CHAPTER XIV
THE SPECTACLE
Games and girls fortunately are but interludes in schoolboy life. Wereit otherwise, it is to be feared that the specific objects for whichboys are sent away from home during such valuable years would receivebut little of their attention. There were to be no more games, exceptindoor baseball and fives, until the hockey season which rarely set inbefore the Christmas holidays.
The little group of boys, whose fortunes we have been following, werenot particularly interested in indoor baseball, except Jimmie, whoseathletic achievements had been altogether on the diamond in the spring.And it was well they were not, for studies had been suffering duringthe football season, and at the exams, which came the week followingthe Boxford game, both Tony and Kit found that they were standing lowerin the school than they had ever stood before. Judicious advice fromthe Head and a sharp letter from old General Deering, who, though hewas proud of Tony’s athletic honors, regarded them as no substitute forscholastic achievements, kept him pretty closely at his books.
As for girls, he and Betty exchanged a few rather commonplace letters,but as the keen-eyed mistress at Betty’s school soon detected thenature of her correspondence, their letters were few and far between.At the Christmas holidays Tony went home with Kit to the Wilson countryplace on Long Island, and spent there a glorious three weeks. But,it might as well be said at once, that though Tony and Betty becamethe best of friends, the sentiment that had accented their walkstogether the night of the game at Deal, died a natural death. Schooland its varied interests absorbed Deering and left him little time oropportunity for love affairs.
During the winter he became interested in the Dealonian, a semi-secretsociety, that held frequent debates and discussions before the school,and regarded itself as being an institution of great importance. Forexercise and sport he went in for hockey, where his fleetness countedas much toward success as it did in football. The Deal boys had capitalhockey grounds, one on Deal Water which lay at the foot of the hillbetween the school and Monday Port; and the other on Beaver Pond, underthe lee of Lovel’s Woods which though smaller usually froze earlier.
It was customary for the Dealonian to elect a Fifth Former as itspresident at the beginning of the winter term. This office wassupposed, and usually did, register the boys’ somewhat premature choicefor a head prefect for the school for the following year. Deeringwas elected president of the Dealonian by a unanimous vote, aftervery little campaigning on the part of his friends. He was generallypopular, and his exploit in the Boxford game had brought him moreprominently before the school than ever before. In the opinion of hisparticular friends he was also developing qualities of leadership,which made him the logical candidate of their group for general honors.Tony valued the position of president highly. And in the fine fervorof his good resolutions he determined that through it he would do alot for the school. The Dealonian held frequent meetings at which theentire school were invited, and at which topics of general interestwere discussed by the boys themselves. It was indeed through thesemeetings that the public opinion of the school was largely formed andguided by the older boys.
The walk with Mr. Morris on the beach the night of the Boxford gamehad solidified in Tony’s mind a good many resolutions. And, thoughit is not usually the case that the generous ideals and ambitions ofboys find particular expression, since the flash of intuition intoFinch’s starved life had been in part the occasion of his forming goodresolutions at all, it was not unnatural that he should have settledupon Finch as a concrete opportunity for putting them into effect.The talk with Mr. Morris, though Finch’s name had not actually beenmentioned, had also brought the matter before Tony’s mind, for Morrishad been the first to suggest to him the possibility of his being ofuse in that direction. To be sure, the sympathy with Finch had beenintuitive and had not stayed with him as vividly as it had impressedhim on the night of the bonfire, but then it had flashed so intenselythat it was not soon altogether to expire. It glowed in the depthsof his consciousness like sparks amongst the embers of a dying fire,capable of blazing forth again if fresh fuel should be added. Tonyproposed to add the fuel.
He made a point, for instance, of dropping in at Finch’s room inStanderland two or three times a week and chatting with the boy theodd quarters of an hour that he otherwise would have spent in genialloafing with his cronies. And though he certainly would not have kepton going there for the sake of anything that Finch could contributeto the joy of life for him, when the awkwardness of deliberatelyperforming a kindness had somewhat worn off, he found a certain amountof compensating satisfaction in noting the light of pleasure that cameinto Jake’s pale blue eyes, and in the relaxation of the corners ofhis mouth from bitter rigidity into friendly appreciation and welcome.Gradually too Finch’s shyness wore off a little when he was alonewith Tony; and though it can hardly be said that even in his mostun-selfconscious moments he ever seemed a full-blooded care-free boy,he thawed into a semblance of humanity. He reminded Tony often of a dogthat has been treated cruelly in its puppyhood, which never recoversfearlessness but shrinks even under a friendly hand.
