THE MADNESS OF PHILIP

THE MADNESS OF PHILIP

“Checking her vivid denunciations by a judicious application of the pillow.”

“Checking her vivid denunciations by a judicious application of the pillow.”

“Checking her vivid denunciations by a judicious application of the pillow.”

His mother, being a woman of perception, realized early that something was wrong. Even before breakfast she found Philip trying to put his sister into the bolster case, checking her vivid denunciations by a judicious application of the pillow. After breakfast it was impossible to get him ready in time, as his rubbers had been hidden by a revengeful sister, and the bus was kept waiting fully five minutes, to the irritation of the driver, who made up the lost interval by a rapid pace.This jolted the children about, and frightened the youngest ones, so that they arrived at the kindergarten bumped and breathless, and only too disposed to take offense at the first opportunity. This opportunity Philip supplied. As they swarmed out of the bus he irritated Joseph Zukoffsky by a flat contradiction of his pleased statement that he was to lead the line into the house.

“Oh, no, you ain’t!” said Philip.

Joseph stared and reiterated his assertion Philip again denied it. He did nothing to prevent Joseph from assuming the head of the line, but his tone was most exasperating, and Joseph sat down on the lowest step of the bus and burst into angry tears—he was not a person of strong character.

Some of the more sympathetic children joined their tears to his, and the others disputed violently if vaguely; they lacked a clear idea of the difficulty, but that fact did not prevent eager partisanship. Two perplexed teachers quieted the outbreak and marshaled a wavering line, one innocently upholding Philip to the disgustedgroup, “because he walks along so quietly,” the other supporting Joseph, whose shoulders heaved convulsively as he burst out into irregular and startling sobs. It was felt that the day had begun inauspiciously.

They sat down on the hall floor and began to pull off their rubbers and mufflers. As Philip’s eye fell to the level of his feet a disagreeable association stirred his thoughts, and in a moment it had taken definite form: his rubbers had been stolen and hidden! His under lip crept slowly out; a distinctly dangerous expression grew in his eyes; he looked balefully about him. Marantha Judd pirouetted across his field of vision, vainglorious in a new plaid apron with impracticable pockets. Her pigtails bobbed behind her. She had just placed her diminutive rubbers neatly parallel, and was attaching the one to the other with a tight little clothes-pin provided for the purpose.

“Tore off the clothes-pin with a jerk.”

“Tore off the clothes-pin with a jerk.”

“Tore off the clothes-pin with a jerk.”

Casually, and as if unconscious that Marantha was curiosity incarnate, Philip took his own clothes-pin and adjusted it to his nose. It gave him an odd and, to Marantha, a distinguished appearance, and she inquired of him if the sensations he experienced were pleasurable. His answer expressed unconditional affirmation, and unclasping her clothes-pin Marantha snapped it vigorously over her own tip-tilted little feature. A sharp and uncompromising tweak was the result, and Marantha, shrieking, tore off the clothes-pin with a jerk that sent little Richard Willetts reeling against his neighbor. Out of the confusion—Richard was a timorous creature,and fully convinced that the entire kindergarten meditated continual assault upon his small person—rose the chiding voice of Marantha:

“You are a bad,badboy, Philup, you are!”

To her tangled accusations the bewildered teacher paid scant heed.

“I can’t see why all you little children find so much fault with Philip,” she said reprovingly. “What if he did put his clothes-pin on his nose? It was a foolish thing to do, but why need you do it?Youhave made more trouble than he, Marantha, for you frightened little Richard!”

Marantha’s desperation was dreadful to witness. She realized that her vocabulary was hopelessly inadequate to her situation: she knew herself unable to present her case effectively, but she felt that she was the victim of a glaring injustice. Her chin quivered, she sank upon the stairs, and her tears were even as the tears of Joseph Zukoffsky.

The youngest assistant now appeared on the scene.

“Miss Hunt wants to know why you’re so latewith them,” she inquired. “She hopes nothing’s the matter. Mrs. R. B. M. Smith is here to-day to visit the primary schools and kindergartens, and——”

“Oh, goodness!” the attempted consolation of Marantha ceased abruptly. “I can’tbearthat woman! She’s always read Stanley Hall’slastarticle that proves that what he said before was wrong! Come along, Marantha, and don’t be a foolish little girl any longer. We shall be late for the morning exercise.”

