then Hoccamine opened the store and got out some pails and scoop-shovels, and tried to save some of the liquor out of the gutter. Oh, it was just glorious." And Jack, unable to express his feelings in any other way, danced about madly and jumped over several logs of wood.
Then Matt, who has listened with considerable interest, yet with a pre-occupied air, told the story of the attempted burglary, but explained away the supposition that the thief was scared off by the cat.
"That shows," said Jack, briskly, "how necessary the work was that we did last night. Whiskey made that thief, you see—I shouldn't wonder if what you were about at the same time had something to do with his being influenced to go away. Don't you know how these things happen in books sometimes? I once read—"
Jack suddenly ceased talking, but burst out laughing, and finally dropped upon the chips and rolled about in a perfect convulsion of laughter, while Matt looked on in mute astonishment.
"Oh, Matt," he exclaimed finally, "don't you understand? That smell of whiskey was on you somewhere—I smell it now. And you were so excited when you went in, that you forgot to latch the door—I've done the same thing, once or twice. Oh, oh, oh, that's too rich. I'll die if I can't tell somebody."
Matt immediately swore his companion to strict secresy, but later in the day, which happened to be Saturday, he became so uncomfortable at hearing his father discuss the attempted burglary with everyone who entered the store that he confessed the whole affair to Mr. Bolton. That gentleman made a valiant effort at reproof, but he did not love Hoccamine more than business rivals usually love each other, and he was an earnest advocate of total abstinence, so he made some excuse to get at his account books, and for the remainder of the day he was subject to violent fits of laughter whenever he was not trying to truthfully modify his story of the burglary to the many acquaintances who came in to enquire about it.
CHAPTER III.
INJURY AND RESTITUTION.
Dr. Wittingham, whose only son Jack was, sat in his office one morning compounding a complicated and consequently a favorite prescription of his own, and at the same time pondering upon the equally complicated character of his boy. The doctor had been a boy himself, a third of a century before, and an extremely lively one, if the traditions of his native village had been correctly handed down, but a man's memory is not in the habit of going backward half a lifetime, unless in search of old sweethearts, so the doctor owned to himself that Jack was without exception the most mischievous boy he had ever known or heard of.
"It passes all explanation, too," said the doctor, sitting down and watching his prescription as it filtered slowly into a glass beneath it. "I'm a man of good behavior if ever there was one, his mother was a lady born and bred, he knows the Bible better than our minister does, and there's nothing good but what the boy seems to take a lively interest in. I was going to write a book upon heredity, basing it upon the development of that boy's character as inherited from his parents and modified by such teachings as I have imparted, to improve the original stock. But bless me! I'm sometimes unable to find the original stock at all, and as for the improvements I intend to make in it, well, they're as invisible as the ailments of some of my rich patients. Whatever I say to him seems to filter through him more rapidly than that mixture is doing through the paper, and leaves not even a sediment behind, while whatever he shouldn't hear seems to stick to him like an adhesive plaster. Before he goes to school, he recites his lessons to me in the most perfect manner; when he comes home he brings a written complaint from the teacher, who has found him outrageously mischievous all day long; and when his mother takes any of his torn jackets and trowsers in hand, she is certain to find two or three more documents of the same kind which Jack has kindly forgotten to deliver, perhaps out of regard for my feelings. He will chop wood all day Saturday for the Widow Batty or some other needy person, until I determine he's growing to be too good to live; then my own dinner comes up underdone because he hasn't considered that wood-chopping, like charity, should begin at home. I've heard no complaints of him for nearly a week; there must be a terrible shower of them brewing somewhere."
There was a knock at the door, and the town supervisor of roads entered.
"Ah, good morning," said the doctor, briskly. "Who's under the weather now?"
"Wa'al," drawled the supervisor, "nobody, I reckon 'less its you. Here's a little bill I'm sorry to have to bring to you, but its had to be done."
The doctor took the paper from the Supervisor's hand and read as follows:
"Dr. Andrew Wittingham to town of Doveton, Dr. One-half cost of replacing Second Brook Bridge, $11.62."
"What on earth does this mean?" exclaimed the doctor after reading the bill several times.
"Bolton has paid the other half," said the supervisor; "its for that bridge that Jack and Matt hooked, you know, and left in the middle of Prewitt's corn field half a mile from where it belonged."
"Hooked a bridge?" exclaimed the doctor, "I don't understand. Jack never said anything to me about it."
