And this was all the reference ever made to their early disagreement.
Birdie Fowle’s melancholy fatalism lasted about a fortnight. By the end of that time, having been successful in keeping his door locked and having received two C’s on half-hour exams, he began to feel better. His old cheerfulness returned, and with it a measure of carelessness. Sam, who was trying to help him, had urged him to avoid John Fish and give the dormitory scourge no excuse for enmity. It was clear, even to our inexperienced young man, that Fish’s cunning was not keeping pace with his effrontery. Success in deceiving his dormitory master had stimulated the fellow’s audacity to the point of recklessness; sooner or later he would expose himself.
Birdie, though accepting readily this rule of conduct, was hardly capable of carrying it out. On April first, the day of fools, he was tempted and fell. It happened in this wise. As he started down toward the post-office after his morning recitation, he saw John Fish sauntering in the same direction a dozen yards ahead of him. Obedient to the advice of his counsellor to keep out of Fish’s way, Birdie checked his own pace and trailed along behind. In front of the post-office stood a dozen fellows gossiping and looking out upon the street. When Fish was two-thirds across, Birdie’s good resolution yielded in an instant to the inspiration of the opportunity. He opened his mouth, hardened his throat muscles, and forced out two harshly resonant syllables.
Birdie’s “honk! honk!” was a masterpiece of mimicry for which he was justly famous. No one in school could perpetrate anything approaching it in effectiveness. Barney and Litchell had developed a fair imitation that would deceive the inexperienced; Fowle could frighten the elect. Fish, whose mind was intent on the question of how best to spend a certain expected check—if he repaid the money he had borrowed from various boys, he would have nothing left—gave a great clumsy plunge forward, like a startled dray-horse. His cap flew from his head; his books dropped from his hand. Safe at the curbstone, he turned to throw a malediction on the reckless motorist, and looked into Fowle’s gleeful face.
“April fool!” sang Birdie, cheerfully.
The fellows on the sidewalk hooted. Fish went back to gather up his property. “You’re a clever child,” he said, smiling contemptuously. His look was more significant than his words.
In five minutes Birdie was aware that he had committed a sad error. Fish in good-nature was always a menace to peace; Fish offended would be an unscrupulous enemy. Disheartened, Fowle took his troubles again to Sam.
“You were a fool to do that,” expostulated Sam. “I told you to let him alone.”
“I tried to,” mourned Birdie, “but it was such a slick chance!”
“Well, as long as you can keep him out of the room, it’ll be all right. You aren’t afraid to tackle him in the open.”