And like a dog Jacob Finch began to idolize Anthony Deering. This wasthe first time in all his barren life that a fellow boy had treatedhim with kindness, who had not showed in his manner the repulsion theunhappy little chap had the misfortune to stir in his kind. Tony’simage loomed large in his thoughts. The intense worship he paid himsecretly did much to atone for the slights of others, to blot outother boys from his consciousness. He cringed and shrank still underjibes and jokes, trembled with unreasoned fear before masters, quiveredwith fright when he found himself alone in a crowd of boys; but he didhis work faithfully and with the success that comes from persistenceeven when a keen intelligence is lacking. More and more, however, hisinner life was absorbed in his devotion to Deering.
From his seat in the chapel he could just see the wavy, copper-coloredtop of Tony’s head. By straining a little he could frequently seehis face,—bright, sensitive, mobile, smiling often that smile of asingular and rare sweetness that made Tony beautiful to others besideFinch. To Jake he was as perfect, as spotless, as wonderful, as a god.The fervor of his adoration was akin to the enthusiasm of a _devotée_for his idol. All this of course he hid, not altogether but mostly,from Deering; never voiced, though he could not help looking hisdevotion. He would spend hours during a day standing about in variousplaces on the mere chance that he would get a glimpse of Tony; hauntedthe woods above Beaver Pond in the hockey season, where he would lie,flat and shivering, upon a projecting rock, and follow with weak,straining eyes the skaters on the ice below, his eager gaze seekingalways for one bright slim form. And when he had found it, he was ashappy as he often had been.
Even Tony’s friends occupied but a small place in Finch’sconsciousness. He was grateful to Kit for his protection against DuckyThornton and his gang of tormentors, but the only real admiration hehad for Kit was because he possessed qualities—Finch could not havenamed them—that had induced Tony to choose him for a friend.
Occasionally Tony and Jimmie would have their _protégé_ in Number Fivestudy, but on these occasions Finch seemed to suffer so much fromshyness that they did not long attempt to repeat them.
Mr. Morris watched the process with inward approval and outwardindifference. His own advances toward Finch had been received ina manner that gave him little encouragement. He was sorry for theboy, and he was proud of Tony’s efforts to help him on and bring himout, but even his sanguine optimism and unselfish good will failedto convince itself that the Head had been wise in bringing Finch toDeal. As for Doctor Forester, with the best intentions in the world,he had few opportunities of seeing the boy intimately, and he trustedabsolutely to Morris as being the one who could do the most and thebest for him.
Number Five study Standerland had become during the winter term thesanctum of a privately published and privately circulated magazine,issued weekly as a rule, in pamphlet form under the title of _TheSpectacle_. The insp
iring genius, editor-in-chief, business manager,printing department and reportorial staff was Jimmie Lawrence. Jimmiehad always had a literary turn, and usually had received A’s for hisweekly themes in English from Jack Stenton, who combined with athleticprowess a genuine appreciation for good literature. In addition torequired work for the masters he had written yards of short stories,poems, plays, essays and the like for the waste-paper basket and hissecret scrap-book. Jimmie was likewise a great reader and he had takenmore kindly than the majority of his classmates to the Sir Roger deCoverly papers from _The Spectator_ that Stenton had inflicted on theFifth Form that year. He was able to appreciate the genial sympathy andquiet humor of the Eighteenth Century essayists, and more than oncehe had dipped his pen in ink to attempt a crude imitation of them.Practice improved his style. He had himself a fund of subtle humor thatwas becoming more and more evident as he matured, for it was a humorthat had found little opportunity for expression in the crude horseplayand practical joking of the Lower School.
One afternoon as he was planning an essay in the Addisonian vein andstyle, it suddenly occurred to him that there was a fund of materialfor such treatment in the actual world about him. He chose littleBeverly, a fledgeling master, cock-sure and sophomoric, as the subjectfor his first serious essay in the comic, and achieved, in his ownopinion, such a success that he read his paper that evening to Tony.
“By Jove, Jim, that’s a joy!” was his room-mate’s gratifying criticism.“That’s a blame sight better than the sawdust that Jack is trying tostuff down our throats in English.”
“Well, I have me doubts as to that,” Jimmie responded, “but Iappreciate the compliment even if it makes the critic out to be anignoramus.”
“Words of one syllable, my dear,” protested Tony, “when you try to getideas into my cranium. Critic or not, that’s darn good writing. Giveus another.”