"Didn't he?" asked the supervisor with an ironical grin. "Wa'al, like enough he didn't; 'twas during the June freshet, you know, an' the boys found it loose, an' went raftin' around on it. Like enough they'd have fetched it back, but they rammed it through one fence after another, an' at last they got it aground. We tried to get it under a log wagon an' haul it back, but 'twas no go, an' we havn't put the hire of the wagon into the bill, for the man wasn't to charge anything if he didn't get it through. Shouldn't wonder, though, if Prewitt brought in a bill for damages, he says it'll do him out of twenty hills of corn, besides being a nuisance to plough around. An' he and the next man are out about a dozen fence rails each."
The doctor recognized the inevitable, yet remarked that the price seemed a large one for a bridge in a country where lumber was so cheap.
"Just what it cost," remarked the supervisor, "the whole thing came to $23.25, an' in dividin' I threw the odd cent on to Bolton, for I think the medical profession ought to be encouraged."
The doctor paid the bill, and bade his visitor a rather curt good morning. Then he went to the door and shouted "Jack!" in tones which would have been heard by the young man if he had been at school, which he was not.
"Jack," said the doctor, sternly, when the youth appeared, "I've just had to pay for a bridge which you stole in June."
"I didn't," promptly answered the boy.
"It amounted to the same thing, in dollars and cents, as stealing," said the doctor. "How many hours of fun did you have that day?"
Jack thought profoundly for a minute or two, and replied, meekly,
"About two, I suppose."
"And to pay for those I have had to lose the receipts of about a day of hard, disgusting work. Do you consider that the fair thing, for one who is doing everything he can for your good?"
"No, sir," replied Jack, honestly contrite in the presence of this new view of the case.
"Then why did you do it?"
"Because."
"Because what?"
"Because."
"Because you're an ungrateful scamp, and don't care for anything but your own pleasure."
"Yes I do, father," said Jack, beginning to cry, "I"——
"Don't make excuses, sir," interrupted the doctor; "you shall do extra work, at whatever a laborer would be paid, to make up the cost of that bridge, and do it on your holidays and Saturdays, too. Now I want you to go and burn that old bridge, or I'll have to pay for the annoyance it will give Prewitt."
Jack lingered for a moment, as bad boys often do on such occasions, longing to say something which he could not put into words, and to hear some recognition of what he felt was good within him. Had the doctor used a mere tithe of the patience and love that Heaven had been compelled to display in reforming him, he might have attached Jack to him by that love which is the best of all educators in things wise and thoughtful. But the doctor, like the boy, lived first, though unconsciously, for himself, and so with an impatient gesture he drove Jack from the door. The boy filled a pocket with matches and lounged off, muttering to himself,
"It'll be bully fun to burn the old bridge, anyhow, I shouldn't wonder if it would take a couple of days, and there'll be that much school time gone, but I say—Matt ought to be made to help—oh, wouldn't that be jolly! I'll go ask his father right away—everybody calls him an honest man, and he oughtn't to see me paying Matt's debts."
Jack hurried at once to Mr. Bolton's store; as he entered, the proprietor, who was alone, picked up a hoe-handle, and exclaimed—
"You young scoundrel, I've a good mind to break every bone in your rascally body. Don't you ever dare to coax my boy to go anywhere with you again, or I'll half kill you. You're the worst boy in town."
Rightly assuming that the opportunity for presenting his request was not a promising one, Jack departed at once, and hung about the schoolhouse until the mid-morning intermission; then he seized Matt and announced the situation, taking care to omit mention of his interview with Bolton senior. Matt at once volunteered assistance, and an hour later the boys had burning upon the bridge a glorious fire of dead boughs and broken rails. When the boards had burned in two, the boys pried the two logs toward each other, and thereafter they adjusted the logs several times, getting each time some smut upon their clothes as well as occasional burns upon their hands. When at length the logs seemed able to take care of themselves the boys strewed some green twigs upon the ground to lie on, and as they were stretched upon them, chatting in the desultory manner peculiar to every one who lies down about a fire, Jack remarked,
"Say Matt, do you know that people in this world are awfully unfair to boys?"
"I guess I do," replied Matt, "but what made you think of it just now?"
