Chapter Ten--I Fight Conway
There was one person, however, who cherished a strong suspicion that theCentipedes had had a hand in the business; and that person was Conway.His red hair seemed to change to a livelier red, and his sallow cheeksto a deeper sallow, as we glanced at him stealthily over the tops of ourslates the next day in school. He knew we were watching him, and madesundry mouths and scowled in the most threatening way over his sums.
Conway had an accomplishment peculiarly his own--that of throwing histhumbs out of joint at will. Sometimes while absorbed in study, or onbecoming nervous at recitation, he performed the feat unconsciously.Throughout this entire morning his thumbs were observed to be in achronic state of dislocation, indicating great mental agitation on thepart of the owner. We fully expected an outbreak from him at recess; butthe intermission passed off tranquilly, somewhat to our disappointment.
At the close of the afternoon session it happened that Binny Wallaceand myself, having got swamped in our Latin exercise, were detained inschool for the purpose of refreshing our memories with a page of Mr.Andrews's perplexing irregular verbs. Binny Wallace finishing his taskfirst, was dismissed. I followed shortly after, and, on stepping intothe playground, saw my little friend plastered, as it were, up againstthe fence, and Conway standing in front of him ready to deliver a blowon the upturned, unprotected face, whose gentleness would have stayedany arm but a coward's.
Seth Rodgers, with both hands in his pockets, was leaning against thepump lazily enjoying the sport; but on seeing me sweep across theyard, whirling my strap of books in the air like a sling, he called outlustily, "Lay low, Conway! Here's young Bailey!"
Conway turned just in time to catch on his shoulder the blow intendedfor his head. He reached forward one of his long arms--he had arms likea windmill, that boy--and, grasping me by the hair, tore out quite arespectable handful. The tears flew to my eyes, but they were not thetears of defeat; they were merely the involuntary tribute which naturepaid to the departed tresses.
In a second my little jacket lay on the ground, and I stood on guard,resting lightly on my right leg and keeping my eye fixed steadily onConway's--in all of which I was faithfully following the instructions ofPhil Adams, whose father subscribed to a sporting journal.
Conway also threw himself into a defensive attitude, and there we were,glaring at each other motionless, neither of us disposed to risk anattack, but both on the alert to resist one. There is no telling howlong we might have remained in that absurd position, had we not beeninterrupted.
It was a custom with the larger pupils to return to the playgroundafter school, and play baseball until sundown. The town authoritieshad prohibited ball-playing on the Square, and, there being no otheravailable place, the boys fell back perforce on the school-yard. Just atthis crisis a dozen or so of the Templars entered the gate, and, seeingat a glance the belligerent status of Conway and myself, dropped bat andball, and rushed to the spot where we stood.
"Is it a fight?" asked Phil Adams, who saw by our freshness that we hadnot yet got to work.
"Yes, it's a fight," I answered, "unless Conway will ask Wallace'spardon, promise never to hector me in future--and put back my hair!"
This last condition was rather a staggerer.
"I sha'n't do nothing of the sort," said Conway, sulkily.
"Then the thing must go on," said Adams, with dignity. "Rodgers, as Iunderstand it, is your second, Conway? Bailey, come here. What's the rowabout?"
"He was thrashing Binny Wallace."
"No, I wasn't," interrupted Conway; "but I was going to because he knowswho put Meeks's mortar over our door. And I know well enough who did it;it was that sneaking little mulatter!" pointing at me.
"O, by George!" I cried, reddening at the insult.
"Cool is the word," said Adams, as he bound a handkerchief round myhead, and carefully tucked away the long straggling locks that offered atempting advantage to the enemy. "Who ever heard of a fellow with sucha head of hair going into action!" muttered Phil, twitching thehandkerchief to ascertain if it were securely tied. He then loosened mygallowses (braces), and buckled them tightly above my hips. "Now, then,bantam, never say die!"
Conway regarded these business-like preparations with evident misgiving,for he called Rodgers to his side, and had himself arrayed in a similarmanner, though his hair was cropped so close that you couldn't havetaken hold of it with a pair of tweezers.