Jimmie smiled, closed his mathematics books with the air of one whomakes a sacrifice in a noble cause, and for half an hour bent again tolaborious composition. The result was a clever little skit on DuckyThornton entitled “The Human Sofa Cushion.” The wit was broader, and itstruck Tony as quite irresistibly funny.
“By Jove, kiddo, we’ll start a _Spectator_ of our own, eh? Hit off themasters and some of our loving schoolmates, and let ‘em circulate.It’ll be heaps of fun.”
Lawrence laughed at the vision of the possibilities that came to him.“I think it will,” he said. “We’ll write ‘em out in your clear hand,and pass ‘em on to the crowd.”
And so _The Spectacle_ came into existence. Jimmie did most ofthe composition, and Tony invariably copied it out, for Jimmie’shandwriting left much to be desired, as is the case we have been toldwith other authors. Now and then there was an original contributionfrom Tony, and occasionally one from Charlie Gordon, Teddy Lansing orTack Turner, all more crude and broad, but few absolutely devoid ofreal humor. In the course of a few months they had composed quite agallery of pen-portraits, wherein were caricatured, seldom unkindly,the faults and foibles of most of the faculty and many of the boys._The Spectacle_ had a popular if restricted circulation.
It fell to Tony at length to do the paper on Mr. Roylston. None of thearticles were labeled by correct names, but there was scarcely ever anydoubt in the mind of the reader who had served as the model of theportrait. The paper on Mr. Roylston, paraphrasing his nickname, wasentitled “Soft-toed Samuel.” Tony had caricatured broadly, but beforebeing written out in his neat fine hand, the style had been softened,smoothed and improved, occasional lapses in orthography had beencorrected, and the defects of punctuation supplied,—in fact the crudestrokes of the amateur had been retouched by the hand of an artist. Theartist was Jimmie.
It was a great success with the _habitués_ of Number Five study. Tonywas so pleased with it himself, that he took it in late of an eveningto Finch’s room with the idea of cheering up his charge who had seemedeven unwontedly seedy that day.
“Here, Jake,” he exclaimed, as he burst in at the door, “here’s thelatest _Spectacle_. Have a try at it.”
Finch was lying on his couch, laid low by an intense headache. The painwas so severe that he could scarcely respond to his hero’s greeting.“Thanks,” he said weakly. He tried to get up, but Tony, quick as aflash, pushed him gently back.
“There, keep quiet! I didn’t know you had another headache. I’m awfullysorry, old chap. Rotten things, those headaches of yours.”
Finch smiled, and writhed with pain. “It’ll be all right, I guess.”
Tony sat down on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you go up to theInfirmary?... Can I get you anything?”
“No ... thank you,” Jake answered. “I’ll sleep it off; it’s the onlyway. Don’t bother. If you don’t mind, I’ll make out better alone.”
“Mind? No. Only I’m blamed sorry.”
“Leave the _Spectacle_, will you?”
“All right, I’ll stick it here on your desk. Read it in the morning.Don’t forget to call me if you want anything. Does Bill know you’resick?”
“Yes—he’s been in.”
“Well, good-night, Jake. Tell me what you think of it to-morrow.”
When Tony had gone out, Finch tried to get up and read the paper, butthe pain pulled him back on his bed again, and he lay there in miserytill sleep came at last and released him.
The next morning, with the hurry of breakfast and chapel, he hadno opportunity of reading the squib until First Study, which, asMr. Roylston held it, usually was _study_ and not the loafing,letter-writing, novel-reading period it occasionally was under laxermasters. Finch, who had hard work to keep the place he was determinedto maintain in the school, rarely wasted his study periods, so thathe was ignorant of the various devices whereby the lazy gave thepretense of studying when they were doing other things. At the riskof an imperfect Greek lesson—for he could restrain his curiosity nolonger, he took out Tony’s manuscript soon after First Study began, andwas eagerly and hastily perusing it. Deering’s obvious exaggerations,and even more, though he could not distinguish them, Jimmie’s finertouches, amused him greatly. For the first time he was really smilingbroadly in the schoolroom. The master, so long the traditional _bêtenoir_ and subject of caricature, took form in his imagination, and Mr.Roylston, whom Finch feared with an abject fear, for once seemed to himto be amusing.
Suddenly, to his intense horror, Gumshoe Ebenezer stood before him, notin the spirit but in the flesh, and his long slim bony fingers closedabout Tony’s manuscript as he removed it quickly from Finch’s nervelessgrasp.
“I will relieve you of that extraneous matter,” he observed sharply.“It is expected that boys shall spend this period in study, not inreading amusing letters.”
“It—it isn’t a l—letter,” gasped Finch.
