Therein Duncan was wrong. Mr. Alsop stopped on his way downstairs to give Fish the same punishment, but he did it with reluctance, in fact almost apologetically, and he took the penalty off at the end of a week. Duncan, being of a proud spirit and showing evident resentment in his manner, the instructor disciplined by a longer period of restraint. During this season of penance, when Duncan was at home morning, afternoon, and evening, cut off from all visitors, the two room-mates were inevitably much together. Some of this time Duncan wasted in maledictions on his unjust fate and on all those whom he held responsible for his sufferings; some he spent profitably in studying, and in getting acquainted with his room-mate. The experience of this period, which proved effectively the value of Sam’s friendship, destroyed the last shreds of the prejudice which Duncan had nursed so long. He signalized his conversion by suggesting to Archer that it was time they addressed each other by their first names. He made atonement, not by falling on his friend’s neck and beseeching his pardon for misjudging him, but by treating him with frank cordiality at home and commending him abroad.
“Black Hand” Fish, released from the ban at the end of a week with a gentle recommendation that he restrain his sprightliness, returned most subservient thanks and went his old way. Fish’s old way was not a good one from the point of view of morality or of the happiness of his neighbors. He was the “bad boy” of the well, a natural Ishmaelite. His hand was against every one. He borrowed money without the slightest intention of paying; he rough-housed recklessly in the rooms of those not strong enough to eject him, smashed furniture, threw books, spilled ink, played hair-dresser with the shoe-brush. And withal, so strong was the code of honor among his victims, so suave and respectful was his demeanor toward Mr. Alsop, so craftily did he choose his hours of molestation, that the teacher had no suspicion of his character. When Mr. Alsop passed Fish’s room on a visit of reproof to Fowle, and saw on the door a threatening demand for money emphasized by the drawing of a black hand, he reflected sadly upon the persecution which an orderly student must suffer at the hands of the disorderly. Indeed, he felt tempted to call a meeting of the well to protest against the cowardice of anonymous threats.
Fish himself was not greatly disturbed by the sight of these manifestoes. He was not to be frightened into disgorging by the threat of a Black Hand. When, however, a similar notice appeared on the blotting-paper on his desk, he began to suspect his long-suffering room-mate Moorhead, and made him the special object of his attentions. Moorhead was a studious youth, an honor man, very ambitious to keep his rank. Fish hid his books, poured away the water from his pitcher, pulled his bed to pieces, inked his exercises. A favorite diversion was to sing Moorhead to the verge of madness when the boy wanted to study. This was especially effective when a “dec” had to be learned, or lines memorized for English.
With the occupants of Number 7 Fish took no liberties. They “wouldn’t stand for it,” and they were capable of defending themselves. The weaker inhabitants of the well safeguarded themselves and their possessions as best they could by keeping their doors locked. Even with this precaution there were times when the pest found admittance. Being debarred from outside disturbance by the serious threats of the trio, he was in a way thrown back upon the rooms for amusement.
Spring came, if a muddy windy March has any right to the name of spring. Sam, whose reputation was better with other teachers than with Mr. Alsop, sometimes got permission to go off with his gun. He returned one Wednesday night, empty-handed, as usual, but eloquent of the grandeur of the heavy surf as it broke over the rocks at the foot of Great Boar’s Head. He wrote a theme on the subject before he went to bed, and read it to Duncan.
“Gee! but it must be worth seeing!” exclaimed Duncan. “If that beast of an Alsop hadn’t put me on study hours, I might go down and get a look at it.”
“Why don’t you ask him to take you off?”
“Ask him to take me off!” repeated Duncan, indignantly. “I wouldn’t ask him to take me out of a pit, if I were dying of thirst!”
“He probably wouldn’t do it anyway,” remarked Sam, recalling the humiliating refusal which he had himself received when he asked for a special make-up on French vocabulary.
Thursday and Friday the wind blew hard from the east. Saturday was clear. At nine, after his first recitation, Duncan came dashing in with the signals of exciting news flaming in eye and cheek.