His thoughts wandered from his books that morning. He continued to make creditable recitations when called on, but at other times he did his work listlessly and with many pauses. He was not afraid to fight Henshaw; he wanted to fight him; he wanted to administer a punishment more severe than that one resounding slap on the face. And yet he hated fighting; he had never engaged in a fight at the high school; he remembered the most savage fight there that he had ever seen, how he had stood by, fascinated and yet disgusted, too, by the blazing fury in the combatants’ eyes, their dishevelment, their blood-marked faces, the animal wrath with which they mauled and grunted and battered. He had been disgusted by it all, by his own interest in the spectacle, by the gloating eyes of the other bystanders. It revolted him now to think of presenting such a spectacle himself; and yet he knew that unless Henshaw came to him and apologized he would fight him as long as either of them could stand.
In the five minutes’ intermission before the Latin class Wallace and Monroe came and told him of their interview with Mr. Dean. That cheered him; so did Wallace’s remark: “Henshaw’s my cousin, but he makes me awfully tired at times. I’m with you and not with him in this.”
At the end of the Latin recitation when David was going out Mr. Dean said, “Ives, one moment, please.” David stopped while the master gathered up books and exercises. “If you’re going up to the dormitory, I’ll walk along with you,” said Mr. Dean. And as they walked along the corridor he asked, “Where did you get your feeling for the language?”
“For Latin? I didn’t know I had it.”
“Oh, yes, you have, to quite a marked degree. I hope that you’ll continue to cultivate the language—not, like so many, abandon it at the first opportunity. There are very few persons nowadays who read Latin for pleasure—with pleasure. You will be able to do it if you keep on, for you have the feeling for the language. It will help you in acquiring other languages.”
They passed out of the door, and then Mr. Dean said abruptly:
“No doubt it seems harsh to you that I should be punishing you alone for the disorder this morning. Well, discipline often must stand on technicalities. Yours was the only visible breach; so you have to suffer. I want to say, however, that I realize there are occasions when self-respect, to vindicate itself, must defy rules—and this appears to have been one of those occasions. If Henshaw affords you the opportunity, I trust you will complete his punishment. Make it substantial.”
He shook hands with David quite solemnly and then turned aside up the path leading to his house.
The talk put new cheerfulness into David’s heart. Mr. Dean understood and sympathized and was still his friend. And fighting was just one of those unpleasant things that you had to do now and then in life, and there was no use in letting yourself get disgusted at the thought of it.