From School to Battle-field: A Story of the War Days

by Charles King

  CHAPTER VI.

  There were three more school-days that week, and they were the quietestof the year. On the principle that it was an ill wind that blew nobodygood, there was one instructor to whom such unusual decorum was welcome,and that was poor Meeker, who noted the gloom in the eyes of most of theFirst Latin, and responsively lengthened his face, yet at bottom wasconscious of something akin to rejoicing. His had been a hapless lot. Hehad entered upon his duties the first week in September, and the classhad taken his measure the first day. A better-meaning fellow than Meekerprobably never lived, but he was handicapped by a soft, appealing mannerand a theory that to get the most out of boys he must have theirgood-will, and to get their good-will he must load them with what theclass promptly derided as "blarney." He was poor and struggling, wasgraduated high in his class at college, was eager to prepare himself forthe ministry, and took to teaching in the mean time to provide thenecessary means. The First Latin would have it that Pop didn't want himat all, but that Meeker gave him no rest until promised employment, forMeeker had well known that there was to be a vacancy, and was first toapply for it. But what made it more than a luckless move for him wasthat he had applied for the position vacated by a man Pop's boys adored,"a man from the ground up," as they expressed it, a splendid,deep-voiced, deep-chested, long-limbed athlete, with a soul as big ashis massive frame and an energy as boundless as the skies. He, too, hadworked his way to the priesthood, teaching long hours at Pop's each day,tutoring college weaklings or would-be freshmen in the evenings,studying when and where he could, but wasting never a minute. Never wasthere a tutor who preached less or practised more. His life was a lessonof self-denial, of study, of purpose. Work hard, play hard, pray hard,might have been his motto, for whatsoever that hand of his found to dothat did he with all his might. Truth, manliness, magnetism, were inevery glance of his clear eyes, every tone of his deep voice. Boysshrank from boys' subterfuges and turned in unaccustomed disgust fromschool-boy lies before they had been a month in Tuttle's presence; heseemed to feel such infinite pity for a coward. Never using a harshword, never an unjust one, never losing faith or temper, his was yet socommanding a nature that by sheer force of his personality and examplehis pupils followed unquestioning. With the strength of a Hercules, hecould not harm an inferior creature. With the courage of a lion, he hadonly sorrow for the faint-hearted. With a gift and faculty forleadership that would have made him a general-in-chief, he was humble asa child in the sight of his Maker, and in all the long years of hisgreat, brave life, only once, that his boys ever heard of, did he usethat rugged strength to discipline or punish a human being, and thatonly when courtesy and persuasion had failed to stop a ruffian tongue inits foul abuse of that Maker's name. It was a solemn day for the school,a glad one for the church militant, when he took leave of the one totake his vows in the other. There wasn't a boy among all his pupils thatwould have been surprised at his becoming a bishop inside of fiveyears,--as, indeed, he did inside of ten,--and the class had not ceasedmourning their loss when Meeker came to take his place. "Fill Tut'sshoes!" said Snipe, with fine derision. "Why, he'll rattle around in 'emlike shot in a drum." No wonder Meeker failed to fill the bill.

  And yet he tried hard. Something told him the First Latin would decidewhether he should go or stay. Halsey had not been consulted in hisselection, or Halsey would have told the Doctor in so many words that ittook a man of bigger calibre to handle that class. Beach had not beenconsulted. He had known Meeker in undergraduate days and thought himlacking in backbone. Pop had "sprung" him, so to speak, upon theschool, as though he really felt he owed his boys an apology, and, withthe ingenuity of so many unregenerate young imps, the First Latin set towork to make Meeker's life a burden to him.

