"I won't have any thing more to do with it," said he.
"Why, Harding, what's the matter?"
"The matter is just this," replied Johnny. "I can see, now, that I would have been a great deal better off in the world, if I had never had any thing to do with secret societies that were organized for nothing but mischief. Experience is a hard school, fellows, but it is a thorough one and I'll never forget the lesson I have learned there. I am going to behave myself now."
"Well, this beats me, I never thought you would turn spooney."
"Say what you please, my mind is made up, and you can't turn me, any more than you can turn Tom Newcombe, when he has an idea. The society can get along without me."
Johnny was as good as his word, although it required the exercise of all his firmness to resist the pressure that was brought to bear upon him. The society found it uphill work to get along without him, for he held a high position in the organization, and was the only one in it who could study up a plan for mischief at two minutes notice. Its members had often been sadly in need of the services of Tom Newcombe; and, now that Johnny was gone, the exploits were hardly worth boasting of. They tried to induce him to come back. They coaxed, praised, and ridiculed him, but it was in vain. Johnny had made up his mind after mature deliberation; he knew he was in the right, and for two months he held firmly to his purpose.
One night, as he was coming home from school, he met Mr. Henry, who began to laugh the moment he came in sight of Johnny. "Is this true that I hear about you?" he asked, as the boy came up. "Are you a spooney?"
"I don't know, sir," was the reply. "If trying to behave myself makes me a spooney, I suppose I am one."
"Don't you find it hard work?"
"Sometimes. They bother a fellow so. But I don't care for that. I'm bound to stick to it."