Kitabı oku: «Tom Fairfield's Schooldays: or, The Chums of Elmwood Hall», sayfa 7
CHAPTER XVI
TOM’S DARING PROPOSAL
“Silence!” proclaimed Professor Skeel, as he heard the indrawn breathing. “Not a word!”
No one seemed likely to utter it under the circumstances, but the lads were doing some hard thinking.
“As I stated, you will print this lesson,” went on the instructor. “I want to see if you can print as well as you write,” he added with a mocking smile.
In a flash it came to Tom and the others what the object of the queer task was. It was to gain some evidence, or clew, to the printing in the threatening letter. All eyes were turned on Tom, and then, as if aware that this might implicate him, the lads looked in various directions.
Fortunately Professor Skeel was at the board setting down the sentences he wished copied, or he might have noticed the glances turned toward our hero, and have guessed the secret. Then he would have been at no pains to try his little trick. As it was he proceeded with it, chuckling to himself as he thought that it would give him the information he desired.
But Tom was wise in his day. It was not the first time he had matched his wits against some unfair instructor, and he at once resolved on his plan.
He had printed the threatening letter in the usual, straight up and down characters. As he now began to print out the Latin exercise he used, in part, letters that sloped forward, and others that sloped backward. Not once did Tom use an upright character.
“There,” he thought, as he neared the end of the short exercise, “if he thinks he can compare any of the words in this, with the words in the letter I handed him on the end of the stick, he’s a good one.”
Tom noticed, as did some of the others, that the words in the exercise were, in many cases, the same ones used in the letter. The professor had been enough of a detective to think of this, and he chuckled to himself many times as he thought of his cuteness. But it was not to avail him.
“You may hand in your papers as you finish,” he said, “and leave the room. Don’t forget – to-day’s lessons, and two additional ones for to-morrow.”
One by one boys filed up to his desk, laid their papers down, and passed out.
“Humph!” exclaimed Professor Skeel, as Tom passed over his exercise. “Is this your usual style of printing, Fairfield?”
“I am not used to such work, and I have no decided style. I vary it, I suppose, not having had much practice at it.”
“So I see,” remarked Professor Skeel, with a sharp glance at our hero – a glance that Tom returned unabashed.
“Say, what do you think of it?” asked Jack of his chum a little later, when both were in their room.
“Think of it? That it’s getting worse and worse,” remarked Tom bitterly. “I’ve had about all I can stand. Elmwood would be a perfect school, and a most jolly one, if it wasn’t for Skeel.”
“That’s what we all think, I guess. But what’s to be done?”
“Something, and that pretty soon,” declared Tom with energy. “I’m not going to stand it much longer.”
“Neither am I. Say, he wanted us to print that lesson so he could compare the letter with it.”
“Of course. But I fooled him,” and Tom told of his scheme.
“Good! I was afraid you’d be caught. We all ought to have printed part of that ultimatum, and then the responsibility would have been divided.”
“Oh, I don’t mind that. But if things don’t turn for the better soon we’ll either burn Skeel in effigy, or – ”
“What?” asked Jack, as Tom paused.
“I’m not quite ready to tell yet, but it will be something rather new, I think. Now let’s get at this Latin. We don’t want to give him an excuse to bullyrag us any more.”
“No, that’s right.”
While his students were working hard, and denying themselves well-earned recreation, in order to complete the unjustly imposed tasks, Professor Skeel was in his study, poring over the printed exercises turned in.
“I can’t seem to identify any of the hands with the one that made up the insulting and threatening letter,” he murmured, as he stared at the papers. “I thought surely Fairfield was the guilty one, and yet his printing is totally different from that in the note.”
He compared the two papers – Tom’s and the letter – and shook his head.
“Unless Fairfield purposely disguised his print this time!” the professor exclaimed. “I wonder if that could be it? I must get another sample from him – a natural sample. Let me see; how can I do it?” and he fell to scheming.
“There’s that Bennington, too,” continued the professor. “I must put the screws on him more strongly before he begins to suspect. And if I should be found out – ”
The professor looked guiltily at the windows as if to make sure the shades were drawn, and, finding that they were, he listened as if fearful of hearing approaching footsteps.
He rather hoped his class would not be prepared in the unusual task he had set for them, and he was not disappointed. Few students could have prepared so much Latin in one day, with their other tasks, and many failed.