Upstairs a large circle was forming under the critical scrutiny of a short, stout woman with crinkly, gray hair. They took their places, Marantha pink-nosed and mutinous, Joseph not yet recovered from a distressing tendency to burst out into gulping sobs—he was naturally pessimistic and treasured his grievances indefinitely. Philip’s eyes were fixed upon the floor.

“Now what shall we sing?” inquired the principal briskly. “I think we will let Joseph choose, because he doesn’t look very happy this bright morning. Perhaps we can cheer him up.”

“Marantha ... upheld Joseph with all her powers of heart and voice.”

“Marantha ... upheld Joseph with all her powers of heart and voice.”

“Marantha ... upheld Joseph with all her powers of heart and voice.”

In a husky voice Joseph suggested “My heart is God’s little garden.” In reply to Miss Hunt’s opening question Eddy Brown had proposed “Happy greeting to the rain,” a sufficiently maudlin request, as there was absolutely no indication of that climatic condition, past, present, or future. Eddy possessed the not unusual combination of a weak mind and a strong voice, and though the piano prelude was that of Joseph’s choice, the effect of a voice near him starting the well-known air of his own suggestion was overwhelming, and Eddy began shouting it lustily. Marantha, whose susceptibilities were, like those of others of her sex, distinctly sharpenedby suffering, knew well enough who was responsible for the rival chorus, and upheld Joseph with all her powers of heart and voice. The tunes in question were, like many of the kindergarten repertoire, somewhat similar, and a few seconds of chaotic discords amazed Mrs. R. B. M. Smith and vexed the teachers.

Now see on what slight thread events are strung! What she innocently supposed to be a misunderstanding of the song selected, influenced one of the teachers to announce the subsequent songs herself. This led Mrs. R. B. M. Smith to suppose that the teacher was selecting all the songs, thus depriving the children of the divine, not to say formative, privilege of individual choice. This opinion, in turn, led her to beckon one of the assistants to her and describe her own system of awakening and continuing, by a ceaseless series of questions, the interested coöperation of the child’s intelligence. In order to do this, she added, the subjects of song and story must be more simple than was possible if complex historical incidents were used. She indicated her willingnessto relate to the children a model story of this order, calling the teachers’ attention in advance to the almost incredible certainty that would characterize the children’s anticipation of the events thus judiciously and psychologically selected.

The arm-chairs shortly to contain so much accurate anticipation were ranged neatly on both sides of the long room. Some malefic influence caused the officiating teacher to appoint Philip to lead one-half of the circle to the chairs and Marantha the other. More than one visitor had been wont to remark the unanimity with which this exercise was performed. Each child grasped his little chair by the arms, and holding it before him, carried it to its appointed place in the circle. So well had they learned this manœuver that the piano chords were sufficient monitors, and the three teachers, having seen the line safely started, gathered around their visitor to hear more of the theory.

“The effect was inexpressibly indiscreet.”

“The effect was inexpressibly indiscreet.”

“The effect was inexpressibly indiscreet.”

Under what obsession Philip labored, with what malignant power he had made pact, is unknown. He had no appearance of planning darkly: his actions seemed the result of instantaneous inspiration. Standing before his chair as if about to take his seat, he subsided partially; then, grasping the arms, half bent over, he waddled toward the circle. This natural method of transportation commended itself in a twinkling to his line, and without the slightest disturbance or hesitation, they imitated him exactly. Experience should have taught Marantha the futility of following his example, but she was of an age when experience appeals but slightly; and determined to excel him, at the risk of falling at every step on her already injured nose, she bent over so far that the legs of her chair pointed almost directly upward. Her line followed her, and waddling,shuffling, gnome-like, they made for the circle. It had all the effect of a carefully inculcated drill, and to Mrs. R. B. M. Smith the effect was inexpressibly indiscreet.

“Is it possible that you—” she inquired, pointing to the advancing children, many of whom promptly fell over backward under the sudden onslaught of the horrified teachers.

Miss Hunt colored angrily.

“Something is the matter with the school to-day,” she said sharply. “I never knew them to behave so in my life! I can’t see what’s come over them! Theyalwayscarry their chairs in front of them.”

“I should hope so,” responded the visitor placidly, “nothing could be worse for them than that angle.”

