“If we put our heads together, I think we can get up something that will answer,” said Clinton. “As soon as I’ve threshed this lot I’ll go into the house with you, and see if we can’t make a beginning.”
The church and Sabbath-school which Clinton attended were making preparation for a social festive gathering, to be held in a grove; and among the entertainments proposed were to be declamations by several of the young people. Clinton and Whistler had both been invited to take part in these exercises, and they had also been requested to select a dialogue for two or three smaller boys, and to see that they were properly drilled in their parts. They felt that quite a serious responsibility had been laid upon them; and for a day or two it had been the subject of much consultation. Clinton had at length made a selection for himself, and Whistler had concluded to repeat the piece which he spoke at his school exhibition a few weeks before. The dialogue, however, was yet to be determined on; and, as they had less than two weeks for preparation, it naturally gave them some uneasiness, especially as they had thus far been unable to find a suitable piece.
After Clinton had finished threshing the lot of grain which he had begun, he went up to his bedroom, with Whistler, and opening the little desk upon the table, they sat down, and tried to agree upon some plan, or subject, for the dialogue. They did not accomplish much, however, beyond making a few pen flourishes, and thoroughly overhauling the contents of the desk, which contained, among other things, a few of Clinton’s compositions, in which Whistler was much interested. The fact was, neither of them had any idea to propose, and the longer they sat there the farther their attention wandered from the subject in hand, until, at last, the call to dinner interrupted their fruitless consultation.
The boys had no better success in the afternoon with their literary enterprise, and Clinton’s ardor began to cool off a little; for, to tell the truth, the ardor was pretty much all on his side. They retired to bed early in the evening, intending to have “a good talk” before it was time to go to sleep. While thus engaged, telling stories to each other, Whistler related an incident that once occurred in the school he attended.
“There!” exclaimed Clinton, as soon as he had finished, “why can’t we bring that into our dialogue? It would be a complete subject, wouldn’t it? We might change it a little, if we wanted to, to make it tell better in a dialogue, but it wouldn’t be very bad if we took it just as it is. What do you say to that idea, Willie?”
“I don’t know; perhaps we might make something out of it,” replied Whistler. “If we could only get it up equal to the original, it would make some fun, I can tell you.”
“We’ll try, at any rate,” said Clinton.
And they did try, the next day,—yes, and several days following. The result was, by their joint efforts, Whistler’s story was “done” into dialogue, with some slight changes to give it more effect. The old and very reasonable adage, that “Two heads are better than one,” proved true in this case, as they made a better dialogue, together, than either could have written alone. They seemed aware of this, and even Whistler came to feel quite a lively interest in the literary bantling. As the reader may like to know something of this production, I will give the substance of it, or, rather, the story on which it was founded.
A group of boys were playing in a school-room, a little while before school time, when a trifling dispute arose between two of them—John and Benjamin. One gave the other the lie, and, both being of hot temperament, it was “a word and a blow.” They clinched, fell, and rolled together on the floor, and were pummeling each other well, when suddenly the teacher walked into the room. Taking the pugilists by the collar, he lifted them upon their feet, and sent the other boys to their seats. On inquiring into the origin of the quarrel, he found that they were about equally guilty. Accordingly, he reproved them both sharply for their fault.
“If you must fight,” he said, “why don’t you do it in a decent and gentlemanly way, and not act like a couple of bullies? I’ll show you how it should be done. Here, John, take this stick (handing him the familiar ratan), and now give Benjamin one dozen smart cuts with it across his back. And don’t you lift a finger, Benjamin, unless you want me to take you in hand.”