CHAPTER XXITHE NEW TEACHER
The new teacher who was employed to take the Greenbank school in the autumn was a young man from college. Standing behind the desk hitherto occupied by the grim-faced Mr. Ball, young Williams looked very mild by contrast. He was evidently a gentle-spirited man as compared with the old master, and King Pewee and his crowd were gratified in noting this fact. They could have their own way with such a master as that! When he called the school to order, there remained a bustle of curiosity and mutual recognition among the children. Riley and Pewee kept up a little noise by way of defiance. They had heard that the new master did not intendto whip. Now he stood quietly behind his desk, and waited a few moments in silence for the whispering group to be still. Then he slowly raised and levelled his finger at Riley and Pewee, but still said nothing. There was something so firm and quiet about his motion—something that said, “I will wait all day, but you must be still”—that the boys could not resist it.
By the time they were quiet, two of the girls had got into a titter over something, and the forefinger was aimed at them. The silent man made the pupils understand that he was not to be trifled with.
When at length there was quiet, he made every one lay down book or slate and face around toward him. Then with his pointing finger, or with a little slap of his hands together, or with a word or two at most, he got the school still again.
“I hope we shall be friends,” he said, ina voice full of kindliness. “All I want is to——”
But at this point Riley picked up his slate and book, and turned away. The master snapped his fingers, but Riley affected not to hear him.
“That young man will put down his slate.” The master spoke in a low tone, as one who expected to be obeyed, and the slate was reluctantly put upon the desk.
“When I am talking to you, I want you to hear,” he went on, very quietly. “I am paid to teach you. One of the things I have to teach you is good manners. You,” pointing to Riley, “are old enough to know better than to take your slate when your teacher is speaking, but perhaps you have never been taught what are good manners. I’ll excuse you this time. Now, you all see those switches hanging here behind me. I did not put them there. I do not saythat I shall not use them. Some boys have to be whipped, I suppose,—like mules,—and when I have tried, I may find that I cannot get on without the switches, but I hope not to have to use them.”
Here Riley, encouraged by the master’s mildness and irritated by the rebuke he had received, began to make figures on his slate.
“Bring me that slate,” said the teacher.
Riley was happy that he had succeeded in starting a row. He took his slate and his arithmetic, and shuffled up to the master in a half-indolent, half-insolent way.
“Why do you take up your work when I tell you not to?” asked the new teacher.
“Because I didn’t want to waste all my morning. I wanted to do my sums.”
“You are a remarkably industrious youth, I take it.” The young master looked Riley over, as he said this, from head to foot. The whole school smiled,for there was no lazier boy than this same Riley. “I suppose,” the teacher continued, “that you are the best scholar in school—the bright and shining light of Greenbank.”
Here there was a general titter at Riley.
“I cannot have you sit away down at the other end of the school-room and hide your excellent example from the rest. Stand right up here by me and cipher, that all the school may see how industrious you are.”
Riley grew very red in the face and pretended to “cipher,” holding his book in his hand.
“Now,” said the new teacher, “I have but just one rule for this school, and I will write it on the blackboard that all may see it.”
He took chalk and wrote:
DO RIGHT.
“That is all. Let us go to our lessons.”
For the first two hours that Riley stood on the floor he pretended to enjoy it. But when recess came and went and Mr. Williams did not send him to his seat, he began to shift from one foot to the other and from his heels to his toes, and to change his slate from the right hand to the left. His class was called, and after recitation he was sent back to his place. He stood it as best he could until the noon recess, but when, at the beginning of the afternoon session, Mr. Williams again called his “excellent scholar” and set him up, Riley broke down and said:
“I think you might let me go now.”
“Are you tired?” asked the cruel Mr. Williams.
“Yes, I am,” and Riley hung his head, while the rest smiled.
“And are you ready to do what the good order of the school requires?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well; you can go.”
The chopfallen Riley went back to his seat, convinced that it would not do to rebel against the new teacher, even if he did not use the beech switches.