“At least they’re safe now,” the youngest assistant whispered to her fellow-teacher, as the children sat decorously attentive in their chairs, their faces turned curiously toward the strange lady with the fascinating plumes in her bonnet.

“——Nothing like animals to bring out theprotective instinct—feebler dependent on the stronger,” she concluded rapidly, and then addressed the objects of these theories.

“Sneezed loudly and unexpectedly.”

“Sneezed loudly and unexpectedly.”

“Sneezed loudly and unexpectedly.”

“Now, children, I’m going to tell you a nice story—you all like stories, I’m sure.”

At just that moment little Richard Willetts sneezed loudly and unexpectedly to all, himself included, with the result that his ever-ready suspicion fixed upon his neighbor, Andrew Halloran, as the direct cause of the convulsion. Andrew’s well-meant efforts to detach from Richard’s vest the pocket-handkerchief securely fastened thereto by a large, black safety-pin strengthened the latter’s conviction of intended assault and battery, and he squirmed out of the circle and made a dash for the hall—the first stage in an evident homeward expedition.

This broke in upon the story, and even when it got under way again there was an atmosphereof excitement quite unexplained by the tale itself.

“’Yesterday, children, as I came out of my yard, what do you think I saw?’”

“’Yesterday, children, as I came out of my yard, what do you think I saw?’”

“’Yesterday, children, as I came out of my yard, what do you think I saw?’”

“Yesterday, children, as I came out of my yard,whatdo you think I saw?” The elaborately concealed surprise in store was so obvious that Marantha rose to the occasion and suggested:

“An el’phunt!”

“Why, no! Why should I see an elephant in my yard? It wasn’tnearlyso big as that—it was alittlething!”

“A fish!” ventured Eddy Brown, whose eye fell upon the aquarium in the corner. Theraconteusesmiled patiently.

“Why, no! How could a fish, a live fish, get in my front yard?”

“A dead fish?” persisted Eddy, who was never known to relinquish voluntarily an idea.

“It was a little kitten,” said the story-teller, decidedly. “A little white kitten. She was standing right near a great big puddle of water. And what else do you think I saw?”

“Another kitten?” suggested Marantha conservatively.

“No, a big Newfoundland dog. He saw the little kitten near the water. Now cats don’t like the water, do they? They don’t like a wet place. What do they like?”

“Mice!” said Joseph Zukoffsky abruptly.

“Well, yes, they do; but there were no mice in my yard. I’m sure you know what I mean. If they don’t likewater, what do they like?”

“Milk!” cried Sarah Fuller confidently.

“They like a dry place,” said Mrs. R. B. M. Smith.

“Now what do you suppose the dog did?” It may be that successive failures had disheartened the listeners; it may be that the very range presented alike to the dog and them for choice dazzled their imaginations. At any rate they made no answer.

“Nobody knows what the dog did?” repeated the story-teller encouragingly. “What would you do if you saw a little white kitten like that?”

Again a silence. Then Philip remarked gloomily:

“I’d pull its tail.”

Even this might have been passed over had not the youngest assistant, who had not yet lost her sense of humor, giggled convulsively. This, though unnoticed by the visitor, was plainly observed by fully half the children, with the result that when Mrs. R. B. M. Smith inquired pathetically,

“And what do the rest of you think? I hopeyouare not so cruel as that little boy!” a jealous desire to share Philip’s success prompted the quick response:

“I’dpull it, too!”

Miss Hunt was oblivious to the story, which finished somehow, the dog having done little, and the kitten, if anything, less. She was lost in a miserable wonder what was the matter with them? Alas! she could not know that the root of allthe evil was planted in the breast of Philip, the demon-ridden. His slightest effort was blessed with a success beyond his hopes. He had but to raise his finger, and his mates rallied all unconsciously to his support. Nor did he require thought; on the instant diabolical inspiration seized him, and his conception materialized almost before he had grasped it himself. The very children of light were made to minister unto him, as in the case of his next achievement.