"Why, my govenor gave me fits this morning about this bridge, and called me ungrateful and all sorts of things. I s'pose he thought he told the truth, but I know better. I'd do anything for him—I'd die for him. Why, one day that big mulatto Ijam, that he can never collect his bills of, came in looking awful ugly, and blazing about being sued, and I was sure he meant to hurt father; I just got a hatchet and stood outside the door, ready to rush in and tomahawk him if he did the least thing. It made me late at school, and I got licked for that, but I didn't care, and the teacher wrote a note home about it and I got scolded, but I didn't tell what I'd done."
"My father's the same way, sometimes," said Matt.
"I know he is," said Jack, hastily debating (with decision in the negative) whether he should tell of his own morning experience with Mr. Bolton.
"Now," continued Jack, "I've got to work all my holidays at something, I don't know what, until I earn enough money to pay my share of that bridge—you know the two govenors have had to settle for a new one?"
"Mercy, no!" exclaimed Matt.
"They have, this morning," said Jack. "I shouldn't wonder if you'd catch it when you go home, but there's some bully mullein leaves under the hill that you can put inside the back of your jacket."
Matt devoted some moments of disagreeable reflection to this topic; then his sense of companionship came to the surface, and he said—
"I'll help you, Jack—unless father punishes me in the same way. What do you suppose you'll have to do?"
"I don't know yet," said Jack, "but I've got a splendid idea. The govenor has just bought his winter's supply of wood, as he generally does in June, and he always has it cut while its green because it costs only a dollar and a quarter a cord, while the men charge a dollar and a half when its seasoned. I'll ask him to let me work it out in that way."
"Why, Jack," remonstrated Matt, "it will take you more than half a year of holidays."
"No, it won't," said Jack, "I can chop nearly a cord a day when I work hard. Besides, I've got an idea worth more than my own industry. I'm going to blow at school, and around among the boys, about what a splendid wood-chopper I am."
"I'll say the same thing about you," said Matt.
"All right; we'll both talk of my particular swing with the axe until the whole crowd will be mad enough to take the conceit out of me at any price. Then I'll offer a bet of something worth having—a half dollar against half a dime, say—that I can chop and split more in a single day than any other boy in town. Lots of them will take up the bet, we'll appoint a day, the place to be our wood, pile, and every boy to bring his own axe. You shall be umpire, so you won't have to do anything but walk about and egg the others up to business."
This brilliant device took complete possession of Matt, and as for Jack, within a week there was not a boy in town who could pass him without making a face at him, and scarcely a mother dependant upon her own boys for fuel but had an abundant supply without having to beg for it. Many indignant boys offered indefinite bets in favor of their own skill with the axe, but the sagacious Jack declined them all on the ground that he could not honorably bet on what he called a sure thing. When finally he offered his own wager, it was accepted by acclamation by nearly the whole of his own arithmetic class, numbering twenty-nine. The boys from the other school hoped they were not to be excluded just because they lived in a different part of the town, and Matt went on a special mission to them to assure them that this was to be, figuratively speaking, an international contest, in which all territorial lines were to be as if they existed not. Some other boys who never went to school, hardened young rowdies, who, as a rule did nothing, and accumulated a large stock of vitality which was not always expended in proper ways, heard of the approaching match, swore by all sorts of persons, places and things that they only wished they might "take a whack at that game," and were cordially invited to participate. Then the would-be contestants met in convention, and Jack formally deposited his half dollar in the hands of Matt, who was to be stake-holder. There being some difficulty in deciding how the bets against Jack were to be held, the challenger magnanimously declined to accept any bet, if the crowd would agree, each for himself, that the man who cut least, and he alone, should be loser of a half dime in case of Jack's triumph.
After a fair canvass of conflicting interests as to date, which involved the withdrawal of several boys who had agreed to go fishing or shooting, or berrying, or visiting, it was decided that the ensuing Saturday morning would be the most available time, particularly as Jack explained that his father who, he was sure, would stop the whole thing if he heard of it in advance, would start before daylight that morning to attend a consultation miles away by rail. The idea that the proceeding would be displeasing to any adult silenced at once the objections of all who had preferred another date, and it even brought back the boys who had pleaded prior engagements.
As for Dr. Wittingham, he was completely astounded and wonderfully pleased when Jack, with a frank business-like air, proposed to cut the ten cords of winter wood as an offset to the bridge bill of eleven dollars and sixty-two cents. The doctor patted Jack's head, called him a noble fellow, gave him a stick of licorice, and promised him a dollar for himself on the completion of the work.