But Mr. Williams was also quick to detect the willing scholar. He gave Jack extra help on his Latin after school was out, and Jack grew very proud of the teacher’s affection for him.
CHAPTER XXIICHASING THE FOX
All the boys in the river towns thirty years ago—and therefore the boys in Greenbank, also—took a great interest in the steamboats which plied up and down the Ohio. Each had his favorite boat, and boasted of her speed and excellence. Every one of them envied those happy fellows whose lot it was to “run on the river” as cabin-boys. Boats were a common topic of conversation—their build, their engines, their speed, their officers, their mishaps, and all the incidents of their history.
So it was that from the love of steamboats, which burned so brightly in the bosom of the boy who lived on the banksof that great and lovely river, there grew up the peculiar game of “boats’ names.” I think the game was started at Louisville or New Albany, where the falls interrupt navigation, and where many boats of the upper and lower rivers are assembled.
One day, as the warm air of Indian summer in this mild climate made itself felt, the boys assembled, on the evergreen “bluegrass,” after the snack at the noon recess, to play boats’ names.
Through Jack’s influence, Columbus, who did not like to play with the A B C boys, was allowed to take the handkerchief and give out the first name. All the rest stood up in a row like a spelling-class, while little Columbus, standing in front of them, held a knotted handkerchief with which to scourge them when the name should be guessed. The arm which held the handkerchief was so puny that the boys laughedto see the feeble lad stand there in a threatening attitude.
“I say, Lum, don’t hit too hard, now; my back is tender,” said Bob Holliday.
“Give us an easy one to guess,” said Riley, coaxingly.
Columbus, having come from the back country, did not know the names of half a dozen boats, and what he knew about were those which touched daily at the wharf of Greenbank.
“F——n,” he said.
“Fashion,” cried all the boys at once, breaking into unrestrained mirth at the simplicity that gave them the name of Captain Glenn’s little Cincinnati and Port William packet, which landed daily at the village wharf. Columbus now made a dash at the boys, who were obliged to run to the school-house and back whenever a name was guessed, suffering a beating allthe way from the handkerchief of the one who had given out the name, though, indeed, the punishment Lum was able to give was very slight. It was doubtful who had guessed first, since the whole party had cried “Fashion” almost together, but it was settled at last in favor of Harry Weathervane, who was sure to give out hard names, since he had been to Cincinnati recently, and had gone along the levee reading the names of those boats that did business above that city, and so were quite unknown, unless by report, to the boys of Greenbank.
“A—— A——s,” were the three letters which Harry gave, and Ben Berry guessed “Archibald Ananias,” and Tom Holcroft said it was “Amanda Amos,” and at last all gave it up; whereupon Harry told them it was “Alvin Adams,” and proceeded to give out another.
“C—— A—— P——x,” he said next time.
“Caps,” said Riley, mistaking the x for an s; and then Bob Holliday suggested “Hats and Caps,” and Jack wanted to have it “Boots and Shoes.” But Johnny Meline remembered that he had read of such a name for a ship in his Sunday-school lesson of the previous Sunday, and he guessed that a steamboat might bear that same.
“I know,” said Johnny, “it’s Castor——”
“Oil,” suggested Jack.
“No—Castor and P, x,—Pollux—Castor and Pollux—it’s a Bible name.”
“You’re not giving us the name of Noah’s ark, are you?” asked Bob.
“I say, boys, that isn’t fair a bit,” growled Pewee, in all earnestness. “I don’t hardly believe that Bible ship’s a-going now.” Things were mixed in Pewee’smind, but he had a vague notion that Bible times were as much as fifty years ago. While he stood doubting, Harry began to whip him with the handkerchief, saying, “I saw her at Cincinnati, last week. She runs to Maysville and Parkersburg, you goose.”
After many names had been guessed, and each guesser had taken his turn, Ben Berry had to give out. He had just heard the name of a “lower country” boat, and was sure that it would not be guessed.
