Chapter XXX.
The Blunderer at Work Again.
Will was now at work on a very learned dissertation on “Philosophical Ingenuity.” That is the name he gave it,—but the name had nothing in common with the subject, “Socialism” would have been quite as appropriate,—and according to his views, he handled it in a graphic, original, and striking manner; and he was firmly convinced that he should make a very good thing of it.
Poor boy, it was too bad, after all the pains he took.
What was too bad?
This. The same evening on which he wrote out his composition for the last time, he sat up late and wrote to his cousin Henry, inviting him to come and pay them a visit in the holidays.
When this boy (Will) gave Stephen gunpowder instead of fire crackers, and again when he loaded Henry’s pistols with wads, his mistakes were glossed over, and he himself was laughed at, rather than blamed. But now the truth must be made known; he cannot be excused any longer. Right over his eyes, where the phrenologists locate order, there was a depression.
There, the secret is out, and the writer’s conscience is easy.
Boys, it is hard to have to deal with a hero who is not a paragon; but you must be indulgent, and we will do our best.
After finishing and directing the letter to his cousin, Will went to bed and slept peacefully, little dreaming of the thunderbolt which would soon burst over his head, and which he himself had prepared.