"Now," said the doctor, when Jack had left his presence, "I think I've a good hard point for that work on heredity; Impose a rational penalty for offense, and its manifest justice will improve both the reasoning and moral nature of the offender."
CHAPTER IV.
SHARP AXES AND SHARPER WITS.
During the week preceding the great contest with axes there was very little truancy, fighting or bad hours to be complained of by the parents of the boys of Doveton. The excitement natural to an approaching struggle was sufficient even for the nerves of the most irrepressible juvenile natures in town. Most of the boys went into training at their respective family wood-piles, and those who had no uncut wood on hand resorted to the unprecedented operation of requesting permission to work at that of somebody else. The story of the bet became noised abroad, beyond the limits of the town, and several sturdy country boys having signified their desire to earn fifty cents by a half day's work, the crowd allowed them to enter for the contest, for anything was more endurable than Jack Wittingham's conceit; Jack himself welcomed them, of course, in the most hearty manner in the world. Toward the last of the week the sound of the grindstone was heard in the land, and as several boys had asked and received permission to use saws instead of axes, the melodious voice of the hand saw file arose to stimulate in nervous persons of religious tendencies an increased appreciation of the promised peace of Heaven. Then every carpenter who owned a boy of wood-chopping age suddenly missed his best oil stone, and sundry axes had their edges dressed so keenly that no one denied their owner's assertions that a man might shave himself with those axes and not know but they were rabbit paws or puff balls. The juvenile rowdies, who treasured old copies of sporting papers, read up on the training of prize-fighters, with the result that they indulged in ablutions with unhabitual frequency, and took an amount and variety of exercise which threatened to exorcise the demon which inhabits the juvenile loafer.
The morn of the eventful day dawned at last, and, early as it was when Doctor Wittingham had to start for the railway station, there was already approaching his wood-pile fat Billy Barker, who was so treacherous a sleeper that he had remained awake all night so as to be on hand in time in the morning. Then one of the loafers, whose family owned no timepiece, lounged up, and made Billy very uncomfortable with prophecies that a certain boy would hardly escape melting on such a warm day as that particular Saturday promised to be, and that only a pair of leg boots could be trusted to save enough of the remains to justify a full sized funeral. Then one of the country boys appeared, riding bareback upon an ancient mare, and his extreme taciturnity became as annoying to Billy as the chaffing of the loafer had been, while the loafer himself visibly abated his arrogance by a degree or two. Then the Pinkshaw twins approached, each with an axe in one hand and a piece of bread and butter in the other. Matt Bolton came next, quite out of breath, for though he had half an hour to spare, a sense of his official responsibility had somehow impelled him to run every step of the way from his own home. Lame Joey Wilson staggered in soon after, with his heavy "saw horse" and saw, and close behind him came a country boy whose family had brought him as far as the main street in the farm wagon. Then two loafers, successful catchers of occasional saw logs and drift wood, lounged up from the river. Several boys from the neighborhood known as the other side of town, approached in a body, led by big Frank Parker, who was the largest boy in school and who it was always considered a privilege to follow. Then as the hour for business came nearer, boys approached from all directions so rapidly that they could scarcely be catalogued, and when Matt drew his sister's watch from his pocket for the twentieth time and announced that it was ten minutes of eight, there were present forty-three boys, five horses (belonging to the delegation from the country), besides three unemployed men who had come to look on. The stalwart appearance of some of the larger contestants terrified certain small, weak and lazy boys into determining to throw up the sponge in advance, but when the challenger, the boastful Jack himself, sauntered out from the house with an axe on his shoulder, a toothpick in his mouth and an intolerable air of self-sufficiency in his face, the nerves of the most timid boy grew suddenly as fine as steel, and he determined to drop dead on his axe rather than let that bragging Jack crow over him any longer.
Suddenly Matt mounted the wood-pile, consulted his sister's watch, and exclaimed—
"Only five minutes more. Now, fellows, this is to be a fair fight, you know. Every man picks his own place, carries wood to it from the pile, cuts each stick into three equal lengths, and throws in front of him whatever he chops. If at twelve o'clock there's any doubt who has done most, the biggest piles are to be laid up straight against a stake, and carefully measured. Nobody need split his wood. When it's time to begin, I'll holloa 'One, two, three—go!' and when twelve o'clock comes I'll say 'One, two, three—stop!' I'll have a pail of water and a cup here by the fence, for anyone who wants a drink."