“C——p——r,” he said.
“Oh, I know,” said Jack, who had been studying the steamboat column of an old Louisville paper that very morning, “it’s the—the—” and he put his hands over his ears, closed his eyes, and danced around, trying to remember, while all the rest stood and laughed at his antics. “Now I’ve got it,—the ‘Cornplanter’!”
And Ben Berry whipped the boys across the road and back, after which Jack took the handkerchief.
“Oh, say, boys, this is a poor game; let’s play fox,” Bob suggested. “Jack’s got the handkerchief, let him be the first fox.”
So Jack took a hundred yards’ start, and all the boys set out after him. The fox led the hounds across the commons, over the bars, past the “brick pond,” as it was called, up the lane into Moro’s pasture, along the hill-side to the west across Dater’s fence into Betts’s pasture; thence over into the large woods pasture of the Glade farm. In every successive field some of the hounds had run off to the flank, and by this means every attempt of Jack’s to turn toward the river, and thus fetch a circuit for home, had been foiled. They had cut him off from turning through Moro’s orchard or Betts’s vineyard, and sothere was nothing for the fleet-footed fox but to keep steadily to the west and give his pursuers no chance to make a cut-off on him. But every now and then he made a feint of turning, which threw the others out of a straight track. Once in the woods pasture, Jack found himself out of breath, having run steadily for a rough mile and a half, part of it up-hill. He was yet forty yards ahead of Bob Holliday and Riley, who led the hounds. Dashing into a narrow path through the underbrush, Jack ran into a little clump of bushes and hid behind a large black-walnut log.
Riley and Holliday came within six feet of him, some of the others passed to the south of him and some to the north, but all failed to discover his lurking-place. Soon Jack could hear them beating about the bushes beyond him.
This was his time. Having recovered hiswind, he crept out southward until he came to the foot of the hill, and entered Glade’s lane, heading straight for the river across the wide plain. Pewee, who had perched himself on a fence to rest, caught sight of Jack first, and soon the whole pack were in full cry after him, down the long, narrow, elder-bordered lane. Bob Holliday and Riley, the fleetest of foot, climbed over the high stake-and-rider fence into Betts’s cornfield, and cut off a diagonal to prevent Jack’s getting back toward the school-house. Seeing this movement, Jack, who already had made an extraordinary run, crossed the fence himself, and tried to make a cut-off in spite of them; but Riley already had got in ahead of him, and Jack, seeing the boys close behind and before him, turned north again toward the hill, got back into the lane, which was now deserted, and climbed into Glade’s meadowon the west side of the lane. He now had a chance to fetch a sweep around toward the river again, though the whole troop of boys were between him and the school-house. Fairly headed off on the east, he made a straight run south for the river shore, striking into a deep gully, from which he came out panting upon the beach, where he had just time to hide himself in a hollow sycamore, hoping that the boys would get to the westward and give him a chance to run up the river shore for the school-house.
But one cannot play the same trick twice. Some of the boys stationed themselves so as to intercept Jack’s retreat toward the school-house, while the rest searched for him, beating up and down the gully, and up and down the beach, until they neared the hollow sycamore. Jack made a sharp dash to get through them,but was headed off and caught by Pewee. Just as Jack was caught, and Pewee was about to start homeward as fox, the boys caught sight of two steamboats racing down the river. The whole party was soon perched on a fallen sycamore, watching first the “Swiftsure” and then the “Ben Franklin,” while the black smoke poured from their chimneys. So fascinated were they with this exciting contest that they stayed half an hour waiting to see which should beat. At length, as the boats passed out of sight, with the “Swiftsure” leading her competitor, it suddenly occurred to Jack that it must be later than the school-hour. The boys looked aghast at one another a moment on hearing him mention this; then they glanced at the sun, already declining in the sky, and set out for school, trotting swiftly in spite of their fatigue.
