Cole of Spyglass Mountain

by Arthur Preston Hankins

Number Fifty-six thirty-five did not go to the roof that night. He lay in bed unable to sleep because of the pain that racked his body. Each agonizing twinge brought to mind each stroke that had been struck with the terrible bamboo rod, and each stroke had felled him to the basement floor, for he had been made to stoop to receive the torture. Then the great brute of a man who was beating him would wait for him to regain his feet and stoop again, whereupon, with the rod in both hands, he would raise it and bring it down with all his might. Each throb of pain that now shook his shocked young body brought to mind each grunt that had been forced from the man as he put every ounce of his power behind the blows. The pain did not ease because of Joshua’s remembrance that Twenty-three forty-four had received the same number of stripes.

After this Joshua became a model inmate once more, and he was treated with greater respect by his fellows. That he could fight with such vigor and dogged determination made them think twice before antagonizing him.

The year passed and another began, and once more Joshua faced the board of directors and was presented with a second T-and-H medal. But when they spoke of parole Joshua told them he wanted to stay in the House of Refuge. He was older now, more experienced, and Clegg had told him that it was unnecessary for him to disobey the rules in order to remain, if he would put the matter squarely to the board. This he endeavored to do, stating that he was interested in his studies and felt that he could acquire a better education there than in public school. The members of the board looked sidewise at one another; they thought they understood why Joshua wanted to stay, for they knew of his father and had no respect for him. Joshua, advised by Clegg, made no mention of his studies in astronomy.

The board dismissed him, promising to take the matter into consideration. Perhaps they decided at last that Joshua, of all the inmates of the institution, ought to be allowed to remain until his twenty-first birthday if he wished to, because his grandfather had been the founder. Whatever the reason, the boy was told that night by Beaver Clegg that the board had ruled that he might stay. Furthermore, he might remain in the Juvenile Department as long as he saw fit. And Clegg had been authorized to give him special instruction in higher branches than were taught in his department. It was quite plain to Joshua that Clegg had spoken highly of his progress as a student, and that this was the result of his loyal friendship.

And now, with Joshua Cole deep in his studies and steadily acquiring a practical working knowledge of astronomy far beyond his years, it will be necessary for this narrative to skip to a day when word reached the House of Refuge that Joshua’s mother was dying. He was sent to her deathbed immediately, but arrived too late.

During the funeral and afterward he was thrown in contact with many of his relatives on her side of the house whom he never before had met. Joshua gathered that they had forgiven his mother now, and for them he harbored a boy’s supreme contempt.

One old querulous gentleman in particular aroused his boyish wrath, though the uncle—for so he was—did not seem to realize it. He came from a far-off town in Virginia, and was said to be very wealthy. This was Peter Henry Florence, his mother’s oldest brother, who had been given his father’s name.

Despite the boy’s dislike for him, the flabby-skinned old man took a great interest in him. He had not known before that Blanche’s eldest son had been placed in a reformatory, and under his breath he heaped up imprecations on the head of the father. He was for using his influence as the son of old Peter D. Florence, the founder, in having Joshua released. And when he found out that Joshua did not want to leave, and had argued futilely against the boy’s strange obstinacy, he purposed going to the House of Refuge at once and demanding special privileges for his sister’s son. All of which he seemed to forget entirely in a day or two, for he went his choleric way back home and left no word behind him.

So Joshua returned to the only man on earth that he loved and admired and considered a friend, and wrapped himself in his astronomy for three years more.

Then came a day when he stood, dry-eyed, beside a bed on which lay the still form of Beaver Clegg. The master had been found dead in his bed that morning—of heart failure, the doctors said. It had long threatened him, and the ugly man with a beautiful soul had been prepared, for Joshua held in his hand a note to him which had been penned several years before.