The boys were already carrying the four foot sticks of wood to their chosen locations, and between the confusion of selecting desirable places and that occasioned by snatching from a wood-pile which did not afford elbow-room for forty-three boys at a time, there was considerable bad feeling engendered, and sundry punishments with impolite names were promised for the indefinite future. The country boys had judiciously hugged the ends of the wood-pile from the moment of their arrival, which prospective advantage certain other boys attempted to nullify by taking wood from the ends, and there might have ensued a serious collision had not Matt, who had moved the judge's stand from the wood-pile to the fence, shouted,
"Eight o'clock. One, two, three—go!"
Thirty-nine axes came down nearly as one, and four saws began a not discordant quartette across the bark of sundry sticks, while the three unemployed men thrust their hands deep into their pockets and adjured the boys, collectively, to "go in." A chip from fat Billy Barker's axe started to avenge Billy upon his tormentor of an hour before, and it struck the loafer in the back of the neck with such force that the bad boy howled with anguish, and volubly condemned his soul to all sorts of uncomfortable places and conditions. The axes soon broke the uniformity of their stroke; some flew at the rate of nearly a blow a second, others, particularly those of the country boys, were slow, but oh, so regular! Still others, confined almost exclusively to the loafers, struck the wood rapidly and with a particularly vicious hardness which was not without its influence upon boys of small spirit. The peculiar ringing of an occasional "glance" was heard, and soon a yell from Scoopy Brown, who was a very awkward boy, called general attention to that youth, who was sitting upon the ground holding one of his feet and weeping bitterly. A careful examination determined that his axe had not gone deeper than the stocking, so Scoopy dried his tears and began work again, his spirits sharpened by many uncomplimentary remarks by the loafers and others who had lost time by stopping work to look at him.
Within a quarter of an hour fat Billy Barker had visited the water-pail three times; a quarter of an hour later he was curled up with agony beside the fence, his only consolation consisting in making dreadful faces at the big loafer who had proved a tolerable prophet. At the same time two other boys, one of whom had broken an arm within three months, and the other being so small that he realized the folly of contending against many large boys, retired from the contest, and took place among the spectators, who already consisted of seven men, one woman (with baby) and two dogs. Then one of the loafers declared that although he could beat as easily as falling off a log, fifty cents wouldn't pay for half a day of work under such a sun. Of the spare forty who remained, nearly half were of apoplectic hue, so that Matt the umpire, consulting his sister's watch, felt in duty bound to inform them that barely half an hour had elapsed, and that they would never get through the morning unless they took things easier.
As for Jack, he did splendidly. With great sagacity he had selected the largest sticks, these requiring less handling, and fewer delays between an old stick and a new one, besides making a heap look more bulky. His axe was in capital condition, as his physique always was, his nerve was equally good, and he had the additional incentive of wanting to keep up the general interest, which would be sure to flag if he were discovered to be falling behind. The country boys led him a close race, and compelled him to do his best, as did also two of the loafers. At the end of the first hour, Matt the umpire, who had attended closely to his sister's watch for the ten minutes preceding, shouted "Nine o'clock," and most of the country boys stopped for a brief rest. Jack was glad to follow their example, and at the same time one of the loafers took a flask bottle from his pocket and swallowed considerable whiskey. A request, proffered by another loafer, that the bottle be passed was met by a reply similar in tenor to that given by the five wise virgins to their foolish companions, and the apparent meanness of this proceeding made even the weariest boy determine to at least beat that particular loafer.
Half-past nine came, and with it a loud snap which proved to proceed from the saw block of lame Joey Wilson. As Joey was a very pleasant little fellow, with a widowed mother whose lot in life was not the easiest, another boy, who had a saw, pressed it upon Joey, and thus honorably retired from a contest which had kept his back aching frightfully for nearly an hour. Then two or three other boys honestly acknowledged themselves completely used up, and they retired to such shade as the fence afforded and constituted themselves an invalid corps of observation. The loafer who had drank the whiskey dropped suddenly, muttered something about sunstroke, and crawled away unlamented by any one.