"Is your man ready?" asked Phil Adams, addressing Rodgers.
"Ready!"
"Keep your back to the gate, Tom," whispered Phil in my car, "and you'llhave the sun in his eyes."
Behold us once more face to face, like David and the Philistine. Lookat us as long as you may; for this is all you shall see of the combat.According to my thinking, the hospital teaches a better lesson than thebattle-field. I will tell you about my black eye, and my swollen lip, ifyou will; but not a word of the fight.
You'll get no description of it from me, simply because I think it wouldprove very poor reading, and not because I consider my revolt againstConway's tyranny unjustifiable.
I had borne Conway's persecutions for many months with lamb-likepatience. I might have shielded myself by appealing to Mr. Grimshaw; butno boy in the Temple Grammar School could do that without losing caste.Whether this was just or not doesn't matter a pin, since it was so--atraditionary law of the place. The personal inconvenience I sufferedfrom my tormentor was nothing to the pain he inflicted on me indirectlyby his persistent cruelty to little Binny Wallace. I should have lackedthe spirit of a hen if I had not resented it finally. I am glad that Ifaced Conway, and asked no favors, and got rid of him forever. I am gladthat Phil Adams taught me to box, and I say to all youngsters: Learn tobox, to ride, to pull an oar, and to swim. The occasion may come round,when a decent proficiency in one or the rest of these accomplishmentswill be of service to you.
In one of the best books (1) ever written for boys are these words:
"Learn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket and football. Not oneof you will be the worse, but very much the better, for learning to boxwell. Should you never have to use it in earnest there's no exercise inthe world so good for the temper, and for the muscles of the back andlegs.
"As for fighting, keep out of it, if you can, by all means. When thetime comes, if ever it should, that you have to say 'Yes' or 'No' to achallenge to fight, say 'No' if you can--only take care you make it plainto yourself why you say 'No.' It's a proof of the highest courage, ifdone from true Christian motives. It's quite right and justifiable, ifdone from a simple aversion to physical pain and danger. But don't say'No' because you fear a licking and say or think it's because you fearGod, for that's neither Christian nor honest. And if you do fight, fightit out; and don't give in while you can stand and see."
And don't give in when you can't! see! For I could stand very little,and see not at all (having pommelled the school pump for the last twentyseconds), when Conway retired from the field. As Phil Adams stepped upto shake hands with me, he received a telling blow in the stomach;for all the fight was not out of me yet, and I mistook him for a newadversary.
Convinced of my error, I accepted his congratulations, with those of theother boys, blandly and blindly. I remember that Binny Wallace wanted togive me his silver pencil-case. The gentle soul had stood throughout thecontest with his face turned to the fence, suffering untold agony.
A good wash at the pump, and a cold key applied to my eye, refreshed meamazingly. Escorted by two or three of the schoolfellows, I walked homethrough the pleasant autumn twilight, battered but triumphant. As I wentalong, my cap cocked on one side to keep the chilly air from my eye, Ifelt that I was not only following my nose, but following it so closely,that I was in some danger of treading on it. I seemed to have noseenough for the whole party. My left cheek, also, was puffed out likea dumpling. I couldn't help saying to myself, "If this is victory, howabout that other fellow?"
"Tom," said Harry Blake, hesitating.
&nb
sp; "Well?"
"Did you see Mr. Grimshaw looking out of the recitation-room window justas we left the yard?"
"No was he, though?"
"I am sure of it."
"Then he must have seen all the row."
"Shouldn't wonder."
"No, he didn't," broke in Adams, "or he would have stopped it shortmetre; but I guess be saw you pitching into the pump which you diduncommonly strong--and of course be smelt mischief directly."
"Well, it can't be helped now," I reflected.
"--As the monkey said when he fell out of the cocoanut tree," addedCharley Marden, trying to make me laugh.
It was early candle-light when we reached the house. Miss Abigail,opening the front door, started back at my hilarious appearance. Itried to smile upon her sweetly, but the smile, rippling over myswollen cheek, and dying away like a spent wave on my nose, produced anexpression of which Miss Abigail declared she had never seen the likeexcepting on the face of a Chinese idol.
