CHAPTER IX.
A week later the First Latin was divided against itself,--a most unusualthing. That it generally despised Hoover and hated Briggs was an oldstory. These two of the twenty-seven had long been excluded from thefellowship of the twenty-five; but that twenty-five was now reduced totwenty-four by the loss of Snipe, and the twenty-four was split, much tothe comfort of the two outsiders. A grievous burden had been imposed onShorty when the Doctor bade him tell no one about Snipe's letter,--thathe had good reason and desired to investigate on his own account. Shortycouldn't listen to an insinuation of any kind against his chum, andthere were members of the class who now couldn't help entertainingsuspicion and saying so. Shorty's intentions of observing the Doctor'scaution were of the best, but indignation would find vent, and so wouldthe boy nature that impelled him to say that he had information whenSnipe's accusers had not. Then he had to lose a point and admit thathis knowledge was of such a character that it must be kept concealedawhile, which statement many of the class decided to accept, but not afew to deride. Turner was one of the latter, and at recess one dayopenly taunted Shorty with professing what he couldn't prove. Briggs wason the outskirts of the knot of excited lads at the first sign oftrouble. He was still raging in his heart against Shorty because of thestinging blows that sent him reeling into the gutter the previous Fridayafternoon. Here was a chance for vicarious vengeance. Shorty was half ahead smaller than his long-armed accuser. Briggs knew that Joy, Julian,any of the bigger members of the class, would pounce on him if he daredlay hand on the "little 'un," but Turner was nearer the youngster'sweight. Those were the days when Heenan and Sayers were the models ofthe fistic art, when Charlier's boys at Wood's gymnasium or Pop's atOttignon's were accustomed to putting on the gloves with the master, andschool affairs were settled in the neighboring stable after the mannerof Tom Brown and Slogger Williams in "School-Days at Rugby." Coolerheads in the little crowd counselled peace and strove to stem the angrytorrent of words between the boys. Even Turner himself, seeing Shorty'srage, would probably have been willing to take back what he had said,but Briggs had other plans. Stooping underneath the elbows of the boysat Turner's back, he suddenly straightened up, giving Turner a powerfulshove that sent him lunging against his fuming little antagonist, andlike a flash came the first blow, the counter, an instant's clinch, andthen, as the boys broke away, two stinging whacks before the elderscould interpose. "Come round to the stable and finish it!" yelledShorty, in his fury. "Come on yourself!" shouted Turner; and, despitethe pleadings of those who hated to see class harmony destroyed, awaywent the excited crowd, Hoover and Briggs leering and grinning afterthem, while John, the janitor, bolted miserably up-stairs to givewarning to Othello, who had determined there should be no morestable-fights, and who came breathless into the arena just as thecombatants had shed their coats and collars and, with clinched fists andflashing eyes, were facing each other for business. The ring broke andscattered pell-mell at sound of Halsey's voice, but the principals werecaught. Recess was ordered suspended. The bell summoned the classin-doors, and, in sullen silence, slowly the boys obeyed. Shorty'sprominent nose had suffered in the preliminary skirmish, and he had togo and stanch the blood. Turner, scowling, was sent to the foot of theclass, where Hoover welcomed him with a malignant grin, and there, alongits accustomed line, sat the First Latin in gloom and despond, while thehead-master penned brief memoranda of the circumstance. Everybody feltthere would be tragedy when the Doctor came. "The next boys I hear of asfighting around school," he had said the week before, "I'll pack 'emhome to their parents." And yet the First Latin had reason to believethe Doctor had nothing but disdain for boys who quarrelled and callednames and perhaps cuffed, scratched, or kicked, and couldn't or wouldn'tfight "fair and square." Only a few months before, just at the close ofthe school-year, when the twenty-seven were still the Second Latin,there had been a laughable scuffle between two big, lanky lads in thesenior class. Full ten minutes had they clinched, wrestled, slapped, andsparred in the vestibule, many of the Second Latin looking--andegging--on and indulging in satirical comment, until Beach swooped uponthe surging crowd and ordered DeForest and Dominick, the principals, totheir benches. The classes recited together then in Latin Prosody, aSecond Latin boy many a time "taking a fall" out of the First andgetting the head of the combined array. There was no love lost betweenthe two. Pop was unquestionably partial to the juniors, and had frequentoccasion to torment the seniors with satire over the fact that theyoungsters knew better Latin, if not more, than did the other class. Helistened to Beach's report of the affair with frowning brows, until ittranspired that full ten minutes were consumed before the combatantswere separated. Then his broad features expanded in a smile ofamusement. "What!" he exclaimed, as he