At the cry of "Ten o'clock!" the working force had dwindled to twenty-seven axes and two saws. Two boys had been legitimately summoned from the field by their legal guardians, and at least half a dozen others longed earnestly for a similar fate. Jack began to be doubtful of the entire success of his scheme, but the country boys all stuck manfully to business, and at least one of them was beginning to show signs of becoming excited. The remaining loafers, too, hung on very well, and so did a spare half dozen of other boys, mostly large. The crowd was still large and industrious enough to astonish several farmers who drove into town, and the road became literally paved with chips. The invalid corps increased at about the rate of four men an hour between ten and eleven, but by this time Jack's mind was easy, for the only danger was that there would not be wood enough left with which the fittest who survived could complete the half day. Nearly all the loafers broke down, as loafers always do during the decisive hour, and the strife narrowed down to the country boys, one loafer, big Frank Parker, lame Joey Wilson and Jack. Each boy had his special adherents; the loafers cheered their own representative with much outlandish language, most of the men encouraged the country boys, the delegation from the other side of town urged big Frank Parker to "lay himself out," to "come down lively," to "sling himself," and to do many other things which to the youthful mind seem best signified by idioms of great peculiarity, but the mass of sympathy was pretty equally divided between Jack and lame Joey Wilson. Eligible sticks of wood began to be sought at the piles of those who had abandoned the contest, and Matt the umpire had to exert the extreme measure of his authority to prevent the partizans of the two favorites from rushing in and carrying wood for them. The breaking of the axe-helve of one of the country boys elicited a tremendous roar from the entire assemblage, which was now upon its feet. The lame Joey Wilson faction began to sing the chorus "Go in lemons, if you do get squeezed," which was known to be Joey's favorite air and the song stimulated Joey wonderfully, noting which fact the adherents of Jack started "John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave," which Jack was known to consider the finest thing ever written. But somehow the tune did not stimulate Jack as it was expected to do; perhaps the words with which the air is indissolubly associated had a depressing effect upon him, besides, the two songs were roared with about equal volume of sound, and as they are written in different keys, measures, and time, the general effect was horribly discordant and annoying to a tired man.
At half past eleven the remaining sticks, like angels' visits, became far between, and finally dwindled to one, over which two of the country boys fought, dropping it in their struggle, to be triumphantly snatched and sawed by lame Joey Wilson. Then Matt, the umpire, first ascertaining from his sister's watch that it was not yet twelve o'clock, announced that any man might take a stick from any other man who had uncut sticks before him. At thirteen minutes of twelve, five of the six country boys were upon their last sticks and the other had a single stick yet uncut before him, which seemed to lie between Jack and lame Joey Wilson. Jack's axe glanced several times and Joey got the stick, and at precisely ten minutes before twelve Joey had the last stick reposing in three pieces upon his pile. The whole crowd rushed in, but Matt shouted—
"Everybody get back—quick—get back! every man piles his own wood!"
Some little delay occasioned by the difficulty of getting stakes against which to stake the piles which seemed largest, was ended by an order to pile against the fence. It was generally admitted, by every one but the country boys, that the decision must be between Jack and Joey, and as Jack was quick upon his feet and Joey, an account of his lame leg, was slow, the former was allowed to assist the latter, but no one noticed that Jack took considerable wood from the piles of the boys who had been unsuccessful with the saw; the result was that Joey's pile was so much the larger that no one insisted upon a measurement, and Matt handed the half dollar to lame Joey Wilson without a protest from any one, though the shouts that went up formed a conglomerate sound which was truly appalling to any adult ear which it reached.
Then the boys separated and started homeward with their respective axes, saws, and saw-horses. Dr. Wittingham met several of them, as he returned at an earlier hour than Jack had expected from his consultation. What to make of the unusual number of business looking boys he did not know, but as he went around to the wood-pile to see how his son had begun his self-imposed penalty, the truth dawned upon him, and he exclaimed:
"I've used every evening this week upon that chapter of heredity, and now it isn't worth the paper it's written on!"
CHAPTER V.
EXPERIMENTS IN GRAVITATION.
As June disappeared in the beginning of July, the long vacation of the Doveton schools began, and with it began Dr. Wittingham's special and particular annual annoyance, which consisted of keeping Jack out of mischief. To compel the boy to work all the while was something at which the good doctor's heart naturally revolted, but it seemed that when Jack was unoccupied even for half an hour an indignant complaint by some one was absolutely sure to follow. The doctor was not the only man who had charge of a boy of mischieveous tendencies, so there was considerable private jubilation among parents when a lone foreigner strayed into the town, announced himself as a Polish exile, and offered to carry a class in French through the summer vacation. The French language was not held in intelligent esteem by all Doveton parents, but every one of them understood the value of peace of mind, so within forty-eight hours the exile was guaranteed an eight weeks class of twenty boys, at six dollars per boy, and was granted the upper floor of one of the schoolhouses free of rent.