What would the master say? Peweesaid he didn’t care,—it wasn’t Old Ball, and they wouldn’t get a whipping, anyway. But Jack thought that it was too bad to lose the confidence of Mr. Williams.
CHAPTER XXIIICALLED TO ACCOUNT
Successful hounds, having caught their fox, ought to have come home in triumph; but, instead of that, they came home like dogs that had been killing sheep, their heads hanging down in a guilty and self-betraying way.
Jack walked into the school-house first. It was an hour and a half past the time for the beginning of school. He tried to look unconcerned as he went to his seat. There stood the teacher, with his face very calm but very pale, and Jack felt his heart sink.
One by one the laggards filed into the school-room, while the awe-stricken girls onthe opposite benches, and the little A B C boys, watched the guilty sinners take their places, prepared to meet their fate.
Riley came in with a half-insolent smile on his face, as if to say: “I don’t care.” Pewee was sullen and bull-doggish. Ben Berry looked the sneaking fellow he was, and Harry Weathervane tried to remember that his father was a school-trustee. Bob Holliday couldn’t help laughing in a foolish way. Columbus had fallen out of the race before he got to the “brick-pond,” and so had returned in time to be punctual when school resumed its session.
During all the time that the boys, heated with their exercise and blushing with shame, were filing in, Mr. Williams stood with set face and regarded them. He was very much excited, and so I suppose did not dare to reprove them just then. He called the classes and heard them in rapid succession,until it was time for the spelling-class, which comprised all but the very youngest pupils. On this day, instead of calling the spelling-class, he said, evidently with great effort to control himself: “The girls will keep their seats. The boys will take their places in the spelling-class.”
Riley’s lower jaw fell—he was sure that the master meant to flog them all. He was glad he was not at the head of the class. Ben Berry could hardly drag his feet to his place, and poor Jack was filled with confusion. When the boys were all in place, the master walked up and down the line and scrutinized them, while Riley cast furtive glances at the dusty old beech switches on the wall, wondering which one the master would use, and Pewee was trying to guess whether Mr. Williams’s arm was strong, and whether he “would make a fellow take off his coat” or not.
“Columbus,” said the teacher, “you can take your seat.”
Riley shook in his shoes, thinking that this certainly meant a whipping. He began to frame excuses in his mind, by which to try to lighten his punishment.
But the master did not take down his switches. He only talked. But such a talk! He told the boys how worthless a man was who could not be trusted, and how he had hoped for a school full of boys that could be relied on. He thought there were some boys, at least—and this remark struck Jack to the heart—that there were some boys in the school who would rather be treated as gentlemen than beaten with ox-goads. But he was now disappointed. All of them seemed equally willing to take advantage of his desire to avoid whipping them; and all of them had shown themselvesunfit to be trusted.
Here he paused long enough to let the full weight of his censure enter their minds. Then he began on a new tack. He had hoped that he might have their friendship. He had thought that they cared a little for his good opinion. But now they had betrayed him. All the town was looking to see whether he would succeed in conducting his school without whipping. A good many would be glad to see him fail. Today they would be saying all over Greenbank that the new teacher couldn’t manage his school. Then he told the boys that while they were sitting on the trunk of the fallen sycamore looking at the steamboat race, one of the trustees, Mr. Weathervane, had driven past and had seen them there. He had stopped to complain to the master. “Now,” said the master, “I have found how little you care for me.”
This was very sharp talk, and it made the boys angry. Particularly did Jack resentany intimation that he was not to be trusted. But the new master was excited and naturally spoke severely. Nor did he give the boys a chance to explain at that time.
“You have been out of school,” he said, “one hour and thirty-one minutes. That is about equal to six fifteen-minute recesses—to the morning and afternoon recesses for three days. I shall have to keep you in at those six recesses to make up the time, and in addition, as a punishment, I shall keep you in school half an hour after the usual time of dismission, for three days.”