With a feeling of absolute safety the teacher called upon Eddy Brown to lead the waiting circle in a game. Eddy was one of the stand-bys of the kindergarten. He was a little old for it, but being incapable of promotion owing to his inability to grasp the rudiments of primary work, he continued to adorn his present sphere. It would almost seem that Fröbel had Eddy Brown in mind in elaborating his educational schemes, for his development, according to kindergarten standards, was so absolutely normal as to verge on the extraordinary. He was neverennuyé, never cross, never disobedient. He never anticipated; henever saw what you meant before you said it; he never upset the system by inventing anything whatsoever—the vice of the too active-minded. He was perennially surprised at the climaxes of the stories, passionately interested in the games; and clay balls and braided straw represented his wildest dissipations. He sat in his chair till he was told to rise, and remained standing till he was urged to take his seat. His voice, if somewhat off the key, was always prominent in song; his feet, if not always in time, were always in evidence when it was a question of marching.

To-day he took the middle of the ring and beamed cheerfully on them all as they swayed back and forth and sang to him:

NowEddieif you’llteachusAnewgame toplay,We’llwatchyou andtrytoDojustas yousay!

NowEddieif you’llteachusAnewgame toplay,We’llwatchyou andtrytoDojustas yousay!

NowEddieif you’llteachusAnewgame toplay,We’llwatchyou andtrytoDojustas yousay!

NowEddieif you’llteachus

Anewgame toplay,

We’llwatchyou andtryto

Dojustas yousay!

There was a slight poetic exaggeration in the idea of Eddy Brown’s being able to teach anybody anything new, but this was felt by no one but the youngest assistant, who, recalling hisregular programme upon such occasions, smiled somewhat sardonically.

“’Tripping lightly as we go.’”

“’Tripping lightly as we go.’”

“’Tripping lightly as we go.’”

As she had expected, Eddy inclined to play “Tripping lightly as we go.” His conception of the process implied in the song was a laborious jumping up on one toe and down on the other. This exercise he would keep up till the crack of doom if undiverted from it. When induced to stop, he signalled to Joseph Zukoffsky to take his place. Joseph, on being tunefully implored to produce something new in the way of a game, declared for “Did you ever see a laddie?” and the ring started in blithely:

Did youeversee aladdie,aladdie,aladdie;Did youeversee aladdie,dothisway orthat?

Did youeversee aladdie,aladdie,aladdie;Did youeversee aladdie,dothisway orthat?

Did youeversee aladdie,aladdie,aladdie;Did youeversee aladdie,dothisway orthat?

Did youeversee aladdie,aladdie,aladdie;

Did youeversee aladdie,dothisway orthat?

After some seconds of consideration Joseph solemnly lifted his left heel from the floor and replaced it. This enthralling diversion occupiedthe ring for a moment, and then Marantha was summoned. Though plump as a partridge, Marantha was born for the ballet.

“Did youeversee alassie, alassie, alassie,” sang the children as Marantha, arching her little instep and pointing her toe deliciously, kicked out to one side, almost as high as her waist, with a rhythmical precision good to see.

“Marantha was born for the ballet.”

“Marantha was born for the ballet.”

“Marantha was born for the ballet.”

Her eyes sought Philip’s, and with a coy little smile, she took his hand to lead him to the centre. Too many poets and novelists have analyzed the inevitable longing of woman to allure him who scorns her charms, the pathetic passion to attractwhere she has been brutally repulsed, to make it necessary for me to discuss her attempted endearments as Philip sulkily flung away her hand.

Just then somebody wanted a drink; and as one teacher led the thirsty child away, and the other turned her head to attract the pianist’s attention and propose a new tune, Philip, who had not begun to set his model till the last moment, suddenly lifted his thumb to his nose, contracting and expanding his fingers in strict time.

Her rapid glance had shown the teacher a ring of children apparently tapping their noses, and only a horrified snort from Mrs. R. B. M. Smith and a murmured “Heavens!” from the returning assistant called her attention to the circle of children gravely assuming an attitude prescribed nowhere in Fröbel, nor, indeed, in any system, social or Delsartean.

Philip, now utterly abandoned to the spirit of successful deviltry that intoxicated him beyond control, danced up and down, inviting one, two, and three out of the demoralized ring to share his orgy. They pranced about wildly, shoutingsnatches of song, pushing each other, deaf to the shocked remonstrance of the teachers, while in their midst, flushed and screaming, Philip and Marantha, satyr and bacchante, leaped high in the air.

“Leaped high in the air.”