This arrangement for the consumption of the summer vacation did not meet Jack's views at all, and he protested so strongly that the doctor yielded, after exacting perfect behavior as the price of liberty. Jack promised; he would have promised anything rather than have spent all those delicious days indoors. There was altogether too much out-of-doors that demanded his attention; the blackberry harvest in which Jack earned most of his year's spending money, came in July; the march of civilization was working destruction with hazel-nut patches, so that prudent boys desired to know in advance where not to go in the fall; it was the "off year" for black walnuts, so it was advisable to ascertain where were the few trees which neglected to be in the fashion; there were several young orchards which had bloomed for the first time, and must be visited for sampling purposes, lest perchance there might some very early varieties come into bearing and be gathered before he had seen them, slippery elm bark was not entirely past its prime, several new kinds of fish-bait were to be tested on the perch which Jack was sure dwelt in jealous seclusion in certain deep holes in the river, the country district was to be scoured for new litters of puppies of desirable breed—in short Jack had so much work laid out that the vacation promised to be a very busy one.
But by the time the French class had been in session a week, Jack began to feel unutterably lonesome. Matt was in the class; so was lame Joey Wilson, who was always a pleasant companion; the Pinkshaw twins, who had no equal as tree-climbers, were also there, and so was big Frank Parker, whose superior strength and wisdom were not to be despised. Jack gave unwonted attention to the family garden so as to be within sound of the mid-morning intermission, and when the teacher's bell summoned the boys back to school again, Jack not unfrequently sat upon the school wood-pile during the long hour which ensued before the dismissal which brought him and the boys together again. Then satan began to find mischief for Jack's idle hands, and small pebbles not unfrequently flew into the open windows of the school-room, occasioning pleasing diversions for the boys and annoyance for the teacher. Every body knew who threw them, but when questioned by the teacher they all, with general mental reservation, professed utter ignorance. The exile-teacher was not of the best temper, so he took his stand near a window, with the text-book in one hand and half a brick in the other, but Jack, warned by friendly hands hanging out of the windows of the side upon which the teacher stood, operated from the other side and occasioned many spirited races against time, the teacher's course being across the schoolroom, while Jack's goal was the friendly shelter of the schoolhouse porch. But even this diversion grew tiresome, and Jack, from pure loneliness, finally came to sneaking up the stairway, sitting on the floor of the hall, and listening by the hour to what to him seemed the idiotic jabber of his late schoolmates.
Then listening itself grew tiresome; besides, the position was uncomfortable, so one day Jack climbed up the little hatchway which led to the cockpit and belfry, laid a board across several beams, stretched himself upon it, and listened at ease, for there were sundry cracks in the ceiling. Jack was not long in discovering that one of these cracks, in its meanderings, passed directly over the teacher's chair, and that sundry small fragments of plaster could be scratched from its sides and dropped upon the exile's head.
This discovery aroused the inventive spirit which seems dormant in the mind of every American, waiting only for appropriate occasion to call it forth, Jack carefully marked that portion of the crack which directly overhung the teacher's head. He remained where he was until school was dismissed; then he cautiously picked at the side of the crack, between two laths, until it was wide enough to admit a grain of corn dropped edgewise; then he went below, dusted away the fallen plaster with his hat, and went home through the unlocked door with a feeling that the next morning was at least six weeks away.
But the next morning came, according to all correct timepieces, at the proper hour, and the French class had got fairly under way upon some of the exasperating paradigms of an irregular verb, when suddenly a grain of corn fell upon the bald head of the exile. Fat Billy Barker, who was abler at staring than studying, happened to see the falling body, and as the startled teacher arose from his chair, Billy began to laugh. The teacher immediately marked him as the offender, dashed at him and gave him several hard blows with a switch, after which Billy put his head down upon his desk, wept, and declined to make a statement. But the teacher had hardly reseated himself when another missile of the same sort had struck him; Billy's head and hands being still down, the teacher exclaimed,
"Oh, Barkare, zen it was not you; I vill apologize, Barkare,—I have mooch sorrow. Vatever boy it vas should be whipped by Barkare!"