Here Jack made a motion to speak.
“No,” said the master, “I will not hear a word, now. Go home and think it over. To-morrow I mean to ask each one of you to explain his conduct.”
With this, he dismissed the school, and the boys went out as angry as a hive ofbees that have been disturbed. Each one made his speech. Jack thought it “mean that the master should say they were not fit to be trusted. He wouldn’t have stayed out if he’d known it was school-time.”
Bob Holliday said “the young master was a blisterer,” and then he laughed good-naturedly.
Harry Weathervane was angry, and so were all the rest. At length it was agreed that they didn’t want to be cross-questioned about it, and that it was better that somebody should write something that should give Mr. Williams a piece of their mind, and show him how hard he was on boys that didn’t mean any harm, but only forgot themselves. And Jack was selected to do the writing.
Jack made up his mind that the paper he would write should be “a scorcher.”
CHAPTER XXIVAN APOLOGY
Of course, there was a great deal of talk in the village. The I-told-you-so people were quite delighted. Old Mother Horn “always knew that boys couldn’t be managed without switching. Didn’t the Bible or somebody say: ‘Just as the twig is bent the boy’s inclined?’ And if you don’t bend your twig, what’ll become of your boy?”
The loafers and loungers and gad-abouts and gossips talked a great deal about the failure of the new plan. They were sure that Mr. Ball would be back in that school-house before the term was out, unless Williams should whip a good deal more thanhe promised to. The boys would just drive him out.
Jack told his mother, with a grieved face, how harsh the new master had been, and how he had even said they werenot fit to be trusted.
“That’s a very harsh word,” said Mrs. Dudley, “but let us make some allowances. Mr. Williams is on trial before the town, and he finds himself nearly ruined by the thoughtlessness of the boys. He had to wait an hour and a half, with half of the school gone. Think how much he must have suffered in that time. And then, to have to take a rebuke from Mr. Weathervane besides, must have stung him to the quick.”
“Yes, that’s so,” said Jack, “but then he had no business to take it for granted that we did it on purpose.”
And Jack went about his chores, trying to think of some way of writing to themaster an address which should be severe, but not too severe. He planned many things but gave them up. He lay awake in the night thinking about it, and, at last, when he had cooled off, he came to the conclusion that, as the boys had been the first offenders, they should take the first step toward a reconciliation. But whether he could persuade the angry boys to see it in that light, he did not know.
When morning came, he wrote a very short paper, somewhat in this fashion:
Mr. Williams:Dear Sir: We are very sorry for what we did yesterday, and for the trouble we have given you. We are willing to take the punishment, for we think we deserve it; but we hope you will not think that we did it on purpose, for we did not, and we don’t like to have you think so.
Respectfully submitted.
Jack carried this in the first place to his faithful friend, Bob Holliday, who read it.
“Oh, you’ve come down, have you?” said Bob.
“I thought we ought to,” said Jack. “Wedidgive him a great deal of trouble, and if it had been Mr. Ball, he would have whipped us half to death.”
“We shouldn’t have forgot and gone away at that time if Old Ball had been the master,” said Bob.
“That’s just it,” said Jack; “that’s the very reason why we ought to apologize.”
“All right,” said Bob, “I’ll sign her,” and he wrote “Robert M. Holliday” in big letters at the top of the column intended for the names. Jack put his name under Bob’s.
But when they got to the school-house it was not so easy to persuade the rest. At length, however, Johnny Meline signed it, and then Harry Weathervane, and then the rest, one after another, with somegrumbling, wrote their names. All subscribed to it excepting Pewee and Ben Berry and Riley. They declared they never would sign it. They didn’t want to be kept in at recess and after school like convicts. They didn’t deserve it.
“Jack is a soft-headed fool,” Riley said, “to draw up such a thing as that. I’m not afraid of the master. I’m not going to knuckle down to him, either.”
Of course, Pewee, as a faithful echo, said just what Riley said, and Ben Berry said what Riley and Pewee said; so that the three were quite unanimous.