“It does not in the least matter whether it is a letter or not,”replied Mr. Roylston. “It is very evident that it has no bearingwhatever upon Xenophon’s _Anabasis_ or the Greek Grammar.”
He glanced at the title as he spoke. “Soft-toed Samuel” conveyed littleto him, enough however to inform him that he had been correct in hissurmise that it was tabooed matter.
“But—but, it—it isn’t mine,” protested Finch.
“No?” commented Mr. Roylston, with an accent of indifference. “I shallreturn it to its owner in good time, if you choose to inform me who heis.” He glanced casually over the writing.
“Don’t—don’t you dare to read that!” cried Finch, his face livid, asfor the moment anger got the better of fear. “I’ll—I’ll—” he halfrose from his seat, his fists clenched in helpless rage.
Mr. Roylston turned upon him with a glare. “You will do what?” heasked in tones that almost robbed Finch of his senses. “Get to work,”he added, after looking at him steadily for a moment; and then turnedaway, leaving his victim morally and spiritually prostrate.
Poor Finch sank back in his seat, bent his head, and fastened hisunseeing eyes on the pages of the _Anabasis_. The incident, thoughobserved and
heard by the whole schoolroom, seemed not to have createda ripple of excitement. Not a sound disturbed the stillness of theroom. As the master turned from Finch, he observed a hundred heads bentdiligently over their books, and a slight grim smile of satisfactioncrossed his face. He felt that he had reason to be proud of hisdiscipline. He seated himself at the desk, and his eyes fell idly uponthe first page of the manuscript. “Soft-toed Samuel,” he read, and acurl of contempt trembled along his thin lips. And then:
“There is no place of general resort in the school which is immune from the presence of Soft-toed Sam; sometimes he is seen thrusting his head even into the locker-rooms below stairs and listening with eager and suspicious ear to the slang and careless conversation that is apt to take place there. And woe to the boy whose tongue is not restrained on such occasions! there will be a day of reckoning. Sometimes he munches a bit of cake at the Pie-house, making pretense of joviality; but whilst he seems attentive to nothing but his goody and the Pie-lady, he overhears the remarks of every boy in the place, and makes a note of them in his little book. Sometimes he comes into the general assembly of all the boys on a Sunday evening, as one who comes to hear and to improve, but who leaves to carp. His face is too well-known, too often seen by every boy in the school. The stealthy tread of Soft-toed Samuel is ever on the trail of the lazy, the indifferent and the wicked, and where he does not find matter for condemnation provided him by nature, he creates it out of nothing. The Head has....”
Mr. Roylston turned the pages, and glanced at the conclusion.
“Thus he lives in the school as a critic of and a bane to mankind rather than as one of the species.”
It was enough. The handwriting, of course, he recognized. He folded thepaper neatly and placed it in his pocket.
Poor Finch meanwhile was undergoing excruciating agonies. Not a lineof the Greek penetrated his consciousness, even the familiar _?????????????????_ was to him as the inscription on a Babylonian tablet. Hisown careless folly and stupidity had brought about a catastrophe, afrightful situation, in which he could see his hero was apt to suffermore grievously than himself. But in reality that was not possible.Finch was suffering vicariously with an intensity that Tony could neverrealize, that in such connection he could never share.
And at the end of the period he fearfully approached the master’s desk.As though divining the petition trembling on his lips, Mr. Roylstonbade him sternly go out with his form, adding sharply, “I shall returnthe paper myself when I have had the opportunity of enjoying itspromising humor.”
At recess Finch found Deering eating his bit of luncheon in the FifthForm common room. He drew him aside.
“Well, Jake, headache gone?” began Tony. “What did you think of theSoft-toed Sammy? Why, what’s the matter?”
Finch was white as a sheet. “Oh, Deering,” he gasped, “an awfulthing has happened. I—I was reading it—like a fool—in FirstStudy—and—and—Mr. Roylston swiped it.”
Tony paused in the midst of taking a bite from his bun, and looked atJake in consternation.
“Gumshoe swiped it?”
“Yes, Deering.... I’m sorry.... You don’t know ... I wish I was dead.”He leaned against the lintel of the doorway and hid his face in hishands.
Tony pulled himself together with an effort. “I guess you’ve done me,”he began. Then, as he saw Finch wince under his words, he went overquickly to his side, and put his hand on his shoulder. “There, cheerup; I was a beast to say that. It’s all my own fault. It was a darnfool stunt to write such things.”
After a time he calmed the unhappy lad, and got from him the details ofthe incident. At last he went off to report the matter to Jimmie.