“Just as I expected!” sneered the professor. “Well, you may all remain in one hour and a half after the last lecture today, and study. Remember, the entire class remains ninety minutes after the last lecture, no matter by whom. You may go now, but return here to remain after hours.”
There were gasps of dismay, for many lads had formed pleasure-plans for the afternoon. Now they could not be carried out. More than this, there were one or two students, Tom among them, who, by remaining up late the night before, and studying unusually hard, and by cutting a safe lecture, had recited perfectly. Yet they were punished with the others.
“Fellows, we’ve reached the limit of endurance!” exclaimed Tom to his classmates, as they filed out on the campus, and got a safe distance away from the listening ears of Professor Skeel.
“That’s right!” came in a chorus.
“But what’s to be done?” asked Jack.
“Hang him in effigy, and burn the scarecrow afterward!” suggested Bert Wilson.
“Can you do both?” asked George Abbot.
“Dry up, Why!” came from several.
“Let’s hear from Tom,” suggested Jack.
“Hear! Hear!” came the shout.
“Fellows, we’ve stood all we’re called on to stand from Skeel,” went on Tom. “I’m sick and tired of being bullyragged.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Strike! Rebel!” declared Tom daringly. “I suggest that we demand better treatment from him, or we’ll all go on a strike, and refuse to recite to him any more, or enter his classroom!”
“Good!”
“Great!”
“That’s the stuff!”
“Hurray for Fairfield!”
“Are you in earnest, Tom?” asked Jack, who stood near his chum.
“I surely am. I’ve stood more from him – and so have all of us – than I would from anyone else. I say let’s strike!”
“And we’re with you!” came in a chorus.
“All of you?” asked Tom, looking around on the Freshman Latin class. “Remember a strike is no good unless we’re all in it.”
“We’re all with you!” came the cry.
Tom looked around, and saw Sam Heller sneaking off.
“Here, come back, Heller!” he cried, and Sam turned, facing Tom with a sneer on his face.
CHAPTER XVII
DEFIANCE
“Well, what do you want?” demanded the bully, halting.
“I want to know where you’re going,” replied Tom.
“I don’t know that it’s any of your affair.”
“Well, it is, and the affair of every member of this class. We want to know who is with us, and who against us. And it looks, the way you were sneaking off just now, as though you weren’t going to be with us.”
“I don’t care how it looks,” retorted Sam, and his tone was not as defiant as it had been, “I’ve got some studying to do, and I want to get at it.”
“Well, we’ve no objection to you doing all the studying you want to,” went on our hero, “but if things turn out the way I expect we won’t do much more Latin boning – until things are different.”
“That’s what!” came in a chorus from the others.
Sam Heller started to walk away, but Tom was not done with him yet.
“Look here. Heller,” went on his questioner. “What we want to know is, whether you’re with us or against us?”
“Why shouldn’t I be with you?”
“That’s not answering the question. We know how you trained in with the Sophomores at the hazing, and that doesn’t look as though you considered yourself a Freshman, though I know why you did it, all right,” and Tom looked at his enemy significantly.
“That’s what!” shouted Jack Fitch.
“Now, as I said,” went on Tom, “if we do strike, and refuse to recite to Skeel, it won’t amount to anything unless the class stands together. If even one member backs down it will look as though he didn’t believe our cause right and just, and we can’t afford to have that. Now, are you with us or against us? We want to know before we go any further.”
“And if you’re not with us, it won’t be healthy for you, Heller!” exclaimed Frank Ralston.
“Hold on!” cried Tom. “We mustn’t have any threats. If he doesn’t want to join he doesn’t have to, in which case, of course, he can no longer consider himself a Freshman in the real sense of the word.”
“Coventry for his, if he doesn’t join!” cried Jack.
Sam started. He knew what it would mean to be given the “silence” by every member of his class. He would be practically ignored. For, in spite of his mean traits, he had a few friends beside Nick.
“Well?” asked Tom. “What about it?”
“I – I’m with you – of course.”
“To the end?”
“Yes.”
“No matter what happens?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean will you chance expulsion if it comes to that in case we strike?”
“I – I suppose so.”
“That’s all I want to know,” went on Tom. “We will have a meeting to-night, and decide on a plan. Then we’ll make a mutual promise to stick together, and we’ll wait our chance. Meeting’s adjourned.”