“Leaped high in the air.”

“Leaped high in the air.”

In the door there suddenly appeared a woman in a checked apron with a shawl over her head. As the teachers pulled the ring-leaders apart, and the pianist, to a shocked murmur of remonstrance, played Träumerei with the soft pedal down, while a circle of flushed and palpitating “little birds” rocked themselves to sleep with occasional reminiscent giggles and twitters, the woman in the door advanced to a little bird whose chief interest, as he ruffled his gingham plumage, seemed to be to evade an obviously maternal call.

“Philup, ye bad boy, where’s the carvin’ knife?” she said angrily. This was too much for the youngest assistant, who went off into something very like hysteria, while the principal tried to explain the inevitable bad effect of shocks and slaps upon the delicate organization of the child.

“An’ it’s beggin’ y’r pardon, Miss, but it’s a rale imp o’ Satan he’ll be some days, like, an’ I see it in his eye this marnin’! An imp o’ Satan!”

The principal smiled deprecatingly. “We don’t like to hear a child called that,” she said, gently. “Philip has not been so good as usual this morning——”

“Philup, ye bad boy, where’s the carvin’ knife?”

“Philup, ye bad boy, where’s the carvin’ knife?”

“Philup, ye bad boy, where’s the carvin’ knife?”

“Ye may say so!” interrupted Philip’s parent. “An’ whin it’s that way he is, it’s little good soft words’ll do, Miss. He gets it from his father. An’ me not able to cut the mate fer his father’sdinner! He’s a sly young one! It’s a good spankin’ he needs, Miss—an’ he’ll get it, too!”

“Take her into the hall with him. Tell her not to spank him. Tell her we’ll punish him. We understand how to make him sorry,” murmured the principal to the youngest assistant, as she turned to quiet the circle.

The youngest assistant conducted Philip’s mother, and dragged Philip to the hall.

“Now, Philip, tell your mother where you hid the carving knife,” she said invitingly. Philip made a break for the outer door. He was caught and reasoned with. Incidentally his naughtiness in leading the game was mentioned. His mother set her jaw and loosened her shawl.

“An’ that’s what ye did, ye bad boy? What did I say the last time I see ye at it? Dirty thrick! You come here to me, sir!”

Philip kicked violently and pinched the youngest assistant. Her lips assumed the set expression of the other woman’s. The light of generations of Philistine mothers kindled in her eye. As Philip struggled silently but wildly, the voiceof Mrs. R. B. M. Smith, high and resonant, floated through the transom.

“And so we never strike a little child, Joseph, and you must never talk about it. His mother and Miss Ethel are going totalkwith little Philip, and try to make him see——”

Philip ducked under his mother’s arm and almost gained the door. The youngest assistant caught him by his apron-string and towed him back. His mother looked around hastily, noticed a small door half open, and caught the youngest assistant’s eye.

“Cellar?” she inquired.

The youngest assistant nodded, and as his mother lifted Philip bodily and made for the little door, it was opened for her and closed after her by the only other person in the hall.

His mother carried Philip to the coal-heap, and upon it she sat and spanked her son—spanked him systematically, and after an ancient method upon which civilization has been able to make few if any improvements. She had never read that excellent work, “Child Culture, or

“It was opened for her and closed after her.”

“It was opened for her and closed after her.”

“It was opened for her and closed after her.”

How shall we Train our Mothers?” (R. B. M. Smith).

Soon she led him in, subdued and remorseful, the demon expelled, to the principal.

“Spanked him systematically.”

“Spanked him systematically.”

“Spanked him systematically.”

“He’ll throuble ye no more, Miss, an’ the carvin’ knife is underneath th’ bolster av his bed—the bad ’un that he is!”

“Now that Philip is good again—and you seehow quiet he was out in the hall; I told you he was thinking very hard—we’ll all sing a song to show how glad we are, and he shall choose it. What would Philip like to sing?”

Philip murmured huskily that his heart was God’s little garden, and there was more joy over him than over the two dozen that needed no repentance.

But the youngest assistant avoided Mrs. R. B. M. Smith’s eye, forshehad opened the cellar door!

“Murmured huskily that his heart was God’s little garden.”

“Murmured huskily that his heart was God’s little garden.”

“Murmured huskily that his heart was God’s little garden.”

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