“Well,” said Jack, “then we’ll have to hand in our petition without the signatures of the triplets.”
“Don’t you call me a triplet,” said Pewee; “I’ve got as much sense as any of you. You’re a soft-headed triplet yourself!”
Even Riley had to join in the laugh that followed this blundering sally of Pewee.
When the master came in, he seemed very much troubled. He had heard what had been said about the affair in the town. The address which Jack had written was lying on his desk. He took it up and read it, and immediately a look of pleasure and relief took the place of the worried look he had brought to school with him.
“Boys,” he said, “I have received your petition, and I shall answer it by and by.”
The hour for recess came and passed. The girls and the very little boys were allowed their recess, but nothing was said to the larger boys about their going out. Pewee and Riley were defiant.
At length, when the school was about to break up for noon, the master put his pen, ink, and other little articles in the desk,and the school grew hushed with expectancy.
“This apology,” said Mr. Williams, “which I see is in John Dudley’s handwriting, and which bears the signature of all but three of those who were guilty of the offence yesterday, is a very manly apology, and quite increases my respect for those who have signed it. I have suffered much from your carelessness of yesterday, but this apology, showing, as it does, the manliness of my boys, has given me more pleasure than the offence gave me pain. I ought to make an apology to you. I blamed you too severely yesterday in accusing you of running away intentionally. I take all that back.”
Here he paused a moment, and looked over the petition carefully.
“William Riley, I don’t see your name here. Why is that?”
“Because I didn’t put it there.”
Pewee and Ben Berry both laughed at this wit.
“Why didn’t you put it there?”
“Because I didn’t want to.”
“Have you any explanation to give of your conduct yesterday?”
“No, sir; only that I think it’s mean to keep us in because we forgot ourselves.”
“Peter Rose, have you anything to say?”
“Just the same as Will Riley said.”
“And you, Benjamin?”
“Oh, I don’t care much,” said Ben Berry. “Jack was fox, and I ran after him, and if he hadn’t run all over creation and part of Columbia, I shouldn’t have been late. It isn’t any fault of mine. I think Jack ought to do the staying in.”
“You are about as old a boy as Jack,” said the master. “I suppose Jack might say that if you and the others hadn’tchased him, he wouldn’t have run ‘all over creation,’ as you put it. You and the rest were all guilty of a piece of gross thoughtlessness. All excepting you three have apologized in the most manly way. I therefore remove the punishment from all the others entirely hereafter, deeming that the loss of this morning’s recess is punishment enough for boys who can be so manly in their acknowledgments. Peter Rose, William Riley, and Benjamin Berry will remain in school at both recesses and for a half-hour after school every day for three days—not only for having forgotten their duty, but for having refused to make acknowledgment or apology.”
Going home that evening, half an hour after all the others had been dismissed, the triplets put all their griefs together, and resolved to be avenged on Mr. Williams at the first convenient opportunity.
CHAPTER XXVKING’S BASE AND A SPELLING-LESSON
As the three who usually gave the most trouble on the playground, as well as in school, were now in detention at every recess, the boys enjoyed greatly their play during these three days.
It was at this time that they began to play that favorite game of Greenbank, which seems to be unknown almost everywhere else. It is called “king’s base,” and is full of all manner of complex happenings, sudden surprises, and amusing results.
Each of the boys selected a base or goal. A row of sidewalk trees were favorite bases. There were just as many bases as boys. Some boy would venture out from his base.Then another would pursue him; a third would chase the two, and so it would go, the one who left his base latest having the right to catch.
Just as Johnny Meline was about to lay hold on Jack, Sam Crashaw, having just lefthisbase, gave chase to Johnny, and just as Sam thought he had a good chance to catch Johnny, up came Jack, fresh from having touched his base, and nabbed Sam. When one has caught another, he has a right to return to his base with his prisoner, unmolested. The prisoner now becomes an active champion of the new base, and so the game goes on until all the bases are broken up but one. Very often the last boy on a base succeeds in breaking up a strong one, and, indeed, there is no end to the curious results attained in the play.