studied the crestfallen faces ofthe culprits. "Ten minutes' battling and not a scratch to show for it!Scandalous! _Et tunc pugnabant pugnis_---- Hold! Young gentlemen,there's a capital start on a fine, sonorous line, dactylic hexameter.Half-holiday to the class that first completes it! Half-holiday exceptto those wielders of the wind-stuffed cestus. Set your wits to work--andyour pencils." With that he seated himself in his chair of state, hisfine cambric handkerchief came forth to mop his glowing face, and, stillchuckling with suppressed merriment, the massive rector looked downalong the crowded ranks of his boys, forty-five in all, and then hewiped his gold-rimmed spectacles and laid them on his desk, and thenlittle Beekman darted up to his side, a scrap of paper in his hand, andgave it hopefully to the magnate in the chair. The Doctor glanced overit, shook his head, and frowned. "No, no," said he. "What we want issound and sense combined. You've only got the sound, like the blows ofour gladiators. There's nothing behind them. The words mean nothing.Mark the rhythm and majesty of mine. _Et tunc--pugna--bant pug_---- Allspondaic. And then--they were--fighting--with fists---- Come, come,gentlemen, that line needs appropriate close. Ha! the versatile SecondLatin again tenders a contribution!" and the big Doctor took the nextyoungster's slate, leaned back in his chair, read, a beaming light shotinto his eyes; then the eyes closed, the massive head fell back, thecapacious waistcoat began to heave and shake from internal convulsion,and the whole array of boys looked up expectant. For a full minute Poplay back in his big chair in solitary enjoyment of his fun, and at last,bubbling over with merriment, he straightened up and began, "Listen,young gentlemen of the First Latin, to the satire of the Second.Triumph, gentlemen of the Second, in the victory of your laureate.
'_Et tunc pugnabant pugnis sine sanguine nasi._'
"And then they were fighting with fists (full ten minutes understood)and not a drop of blood was drawn from the nose. Poetic license set atnaught! Stern facts related! Half-holiday to the Second Latin! Take yourbooks and go rejoicing! Gentlemen of the vanquished First, remain whereyou are."
That episode widened the breach between the classes and strengthened theconviction that Pop was "down on" bloodless encounters. Pop wasthorough, argued the boys. He wanted no quarrelling, but if quarrelscame, they were soonest ended when fought to a finish on the spot.
And so despite the frown on Halsey's dark face most of the First Latinhoped that when the Doctor came he would look with leniency on themisconduct of the belligerents. Hoover, defrauded of his smoke, pleadedfor permission to go to Duncan's to get his fine silk handkerchief,which he claimed to have dropped during their brief ten minutes ofrecess. This was killing two birds with one stone. He needed hiscigarette, and he hoped to create the impression that he was not amongthe crowd at the stable. There had been a solemn conference between theDoctor and Hoover senior, and solemn warning to the young man on part ofboth, and Hoover junior felt that he could risk nothing with the rectorin his present frame of mind. The head-master, with doubtful glance inhis eyes, said go, and not three minutes later wished he hadn't. Therewas a sound of angry altercation below-stairs. John's whining voice wasuplifted in protestation. At any other time the class would have had funout of it, but the class was in no mood for frolic now.
"Stop that noise and come u
p here at once!" ordered the master from thehead of the stairs, and sullen and swollen-faced, the janitor came.
"I couldn't help it, sir," he began at once. "I ain't going to be cursedfor obeying orders by any such sneak as that."
And when Halsey could check the angry torrent of his words, ittranspired that Hoover had taken occasion, with much blasphemy and badlanguage, to abuse him for having told about the fight. Hoover came inten minutes later, glancing shiftingly around. "Say, did that cur tellon me?" he whispered to Turner, as he sidled into his seat, and Turnerturned his back and bade him go to Halifax, but Briggs nodded yes. It isan ill wind that blows nobody good. The Doctor came with gloom in hiseye and thunder on his tongue. Things had been going amiss. Not anotherword had been heard of Snipe. A favorite pupil had disappeared becauseof troubles brought to light at school, and the Doctor felt that hissystem, his methods, his discipline and supervision were all beingchallenged and dissected by his rivals and opponents, and, like everysuccessful man, he was the target for the shafts of all the envious. Ahigh authority at faculty meeting that day had demanded news of themissing boy and particulars as to the causes of his going, had intimatedthat such things ought not to be in a well-regulated school, and therector came down ruffled and wrathful. The first thing to attract hiseyes was the sight of Shorty sitting ruefully on the "mourners' bench,"as the boys called the settee at the foot of the class. Hoover, Turner,and Briggs were the other occupants.
"Hiyee!" he exclaimed, as he halted at the doorway. "The lad of the longtongue has let it run away with him again, I suppose! What's he beensaying, Mr. Halsey?"