  It was one of the fads of the school that the individual slate should beused in mathematical hour instead of a wall slate or blackboard. It wasone of the practices to give out examples in higher arithmetic orequations in algebra and have the pupils work them out then and there,each boy, presumably, working for himself. Meeker introduced arefinement of the system. He announced one example at a time, anddirected that as soon as a pupil had finished the work he should stepforward and deposit his slate, face downward, on the corner of themaster's table. The next boy to finish should place his slate on top ofthat of the first, and at the end of five minutes the pile of slatesthus formed was turned bottom side up. All boys who had not finishedtheir work in the given time--four, five, six, or eight minutes,according to the difficulty of the problem--were counted out. All whosework proved to be incorrect were similarly scored, while those who hadobtained by proper methods the right result were credited with a mark ofthree, with an additional premium for the quickest, the first boycounting six, the second five, the third four. Meeker introduced thesystem with a fine flourish of trumpets and marvelled at its promptsuccess. Even boys known to be lamentably backward in themultiplication-table were found to present slates full of apparentlyunimpeachable figures in cube root or equations of the second degree,and the whole twenty-seven would have their slates on the pile withinthe allotted time. "Of course," said Meeker, "it is beyond belief thatyoung gentlemen of the First Latin would be guilty of acceptingassistance or copying from a competitor's work," whereat there would beheard the low murmur, as of far-distant, but rapidly approaching,tornado, and the moan would swell unaccountably, even while every pencilwas flying, every eye fixed upon the slate. This thing went along fortwo or three days with no more serious mishap than that twice, withoutan apparent exciting cause, while Meeker would be elaborately explainingsome alleged knotty point to Joy or Lawton, the half-completed stackwould edge slowly off the slippery table and topple with prodigiouscrash and clatter to the floor. Then Meeker bethought himself of astopper to these seismic developments, and directed that henceforth,instead of being deposited at the corner, the slates should be laiddirectly in front of him on the middle of the desk. This was mostdecorously done as much as twice, and then an extraordinary thingoccurred. It had occasionally happened that two or even three of theboys would finish their work at the same moment, and in their eagernessto get their slates foremost on the stack a race, a rush, a collision,had resulted. Then these became surprisingly frequent, as many as fourboys finishing together and coming like quarter horses to the goal, butthe day that Meeker hit on the expedient of piling the slates updirectly in front of him, and at the third essay, there was witnessedthe most astonishing thing of all. Snipe was always a leader inmathematics, as he was in mischief, and he, Carey, Satterlee, and Joywere sure to be of the first four, but now, for a wonder, four, evenfive, minutes passed and not a slate was in. "Come, come, gentlemen,"said Meeker, "there's nothing remarkable in this example. I obtained theresult with the utmost ease in three minutes." And still the heads bentlower over the slates and the pencils whizzed more furiously. Fiveminutes went by. "Most astonishing!" said Meeker, and began going overhis own work to see if there could be any mistake, and no sooner was heseen to be absorbed thereat than quick glances shot up and down the longbench-line and slates were deftly passed from hand to hand. The laggardsgot those of the quicker. The experts swiftly straightened out theerrors of the slow, and some mysterious message went down from hand tohand in Snipe's well-known chirography, and then, just as Meeker wouldhave raised his head to glance at the time and warn them there was buthalf a minute more, as one boy up rose the twenty-seven and charged uponhim with uplifted slates. Batter, clatter, rattle, bang! they camecrashing down upon the desk, while in one mighty, struggling upheavalthe class surged about him and that unstable table.

  "But those behind cried 'Forward!' And those before cried 'Back!'"