Jack had never got on in his studies asat this time. Mr. Williams took every opportunity to show his liking for his young friend, and Jack’s quickened ambition soon put him at the head of his classes. It was a rule that the one who stood at the head of the great spelling-class on Friday evenings should go to the foot on Monday, and so work his way up again. There was a great strife between Sarah Weathervane and Jack to see which should go to the foot the oftenest during the term, and so win a little prize that Mr. Williams had offered to the best speller in the school. As neither of them ever missed a word in the lesson, they held the head each alternate Friday evening. In this way the contest bade fair to be a tie. But Sarah meant to win the prize by fair means or foul.
One Friday morning before school-time, the boys and girls were talking about therelative merits of the two spellers, Joanna maintaining that Sarah was the better, and others that Jack could spell better than Sarah.
“Oh!” said Sarah Weathervane, “Jack is the best speller in school. I study till my head aches to get my lesson, but it is all the same to Jack whether he studies or not. He has a natural gift for spelling, and he spends nearly all his time on arithmetic and Latin.”
This speech pleased Jack very much. He had stood at the head of the class all the week, and spelling did seem to him the easiest thing in the world. That afternoon he hardly looked at his lesson. It was so nice to think he could beat Sarah Weathervane with his left hand, so to speak.
When the great spelling-class was called, he spelled the words given to him, as usual, and Sarah saw no chance to get the covetedopportunity to stand at the head, go down, and spell her way up again. But the very last word given to Jack wassacrilege, and, not having studied the lesson, he spelled it withein the second syllable andiin the last. Sarah gave the letters correctly, and when Jack saw the smile of triumph on her face, he guessed why she had flattered him that morning. Hereafter he would not depend on his natural genius for spelling. A natural genius for working is the best gift.
CHAPTER XXVIUNCLAIMED TOP-STRINGS
With a sinking heart, Jack often called to mind that this was his last term at school. The little money that his father had left was not enough to warrant his continuing; he must now do something for his own support. He resolved, therefore, to make the most of his time under Mr. Williams.
When Pewee, Riley, and Ben Berry got through with their punishment, they sought some way of revenging themselves on the master for punishing them, and on Jack for doing better than they had done, and thus escaping punishment. It was a sore thing with them that Jack had led all the school his way, so that, instead of thewhole herd following King Pewee and Prime Minister Riley into rebellion, they now “knuckled down to the master,” as Riley called it, under the lead of Jack, and they even dared to laugh slyly at the inseparable “triplets.”
The first aim of Pewee and company was to get the better of the master. They boasted to Jack and Bob that they would fix Mr. Williams some time, and gave out to the other boys that they knew where the master spent his evenings, and they knew how to fix him.
When Jack heard of this, he understood it. The teacher had a habit of spending an evening, now and then, at Dr. Lanham’s, and the boys no doubt intended to play a prank on him in going or coming. There being now no moonlight, the village streets were very dark, and there was every opportunity for a trick. Riley’s father’s housestood next on the street to Dr. Lanham’s; the lots were divided by an alley. This gave the triplets a good chance to carry out their designs.
But Bob Holliday and Jack, good friends to the teacher, thought that it would be fun to watch the conspirators and defeat them. So, when they saw Mr. Williams going to Dr. Lanham’s, they stationed themselves in the dark alley on the side of the street opposite to Riley’s and took observations. Mr. Williams had a habit of leaving Dr. Lanham’s at exactly nine o’clock, and so, just before nine, the three came out of Riley’s yard, and proceeded in the darkness to the fence of Lanham’s dooryard.
Getting the trunk of one of the large shade-trees between him and the plotters, Jack crept up close enough to guess what they were doing and to overhear theirconversation. Then he came back to Bob.