“Say, Tom Fairfield is all right!” exclaimed Bert Wilson to Jack, as the two walked on together.
“That’s true,” agreed Tom’s special chum. “I’m glad we’ve got him to run things.”
“What makes him that way – always doing things?” George Abbot wanted to know.
“Because, Why,” spoke Jack, “Tom eats rusty nails for breakfast. They give him an iron constitution.”
“Really. Are you joking?”
“Of course not,” replied Jack with a sober face. “Run along now, and ask Demy Miller if he knows his ancient history.”
The studious janitor was observed coming over the campus, a book, as usual, under his arm. He saw the students and turned to meet them.
“What is it now, Demy?” asked Jack, as he saw an anxious look on the man’s face.
“Oh, it’s this proposition about constructing squares on the sides of a right-angle triangle and making the sum of them equal the one constructed on the – er – hippenuse, I think it’s called.”
“Hypothenuse – the hypothenuse!” laughed Jack, as he heard the odd pronunciation. “Why, that’s an easy problem, Demy. George Abbot here will show you how. We’re going for a skate.”
“Oh, I – !” began the human question box. He was going skating also, but now he had to stop and explain to the janitor. And it was well to keep in with the latter, for he often did the boys favors, and many a night he let them in before some prowling monitor could spy them. “Well, come over here, and I’ll do it for you,” ended George, as he saw his chums making appealing signals to him.
Soon he was explaining that comparatively simple geometrical problem while the others, including Tom, went down to the frozen river.
Early that evening there was secret meeting of the Freshman Latin class, and a solemn agreement was entered into that, if they had to strike, they would all stick together. Even Sam Heller was present, though with no very good grace, and he made the promise with the others.
“Now to await developments,” suggested Tom. “We’ll give that old taskmaster one more chance, and if he takes it, and bullyrags us any more, we’ll defy him, and go on strike.”
“Hurray!” yelled Jack Fitch.
“That’s the talk!” came from several.
“Meeting’s adjourned,” said Tom with a smile. “Come on, Jack, I feel just like running the guard.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Where you going?”
“What’s the matter with going into town, and seeing a moving picture show.”
“We may be nabbed.”
“What of it? Might as well be killed for a sheep as a lamb. If we go into this strike business we’ll get in bad with the powers that be, anyhow. And if we don’t, why I’ll feel so good at the change in Skeel, that I won’t mind a little rigging for being out after hours.”
“All right. I’m with you.”
The two chums went, with some other of their friends, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves at the show, for the pictures were of a high class. Coming back the boys were almost at their dormitory, when a friendly Senior warned them that some of the proctor’s scouts were on the watch.
“Go around by Skeel’s house, cut through his garden, and you can get in through the cellar, I think,” the Senior advised them.
“Thanks,” called Tom, as he and his chums moved off in the darkness. As they passed the residence of the disliked instructor, they saw a light in his study. The shade was drawn, but the shadow of two figures could be seen on the shade. And, as the lads came opposite it they made out one figure, which plainly was that of the professor, shaking his fist at the other.
“He’s laying down the law to some one,” murmured Jack. “Looks like he’d be in a sweet temper to-morrow.”
“I’m going to see who it is,” whispered Tom. “The shade is up a crack.”
“Better not,” advised Bert Wilson, but Tom was daring. He crept up to the window, and saw that it was Bruce Bennington who was with the professor.
“And it was him whom the professor was shaking his fist at,” thought Tom, as he stole back to his comrades with the information. “I wish I could find out what is up between those two, and what is troubling Bruce.”
Our friends managed to get to their rooms without being caught, though one or two of them had narrow escapes.
Tom’s thoughts, as he dropped off to sleep, were on what might happen the next day. Would it be necessary to strike? He imagined that it would, for it could hardly be expected that Professor Skeel would change his nature in a day.
It was not without a little feeling of nervousness that Tom and his associates filed into their Latin recitation the next morning. There was a grim smile on the face of Professor Skeel as he looked over the lads in their seats, and there was grim menace in the manner in which he opened his book, prepared to go on with the doubly-imposed task.
“Well,” he began, omitting the usual “young gentlemen,” with which jolly Professor Hammond, and the others of the faculty, used to greet their students. “Well, I trust you are all prepared; for if you are not, I warn you all that it will go hard with you.”