  Turner, Beekman, Snipe, and Shorty vigorously expostulating against suchriotous performances and appealing to their classmates not to upset Mr.Meeker, who had tilted back out of his chair only in the nick of time,for the table followed, skating across the floor, and it was "reallyverging on the miraculous," said he, "that these gentlemen should allfinish at the same instant." But th
at was the last of the slate-pilebusiness. "Hereafter, young gentlemen," said Meeker, on the morrow, "youwill retain your seats and slates, but as soon as you have obtained theresult hold up your hand. I will record the name and the order and thencall you forward, as I may wish to see your slates." This workedbeautifully just once, then the hands would go up in blocks of five, andthe class as one boy would exclaim "Astonishing! Miraculous!" ThenMeeker abandoned the speed system and tried the plan of calling up atthirty-second intervals by the watch as many boys as he thought shouldhave finished, beginning at the head of the class. And then the FirstLatin gave him an exhibition of the peculiar properties of thosebenches. They were about eight or nine feet long, supported on twostoutly braced "legs," with the seat projecting some eighteen inchesbeyond each support. Put one hundred and forty pounds on one end of aneight-foot plank, with a fulcrum a foot away, and the long end will tiltup and point to the roof in the twinkling of an eye. Meeker called hislads up three at a time, at the beginning of the next new system, andsmiled to see how smoothly it worked and how uncommonly still the ladswere. Then came exhibit number two, and in the most innocent way in theworld Doremus and Ballou--the heavy weights of the class--took seats atthe extreme lower end of their respective benches. The sudden rising ofthe three other occupants when called forward resulted in instantgymnastics. The long bench suddenly tilted skyward, a fat younggentleman was spilled off the shorter end, vehemently struggling andsorely bruised, and then back the bench would come with a bang thatshook the premises, while half the class would rush in apparentconsternation to raise their prostrate and aggrieved comrade. Hoover'sbench was never known to misbehave in this way, for he had it usuallyall to himself, except when some brighter lad was sent to the foot intemporary punishment. But no matter how absurd the incident, howpalpable the mischief, it was apparently a point of honor with the classto see nothing funny in it, to maintain an expression of severedisapproval, if not of righteous indignation, and invariably to denouncethe perpetrators of such indignity as unworthy to longer remain in aschool whose boast it was that the scholars loved their masters andwould never do aught to annoy them. The most amazing things wereperpetually happening. Meeker's eyes were no sharper than his wits, andhe could not understand how it was that Snipe and Joy, two of thekeenest mathematicians in the class, should so frequently requireassistance at the desk, and when they returned to their seats, suchobjects on his table as the hand-bell, the pen-rack, or even theink-stand, would be gifted with invisible wings and whisk off afterthem. Nothing could exceed Snipe's astonishment and just abhorrence whenit was finally discovered that a long loop of tough but almost invisiblehorse-hair was attached to the back of his sack-coat, or thecondemnation in the expressed disapprobation of the class when Joy wasfound to be similarly equipped. Then Meeker's high silk hat, hung on apeg outside Pop's particular closet, began to develop astonishing powersof procreation, bringing forth one day a litter of mice, on another apair of frolicsome kittens. Meeker abandoned the hat for a billycock asthe autumn wore on, and the class appeared content; only the Doctor wasallowed a high hat. But Meeker was of nervous temperament, and startedat sudden sounds and squirmed under the influence of certain others,noting which the class sympathetically sprinkled the floor withtorpedoes and jumped liked electrified frogs when they exploded undersome crunching heel, and the fuel for the big stove presently becamegifted with explosive tendencies that filled Meeker's soul with dread,and the room with smoke, and the breasts of the First Latin with amazethat the janitor could be so careless. Then there was a strollingGerman band, with clarinets of appalling squeak, that became speedilypossessed of the devil and a desire to "spiel" under the school windowsjust after the mathematical hour began, and Meeker's voice was upliftedfrom the windows in vain protest. The band was well paid to come and thepoliceman to keep away. I fear me that many a dime of poor Snipe'slittle stipend went into that unhallowed contribution rather than intohis boots. All this and more was Meeker accepting with indomitablesmiles day after day until the sudden withdrawal of George Lawton fromthe school,--no boy knew why, and all the fun went out of the hearts ofthe First Latin when they heard the rumor going round that Pop himselfhad written to his old pupil, Mr. Park, suggesting that his step-sonwould better be recalled from a city which seemed so full of dangeroustemptation to one of George's temperament, and yet Pop had really seemedfond of him.

  The whole thing was unaccountable. The most miserable lad in school,apparently, was Shorty. He had gone to the Lawrences to inquire for hischum right after dinner that Tuesday evening, and the servant checkedhim when he would have bolted, as usual, up the stairs to George's room.Mrs. Lawrence was entertaining friends at dinner, but had left word thatif Master Reggie came he was to be told that George could see no onethat evening, that Mrs. Lawrence would explain it all later. Shortywent there Wednesday on his way to school, and the butler said MasterGeorge was still in his room, and that he was not to be disturbed.Wednesday at recess the leaders of the class held a council anddetermined to appoint a committee to ask an explanation of the Doctor,since not a word could be extracted from Halsey or Beach, and thecommittee called right after recitation and "rose and reported" withintwo minutes. Pop silently pointed to the door. Then seeing that Shortyand Joy still lingered, half determined, supplemented the gesture by"Young gentlemen, pack yourselves off! When I am ready to tell you,you'll hear it and not before."

