William Jordan, Junior

by J. C. Snaith

The boy and his father knelt together in the little room.

All that long night the boy never closed his eyes. He lay on his pillow looking at the brightness of the stars. After a while he tossed restlessly from side to side. His lips were parched; his cheeks burned; his mind had an intolerable vivacity.

At the first faint streaks of dawn he staggered from his bed, dressed his faint limbs, and crept down the stairs. Presently, when his father rose, he found him sharpening upon a stone a large knife, which was used for cutting bread. Observing the boy’s deadly white cheeks and burning eyes, his father placed his hand on his shoulder, saying, “I trust, Achilles, you are aware that there are remedies from which there is no appeal.”

The face of the boy showed that no appeal was desired. He partook neither of food nor drink at the frugal breakfast; and when his father, as was his custom, made ready to accompany him to the school, he said, “I think, my father, I must walk alone to-day. I am twelve years old to-day.”

“As you will, Achilles,” said his father, as he replaced his hat on the peg.

It was with the greatest difficulty that the boy reached the school. He had a perfect acquaintance with every step of the way. The name of every street was engraved in his memory in its proper sequence; he knew by heart almost every tradesman’s sign; yet it was only by the aid of others that he ever reached the school. When he came to the wide crossings, where the traffic was endless, his courage deserted him, and do what he would he had not the physical power to leave the kerb. He remained upon the verge of the crossing for more than half-an-hour, reduced to tears of dismay at his own futility, until an old woman happened to observe him and led him across the street. No sooner had he come to the other side, than, without venturing to thank her, he started to run as fast as he could, pursued by an agony of shame.

Upon his arrival at the school he provided delight and astonishment for his fellows by breaking down in those tasks in which his proficiency had long been remarkable. At each fresh attempt he failed the more miserably. From the first his skill in the classic authors had been so great that it was thought by the others to be discreditable; yet this morning they rejoiced to find that it had passed from him altogether. When at last, in his humiliation, he burst into tears, they raised a shout of laughter.

“The power will return to you, my dear Achilles,” said the aged school-master softly. “It will be the greater for having been denied you altogether.”

In the play-hour the others gathered round him with their taunts. The heavy boy with red hair, who from the first day had shown the greatest assiduity in beating him, said, as he winked at his laughing companions, “Watch me tickle up the biggest dunce in the school.”

However, almost so soon as he advanced, with his ruthless hands outspread, he recoiled with a cry of fear. His victim had suddenly produced a large knife from his coat.