She hustled me unceremoniously into the presence of my grandfather inthe sitting-room. Captain Nutter, as the recognized professional warriorof our family, could not consistently take me to task for fightingConway; nor was he disposed to do so; for the Captain was well aware ofthe long-continued provocation I had endured.
"Ah, you rascal!" cried the old gentleman, after hearing my story. "Justlike me when I was young--always in one kind of trouble or another. Ibelieve it runs in the family."
"I think," said Miss Abigail, without the faintest expression on hercountenance, "that a table-spoonful of hot-dro--" The Captain interruptedMiss Abigail peremptorily, directing her to make a shade out ofcardboard and black silk to tie over my eye. Miss Abigail must have beenpossessed with the idea that I had taken up pugilism as a profession,for she turned out no fewer than six of these blinders.
"They'll be handy to have in the house," says Miss Abigail, grimly.
Of course, so great a breach of discipline was not to be passed over byMr. Grimshaw. He had, as we suspected, witnessed the closing sceneof the fight from the school-room window, and the next morning, afterprayers, I was not wholly unprepared when Master Conway and myselfwere called up to the desk for examination. Conway, with a piece ofcourt-plaster in the shape of a Maltese cross on his right cheek, andI with the silk patch over my left eye, caused a general titter throughthe room.
"Silence!" said Mr. Grimshaw, sharply.
As the reader is already familiar with the leading points in the case ofBailey versus Conway, I shall not report the trial further than to saythat Adams, Marden, and several other pupils testified to the fact thatConway had imposed on me ever since my first day at the Temple School.Their evidence also went to show that Conway was a quarrelsome charactergenerally. Bad for Conway. Seth Rodgers, on the part of his friend,proved that I had struck the first blow. That was bad for me.
"If you please, sir," said Binny Wallace, holding up his hand forpermission to speak, "Bailey didn't fight on his own account; he foughton my account, and, if you please, sir, I am the boy to be blamed, for Iwas the cause of the trouble."
This drew out the story of Conway's harsh treatment of the smaller boys.As Binny related the wrongs of his playfellows, saying very littleof his own grievances, I noticed that Mr. Grimshaw's hand, unknown tohimself perhaps, rested lightly from time to time on Wallace's sunnyhair. The examination finished, Mr. Grimshaw leaned on the deskthoughtfully for a moment and then said:
"Every boy in this school knows that it is against the rules tofight. If one boy maltreats another, within school-bounds, or withinschool-hours, that is a matter for me to settle. The case should be laidbefore me. I disapprove of tale-bearing, I never encourage it inthe slightest degree; but when one pupil systematically persecutes aschoolmate, it is the duty of some head-boy to inform me. No pupil has aright to take the law into his own hands. If there is any fighting to bedone, I am the person to be consulted. I disapprove of boys' fighting;it is unnecessary and unchristian. In the present instance, I considerevery large boy in this school at fault, but as the offence is one ofomission rather than commission, my punishment must rest only on the twoboys convicted of misdemeanor. Conway loses his recess for a month,and Bailey has a page added to his Latin lessons for the next fourrecitations. I now request Bailey and Conway to shake hands in thepresence of the school, and acknowledge their regret at what hasoccurred."
Conway and I approached each other slowly and cautiously, as if we werebent upon another hostile collision. We clasped hands in the tamestmanner imaginable, and Conway mumbled, "I'm sorry I fought with you."
"I think you are," I replied, drily, "and I'm sorry I had to thrashyou."
"You can go to your seats," said Mr. Grimshaw, turning his face aside tohide a smile. I am sure my apology was a very good one.
I never had any more trouble with Conway. He and his shadow, SethRodgers, gave me a wide berth for many months. Nor was Binny Wallacesubjected to further molestation. Miss Abigail's sanitary stores,including a bottle of opodeldoc, were never called into requisition. Thesix black silk patches, with their elastic strings, are still danglingfrom a beam in the garret of the Nutter House, waiting for me to getinto fresh difficulties.
(1)"Tom Brown's School Days at Rugby"