“They are tying a string across the sidewalk on Lanham’s side of the alley, I believe,” whispered Jack, “so as to throw Mr. Williams head foremost into that mud-hole at the mouth of the alley.”
By this time, the three boys had finished their arrangements and retreated through the gate into the porch of the Riley house, whence they might keep a lookout for the catastrophe.
“I’m going to cut that string where it goes around the tree,” said Bob, and he crouched low on the ground, got the trunk of the tree between him and the Riley house, and crept slowly across the street.
“I’ll capture the string,” said Jack, walking off to the next cross-street, then running around the block until he came to the back gate of Lanham’s yard, whichhe entered, running up the walk to the back door. His knock was answered by Mrs. Lanham.
“Why, Jack, what’s the matter?” she asked, seeing him at the kitchen door, breathless.
“I want to see Susan, please,” he said, “and tell Mr. Williams not to go yet a minute.”
“Here’s a mystery,” said Mrs. Lanham, returning to the sitting-room, where the teacher was just rising to say good-night. “Here’s Jack Dudley, at the back door, out of breath, asking for Susan, and wishing Mr. Williams not to leave the house yet.”
Susan ran to the back door.
“Susan,” said Jack, “the triplets have tied a string from the corner of your fence to the locust-tree, and they’re watching from Riley’s porch to see Mr. Williams fallinto the mud-hole. Bob is cutting the string at the tree, and I want you to go down along the fence and untie it and bring it in. They will not suspect you if they see you.”
“I don’t care if they do,” said Susan, and she glided out to the cross-fence which ran along the alley, followed it to the front and untied the string, fetching it back with her. When she got back to the kitchen door she heard Jack closing the alley gate. He had run off to join Bob, leaving the string in Susan’s hands.
Dr. Lanham and the master had a good laugh over the captured string, which was made of Pewee’s and Riley’s top-strings, tied together.
The triplets did not see Susan go to the fence. They were too intent on what was to happen to Mr. Williams. When, at length, he came along safely through the darkness, they were bewildered.
“You didn’t tie that string well in the middle,” growled Pewee at Riley.
“Yes, I did,” said Riley. “He must have stepped over.”
“Step over a string a foot high, when he didn’t know it was there?” said Pewee.
“Let’s go and get the string,” said Ben Berry.
So out of the gate they sallied, and quickly reached the place where the string ought to have been.
“I can’t find this end,” whispered Pewee by the fence.
“The string’s gone!” broke out Riley, after feeling up and down the tree for some half a minute.
What could have become of it? They had been so near the sidewalk all the time that no one could have passed without their seeing him.
The next day, at noon-time, when Susan Lanham brought out her lunch, it wastied with Pewee’s new top-string,—the best one in the school.
“That’s a very nice string,” said Susan.
“It’s just like Pewee’s top-string,” cried Harry Weathervane.
“Is it yours, Pewee?” said Susan, in her sweetest tones.
“No,” said the king, with his head down; “mine’s at home.”
“I found this one, last night,” said Susan.
And all the school knew that she was tormenting Pewee, although they could not guess how she had got his top-string. After a while, she made a dive into her pocket, and brought out another string.
“Oh,” cried Johnny Meline, “where did you get that?”
“I found it.”
“That’s Will Riley’s top-string,” said Johnny. “It was mine. He cheated meout of it by trading an old top that wouldn’t spin.”
“That’s the way you get your top-strings, is it, Will? Is this yours?” asked the tormenting Susan.
“No, it isn’t.”
“Of course it isn’t yours. You don’t tie top-strings across the sidewalk at night. You’re a gentleman, you are! Come, Johnny, this string doesn’t belong to anybody; I’ll trade with you for that old top that Will gave you for a good string. I want something to remember honest Will Riley by.”
Johnny gladly pocketed the string, and Susan carried off the shabby top, to the great amusement of the school, who now began to understand how she had come by the two top-strings.