There was a subdued murmur. Clearly there was to be no let-up in the manner of conducting the Latin class.
“Silence!” snapped Mr. Skeel. “I have had enough of this insubordination.”
“You’ll have more before we’re through with you,” thought Tom.
“You may recite, Fitch,” spoke Professor Skeel. “And I want a perfect recitation from you to-day.”
Jack began. He did well enough for the first few lines and then began to stumble and hesitate.
“That will do!” snapped the professor. “You try, Fairfield.”
There was an indrawing of breaths. If the clash was to come, it would be with Tom, all thought.
Tom had the one day’s lesson perfectly. He rapidly translated that and stopped.
“Well, go on,” ordered Mr. Skeel, obviously ill-pleased that the student he suspected had done so well.
“That’s as far as I’m going,” said Tom quietly.
“What?”
“That’s as far as I’m going. That is all that is ever assigned to us for one day.”
“But I told you all to learn a double lesson.”
“And I refuse to do it. We all refuse to do it!”
This was the signal Tom had agreed upon as marking the defiance and revolt, in case there was no change in the professor’s manner.
For a moment Professor Skeel was dumb – as if he could not believe what he had heard.
“Will you kindly repeat that?” he asked Tom, in a quiet, menacing voice.
“I said,” began our hero, “that we have agreed that the double lesson was unfair. We have agreed that if you insisted on it that we would not recite. We will go no farther. Either we get better treatment, or we will not come to your class any more.”
“Wha – what?” gasped Professor Skeel, turning pale.
Tom repeated what he had said.
“What does this mean? Have done with this nonsense!”
“It means a strike!” cried Tom, turning to his classmates. “Boys, are you with me? A strike for better treatment in the Latin class! Are you with me?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” came the cries from all parts of the room.
“Silence! Sit down!” shouted Professor Skeel, as he saw the students rise in a body. “Sit down!” He banged his rule on the desk.
“Come on!” ordered Tom, and the boys – every one – followed his lead.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE STRIKE
For a moment amazement held Professor Skeel motionless. Several boys were filing through the door before he could manage to make a move. Then he sprang to the portal.
“Stop!” he commanded. “I demand that this nonsense cease. Return to your seats, and continue the recitation!”
“Will you hear us on just one day’s lesson – the usual length?” asked Tom, turning back.
“No! Certainly not! You will do exactly as I say, and recite the double lesson. I will make no compromise.”
“Then it’s a strike,” replied Tom. “Come on.”
The boys continued to follow him. For a moment it looked as if Professor Skeel would resort to physical measures and hold the boys in his room, but he did not.
He scowled at them, but the fact that there were several large lads in the class, lads who had a reputation as boxers, probably deterred him. The last student filed out, and under the leadership of Tom they all stood in the corridor.
“Well, we did it,” remarked Jack, and there was a trace of awe in his voice. It was the first time, in his experience that a class had “struck,” against a disliked teacher. He was a little doubtful of the outcome.
“Of course we did it,” replied Tom. “It was the only thing to do.”
“And what’s the next thing?” asked Bert Wilson.
“Go to history lecture, as soon as it’s time,” declared Tom. “We’ve half an hour yet. I suggest that we act quietly and as if nothing had happened. Report as usual in history class.”
“But what will Skeel be doing?” inquired Jack.
“We’ll have to wait and see. It’s up to him now. I know one thing, though, I’ll never go back to his class until he admits that he was in the wrong, and releases us from double lessons. That’s what I’m going to do, and I don’t care if they suspend me!”
“The same here!” came from several, and then the lads dispersed to their rooms, to do a little studying on history, or to various parts of the campus.
As for Professor Skeel, that worthy did not know what to do at first. Clearly he had been outwitted, and by Freshmen! He must recover and maintain his reputation as a disciplinarian, somehow, but how?
“I’ll – I’ll suspend every one of them until they beg my pardon!” he exclaimed. “As for that Fairfield, I’ll see that he is expelled! The insolent puppy!”
But mere words never did any good yet, and Professor Skeel knew this. He must act, and he resolved to hit on some plan that would give him the victory. But first blood had been drawn by the students, and he realized that.
He decided to remain in his lecture room until the period was up, in order that he might think, and so that none of his fellow members on the faculty would not ask embarrassing questions as to how his class had disappeared.