"Nothing, sir," said Halsey, briefly. "Fighting again."
"What! And after my prohibition! Here, you, sir!" he exclaimed, withindignation in his tone. "Take your books and pack yourself out ofschool, at once!"
Slowly Shorty found his legs and, uttering no word, went drearily to thebookcase, obeying the pointing, menacing cane in the rector's hand, andtrembling and with heavily beating heart began to gather and strap hisfew possessions. For a moment there was dead silence. Pop stillstanding at the doorway, glaring at the culprit, perhaps wishing the boywould speak. But Shorty's spirits were crushed by the sorrows of thepast ten days, and he didn't much care what happened. It was Bertram whobroke the silence.
"May I say a word, sir?" he asked, as he rose respectfully.
"Not unless you wish to quit the school the same way, sir. Young peoplewill speak when spoken to and not before. Come, you, sir," he continued,turning again on Shorty, "I am waiting for you to go."
"So'm I, sir," said the youngster, desperately, "but I can't--till youget out of the way."
For an instant the silence was intense. The Doctor stared, then droppedhis threatening cane, closed his eyes and began to shake. In anotherinstant the room rang with a shout of laughter, even the saturninefeatures of Halsey relaxing in a grin.
"Who's the other belligerent, Mr. Halsey?" asked Pop, as soon as hecould regain severity of mien. "The illustrious Turner, I apprehend.What did you wish to say, Bertram?"
"Nothing, sir, in view of the penalty," was the prompt answer.
"It wasn't his fault, I suppose you wish to imply," said the Doctor. "Goback to the bench, sir," was his stern order to Shorty. "Remain afterschool, both of you, until I investigate this and send you home with aletter apiece. Any other enormities to report, Mr. Halsey?"
"Yes, sir,--Hoover. The janitor says that he cursed and abused him atrecess for obeying your orders."
The Doctor's face had mellowed a moment before; now it hardened. Hestood with his cane tucked under his arm, his top-hat in one hand, thepolishing handkerchief in the other, flicking away the dust andsmoothing the glossy crown. Foul language on part of boy or man wassomething he abhorred, and Hoover had been reported more than once. ForJohn, the janitor, the Doctor had but faint regard. He was a blunderingbooby, said he. But that in no wise relieved Hoover. Watching hisangering face, the silent boys could almost foretell the words they sawframing on his compressed lips. "Out of my school, sir," were beyonddoubt the first he would have spoken, but there sat two other culpritswho deserved the temporary expulsion that was at the time his favoritemethod of punishment. If Hoover went, they too must go, or Hoover seniorwould hear and ask the reason, and the Doctor hated to becross-questioned about his school. His methods were his own; one mightalmost say the boys were too.
"Using blasphemous and profane language again!" he finally began, as hestood and glared at the scowling pupil. "Gentlemen never abuse a servantfor obeying orders. Gentlemen avoid the use of profanity. We must have anew name,--a more descriptive title for our _monstrum horrendum_, ourroaring Polyphemus. What say you, Bertram, Imperator? What say you, Joy?Come, wake your nimble wits, young gentlemen. The astute head of theclass is silent, the second is dumb, the third sits mute," and now thegreat but shapely white hand, with its taper index, points to one afteranother, "the fourth, the fifth, the sixth. What? Have we no wits leftto-day? You, Beekman; you, Satterlee; the iconoclastic Bagshot, theepicurean Doremus" (a titter now, for Doremus's taste for cream-puffs isproverbial). Speak up, Van Sandtvoordt. Gihon, Post, Dix, Bliss,Seymour, Grayson, next, next, next; the late belligerent Mr. Turner, thebenignant Briggs, Hoover we'll skip, and now the other gladiator,Loquax. _What?_"
"Polyblasphemous!" says Shorty, with twitching lips, the Irish in himcoming to the top despite his weight of woe.
An instant of silence, then, shaking from head to foot, the tears fairlystarting from his eyes, unable for the moment to speak at all, laughinghimself to the verge of apoplexy, the Doctor motions the youngster fromthe foot to the head of the class, and it is a full minute before orderis restored and the laughter of the First Latin subsides. Even then,every little while some boy bursts out into a chuckle of merriment, andHoover glares at him with new malevolence. Every little while the Doctorsettles back in his chair and shakes anew. That _jeu d'esprit_ savesthree culprits from deserved suspension and brings sunshine through thestorm-clouds for the day at least. But it thickens the hide of Hoover'shate.
"You think you were smart this afternoon" (with an adjective to thesmart), sneers Hoover to the youngster after school. "You'll find outwhere the smart comes in before you're a month older, young feller."
And Hoover means it.
She was permitted to read and to weep over Snipe'spathetic letter.]