Again the recitation began and another grain of corn fell, this time in full view of the entire school. A general titter resulted, and this so enraged the teacher that he strolled rapidly down the aisles, displaying two rows of terribly white teeth, and shaking his ruler at nearly every boy individually. This operation had a very sobering effect, and even Jack was so appalled by the noise of the teacher's footfalls that he remained quiet nearly an hour. Finally he dropped two grains in quick succession, and the boys, who had been feverishly awaiting something new, laughed aloud with one accord. The teacher sprang to his feet, seized both ruler and switch, and roared.
"Now, who did it? Barkare, you vill tell me, an' let me avenge ze vipping you did haf?"
Billy gulped down the truth and declared he did not know.
"Vilson," shouted the teacher, "you is ze good boy of ze school; you will tell me, I know, Vilson?"
But Joey, looking as innocent as if he were saying his prayers, shook his head negatively.
"Mistare Frank Parkare," continued the teacher, "you haf nearly ze years of a man, and cannot enchoy to see ze destruction of discipline. Who vas it that throw ze corn-grain."
And big Frank Parker unblushingly and solemnly said that he did not know.
"Efferybody tell me," exclaimed the teacher, resuming his chair with dignity, "or ze class will stay in ze room till it starve to death. How like you zat, mes garçons, eh?"
The boys did not seem particularly to enjoy the prospect, and Jack himself sobered somewhat at the thought of inflicting such a penalty upon his friends. But just there he conceived a new idea, and emerging quietly from his hiding place, he ran home, obtained a vial from his father's office, filled it with water, and hurried back. He was anxious to see as well as to hear the result of his impending operation, so he removed his board, lay along one of the beams, steadying himself by his left hand, and held the mouth of the vial over the teacher's head. Lame Joey Wilson was just translating fragmentarily, as follows:
"Avez-vous-le-chien-rouge-du-charpentier-avec—"
What the carpenter-owner of the dog really had, remained unexplained during the remainder of the session. Jack had intended to let but a single drop of water fall, and he could generally trust his hand at such work, for his father sometimes allowed him to assist in compounding prescriptions. But on this particular occasion anticipation proved too much for reality, for Jack laughed to himself so violently over the fun about to ensue that his hand shook, a stream of water poured through the hole, and trickled all over the teacher's chair. And, worse still, Jack discovered that a two-inch beam is not a safe place of repose for the human frame in moments of profound agitation, for he lost his balance, tried to save it with one elbow and one foot, which between them dislodged great masses of plaster from the laths and dropped it upon the teacher's desk.
EXPERIMENT IN GRAVITATION.
Even then the truth might not have been suspected, had not Jack, frightened at the mischief he had caused, lost all self-control and tumbled off the beam and upon the laths. Crack! Crack! went several laths, a violent commotion was heard upon the remainder, and, as the school started to its feet and the teacher dropped back in terror, a boy's foot and a section of trowser-leg appeared for an instant through a hole in the ceiling, only to be instantly withdrawn.
"Ah!" snarled the exile, seizing his half brick and ruler, and starting for the hall, "I haf ze villain!" The entire class followed, in time to hear a rustling sound and to see the teacher's half brick go up the hatchway, through which the bell rope was being rapidly drawn.
The teacher danced frantically about and shouted,
"Somebody go for the police—ze constable, what you call him! I would gif five dollare if I had my pistol viz me here. Somebody bring one little laddare—zen I go up ze hole an' drag down ze diable. I show you vat I do, you bring me ze laddare!"
Nobody stirred; every one preferred to remain as spectator. Suddenly the teacher's half brick descended, followed by a nail keg, a dusty roll of discarded maps, and a piece of board.
"It is one attaque de force!" exclaimed the teacher, retiring precipitately upon the feet of lame Joey Wilson, who had squeezed well to the front. "Ze rascal shall go to ze prison. Will nobody go for ze constable? Zen I will give ze alarm from out ze window."
The exile put his head out the window, just in time to see Jack, who had thrown the bell rope over the front of the building, sliding down the same, and making dreadful faces because of the pain which friction occasioned in his hands and legs. With a fiendish yell the teacher threw the ruler, which missed Jack. Just as the young man felt that the rope was no longer between his knees yet the ground not invitingly near, the teacher reappeared with an inkstand which he threw with such excellent aim that it struck Jack in the side. The boy immediately loosened his hold and dropped about fifteen feet, striking upon his side. In an instant he was upon his feet and hurrying homeward without as much hilarity as might have been expected, for in falling he had broken his left arm.