“I’ll get even with them,” he declared. “They shall beg my pardon, and do more work than ever before.”
He decided that he must first lay the matter before Doctor Meredith, for he could not act on his own initiative. He would ask that stringent measures be taken. With this in view, at the time when Tom and his chums were filing into history class, as if nothing had happened, Professor Skeel sought the head master.
There was a little feeling of nervousness on the part of our hero and his associates as they faced Professor Whitely, who had ancient history at his finger tips, but, though he had heard some rumors of trouble in the Freshman Latin class, he did not refer to it, but plunged at once into the work of the day.
Nor did anything take place during the remainder of the lectures which filled up time until about two o’clock. In the meantime, however, Professor Skeel had placed the matter before Doctor Meredith.
“They went on strike, you say?” asked the head master. “Bless my soul! I never heard of such a thing! I have known laboring bodies to refuse to work, but how can students strike?”
“By refusing to recite, or to remain in class,” answered the Professor.
“And did the Freshmen do that?”
“They certainly did.”
“Dear, dear! What a situation!” exclaimed Doctor Meredith. “What a peculiar position! I really never heard of one like it.”
“Nor I,” admitted Professor Skeel dryly. “But something must be done.”
“Oh, assuredly; most assuredly,” Doctor Meredith answered his colleague.
“And something drastic!” went on the Latin instructor.
“Oh, yes, – er – I suppose so. Really it is rather a novelty – a strike of students.”
“Novelty!” puffed Professor Skeel.
“Yes. I never heard of such a thing. Really I think some sort of psychological study might be made of it – the causes and effects you know. What peculiar action of the brain cells brought it about. The reason for it. I think I shall write a paper on it for the International society. It will create a sensation, I think.”
“I think so myself. But, in the meanwhile, something must be done – something drastic. The strike must be broken.”
“Oh, of course. I – er – I perfectly agree with you,” and Doctor Meredith spoke dreamily. He was already forming in his mind the chief points for a paper he determined to write on students striking. “We should have to begin with the cause,” he murmured. “Ah, by the way, Professor Skeel, what was the reason the Freshmen walked out, and refused to recite?”
“They declared they would not do the lessons I had set for them.”
“Why not?”
“They said they were too long – or rather, their leader, Tom Fairfield, did.”
“Ah, and so they have a leader, just as in an industrial strike. Very interesting, very.”
“Interesting!”
“Yes – er – that is from a psychological standpoint, of course.”
“Oh, I see. But something must be done. Even though, as a punishment for careless work, I doubled the usual lesson, that is no excuse for striking.”
“Oh, and so you doubled their lessons? Well, I suppose they naturally resented that. But, of course, as you say, I presume that was no excuse. But I will do something. I will act at once. I have thought of the best plan.”
“What is it?” asked Professor Skeel, hoping it was the suspension of the entire class, and the expulsion of Tom.
“We will treat with the strikers, just as is done in industrial strikes,” said Doctor Meredith with an air of triumph, as if he had discovered a most unusual way of settling the trouble. “We will arbitrate. That is the best way. I will send them a personal communication, when they have assembled. I must make some notes. If you will kindly post a bulletin, requesting the class to assemble in, say, the gymnasium, I will send a communication to them. That, I believe is the usual way the authorities treat with strikers. I will personally communicate with them,” and with a delighted air, and a childish eagerness, Doctor Meredith took out pen and paper.
“I am to post a bulletin, calling the students together, am I?” asked Professor Skeel, not altogether relishing his work.
“Yes, and I will communicate with them. Wait, better still, I will speak to them in person.”
“And what will you say?”
“I will ask them to return to your class room, and resume the interrupted session and lecture,” spoke the head master with an air of triumph, as though he had made a most astounding discovery. “I will point out to them how foolish it was to strike, I will assure them that there will be no more double lessons in the future, and I will talk with them, and get at the reasons that impelled them to strike. I can use their answers in the paper I propose to write.”
“Is – is that all you will do?” asked Professor Skeel, much disappointed.
“That is all that will be necessary,” replied Doctor Meredith mildly. “You will see, Professor Skeel, I will soon break the strike. I think that ‘break’ is the proper word; is it not?”
“Yes, but it will not be broken that way, Doctor Meredith. Drastic measures are needed. Very drastic!”
“We will try my way first,” decided the head master quietly. “Write out the bulletin, Professor.”