  But the woe in Shorty's face was too much for him, after all. He knewthe lads and the friendship they bore each other.

  "Here you, sir!" he cried, with affected sternness, "sit there till Iwant you," and he pointed to a bench, even while frowning at the othersof the disheartened delegation, who scuttled away down-stairs in dreadof the Doctor's rising wrath. When all were gone and the big, bareschool-rooms were still, Pop looked up from a letter he was writing,beckoned with his long forefinger, then reversing the hand, pointeddownward at the floor beside his desk, and Shorty, recognizing thesignal, with leaping heart and twitching lips, marched up and took hisstand, looking dumbly into the Doctor's pallid face. The great manshoved his gold-rimmed spectacles half-way up across the expanse offorehead the lads had likened to "a ten-acre lot," folded his handsacross the voluminous waistcoat, and leaned back in his chair. Then hiseyes swept downward.

  "Has our friend Snipe often been in need of money?" he asked.

  "He had hardly any at all, sir," blurted Shorty, with something like asob. "There are holes in the soles of his shoes and corresponding holesworn in his stockings, and the skin of the soles of his feet'll go next.He never had enough to get a decent lunch with, and couldn't join ourfirst nine last year because he hadn't the uniform and wouldn't ask forone. The Club subscribed and bought it,--he was so bully a player. Allthe----"

  The Doctor knows that Shorty is not named because of brevity in speech,and upraises a white hand. "Did he owe any of the boys,--Hoover, forinstance?"

  "He wouldn't borrow," said Shorty, indignantly; "last of all fromHoover. None of us ever owe _him_ anything except----" And Shorty gulps,and the tears that were starting to his eyes burn out before the suddenfire of his wrath.

  "Except what?" asks Pop, deliberately.

  "A lickin'," says Shorty, with reddening face, whereat the Doctor's headtilts back and the great stomach heaves spasmodically. The grim linesabout the wide mouth relax. It is his way of laughing and he enjoys it,but Shorty doesn't.

  "I wish you'd tell me what's the trouble with--with Lawton, sir," healmost sobs again. "They won't let me see him, and the boys say it's alla----" But here Shorty breaks off, which is unlike him.

  "Yes," suggested Pop, "they say it's all a--what?"

  "Shame," said Shorty, well knowing that that shame is mentally qualifiedby a most unqualified adjective.

  Pop ponders a moment. "Has none of the boys missed anything besidesJoy,--no trinkets, rings, anything?"

  "Hoover and Briggs are always missing something, sir, and Seymour lost agold pencil."

  "But Lawton never borrowed and didn
't owe anybody,--in school, I mean?"asks Pop.

  "Didn't owe anybody _anywhere_ that I know of!" protests Shorty. "Hesays it makes him sick to owe anything. If Hoover says anythingdifferent, he's lying. That's all."

  "What's the reason Hoover isn't at school?" asks Pop, and while his facedoes not change the eyes study closely.

  "He's afraid of trouble because some of that Metamora set tripped andhurt Snipe, running to a fire last Saturday."

  "That's what you get for running to fires, sir. Young gentlemen have nobusiness mingling with crowds and rowdies. That's why you lost the headof the class in Latin three weeks ago. You spent hours at that big firedown-town when you should have been at your Virgil."

  Shorty reddens, but attempts no defence. He knows it is so. He knows,furthermore, that if the bell were to strike the next minute he'd be offlike the wind,--Latin, and even Snipe, to the contrary notwithstanding.What he doesn't understand is how the Doctor knows all about it.

  "Youngster," says the Doctor, after a moment's reflection, "I wantHoover back at school at once, and there must be no harming him in anyway. What's more, I have told Lawton to stay away until I send for him.There are reasons for this, and you can say so to the class. To-nightyou will see him yourself, and he will tell you the whole story. Now, Imust write to Hoover _paterfamilias_. Run along!"

  But Pop is mistaken in one matter. Shorty does not see Snipe that night,nor the next day, nor the next. He waits vainly until late in theevening, then goes to the Lawrences', and Mrs. Lawrence, with scaredface, comes down to ask what he means. George had asked permission soonafter dark to go and spend one hour with his friend and chum and tellhim his troubles. It is now ten o'clock. He has not been there, and hehas not returned.