By the way, it was very rash and foolish in the writer to speak of their bravery at all; and it has cost him (or her) no little annoyance—instance chapter the eighth. In fact, on mature deliberation, the writer recants all that has been said of their bravery.
As Will was tearing out of the room,—it may be remarked incidentally that it happened he was almost the last to do so,—Tip hobbled past him to get out. Quick as thought, Will caught up a heavy chair, and brained him on the spot.
“There,” Will said joyously, “the danger is over now; the dog is dead.” On giving the dog closer examination, he exclaimed, in surprise: “Why, it’s Steve’s dog Tip! Poor Tip! Surely he wasn’t mad!”
Meanwhile, where was the great authority on all things in general, rabid canines in particular? Where was he with his knife?
At the first note of danger, he, being nearest the front-door, had leaped to his feet and ingloriously shown his heels; but not being so familiar with the internal arrangement of the building as he thought, he fell heavily down the four steps of the entry. The fall stunned him, and for a few minutes he lay insensible. Where was the wonderful knife that was to disarm the fury of all mad dogs? Alas! it was safe in his pocket!
Before the learned man could grapple with the situation and gather himself up, the horrified school children were swarming out of the door, and—over him! Awful magnate that he was, not one among them hesitated to make him a stepping-stone in this time of fancied danger. In fact, the next day an immoral boy was heard to say that the professor made a better door-step than speaker; “for,” as he phrased it, “we slid down over him at top speed, and got outside all the sooner.”
As for Teacher Meadows, he had perceived that the peroration was at hand; and when the dog appeared, he was carefully digesting an “extempore” little speech, in which he intended to express his gratitude to the learned man for the very lucid and forcible manner in which the absorbing topic of hydrophobia had been presented to the “students.” But the advent of the dog diverted the train of his thoughts, and his nice little speech was never made. After a vain attempt to stem the hubbub and find where the mad dog was, he followed the example set by the noble speaker, and hurried out of the school; for, though naturally brave, he saw that it was useless to remain.
Although the dog was slain, it was some time before the quaking children could be brought to understand that the danger past, and when at last their fears were quieted, it was found that a great many were missing—among them, the boy who had been bitten. What a startling report they spread in the village about that mad dog! As may be imagined, the strange orator’s name was so much mixed up in their incoherent and “artless” story, that most of the villagers laid all the blame of the affair on him.