Lawrence naturally was inclined to say harsh things of Finch, but hetoo realized that they themselves were to blame for the predicament.
“Hate to deprive you of the honor, old chap,” he said, “but honestyforbids me deny the authorship and responsibility for _The Spectacle_.The horse is on me.”
“The horse!” exclaimed Tony. “It will be a ton of bricks. But it’s rot,Jimmie, to say you’re responsible. I’ll be hanged if I think stickingan adjective here and there, sprinkling commas about, and tinkeringwith a few mixed tenses, makes you the author. ‘Tis true it’s but abeastly paraphrase on Addison,—but ‘twas my best and, so to speak, myown.”
They waited somewhat anxiously that day for the dreaded summons to Mr.Roylston’s outraged presence, but it did not come. That night on hisway to Standerland from a meeting of the Dealonian, Tony found a sealedpacket in his letter-box in the Old School. It was directed to him inMr. Roylston’s minute slanting chirography. He tore it open, and foundthat it contained the confiscated copy of _The Spectacle_ and a notefrom the master therein caricatured.
“I return to you under cover,” it ran, without address, “the manuscript for which, since it is in your handwriting, I presume you are responsible. It was confiscated from Finch in First Study this morning. I have read it enough to suggest that the wisest course will be for you to destroy this piece of scurrility at once, also any copies of it that may exist. I have only to say that the offense is so deep and gratuitous an insult that it is not punishable by any of the ordinary methods at our command. Vain as the supposition sometimes seems, we proceed at Deal School on the assumption that we have to treat with gentlemen and the sons of gentlemen.
“E. ROYLSTON.”
As he read this note, Tony by turns went hot and cold. The lastsentence stung him to the quick. He was intensely angry, but as thefirst impulse of rage passed away, he realized with a bitter sense ofhumiliation that the master had a perfect right to his resentment; thatfor once he, Tony Deering, was absolutely, hopelessly in the wrong.Alas! while he had been fondly supposing that he was beginning to livemore unselfishly, beginning to do more for others than he had ever donebefore, he had wantonly wounded and grossly insulted, as a result ofindulging in his propensity to make fun, a fellow member of the school.With the shame and repentance warm in his heart, he hurried over toHoward House where Mr. Roylston roomed, and knocked at his door.
The master looked up from his desk, as Tony entered, and his facehardened into a severe expression as he waited for his visitor to speak.
“Sir,” exclaimed Tony, impulsively, “I’ve come to beg your pardon.... Iknow I have done an inexcusable thing, but I am sorry——.”
Mr. Roylston laid his pen down and looked fixedly at the boy, but themuscles of his face did not relax. “Don’t you think, Deering,” heinterrupted coolly, “that your apology comes with a bad grace after theoffense is accidentally discovered? Apparently the despicable characterof your method of poking fun seems only to occur to you when you are indanger of incurring the just penalty of such conduct.”
Tony bit his lips, but he felt he deserved what the master chose tosay. He would not spoil his apology by showing resentment. “I daresay it seems to you that way, sir. But I can only say that at firstI simply saw the amusing side of it, and that it was not until Ithought how it must have seemed to you that I realized it was an unkindcaricature.”
Mr. Roylston perceptibly sniffed at the word _caricature_. “Gratuitousinsult, it were better termed,” he ejaculated.
“Well, sir, I can’t undo it ... I only wish I could. I apologize toyou, sir, ... unreservedly.”
Mr. Roylston appeared to choose his words with even more than his usualcare. “I accept the apology, of course, technically. But naturally itdoes not atone for the offense.”
“No,” said Tony, “I know it does not.”
For a moment there was silence. “You are curious to know what I proposeto do?” asked Mr. Roylston, with a note of sarcasm.
“No—no, sir,” replied Tony ingenuously. “I don’t think that matters,sir. I only hope you believe what I say, that I am truly sorry for whathas occurred.”
He had worded his sentence unfortunately, for the master took it as aquibble. “Yes,” he replied tartly, “I can well believe that you aresorry for what has _occurred_
.”
“I don’t mean——” began Tony.
“That will do,” said Mr. Roylston dryly. “I have gathered enough ofyour meaning for the once. No—I do not mean to punish you.” A bittersmile flickered over his face. “As I sought to explain in my note,which I had every intention should put a period to the incident, ourpunishments in this school are not adapted to the case. One has but twoalternatives in such affairs,—to expel or to ignore persons capable ofsuch conduct. I have concluded to ignore. I bid you good evening.”
Tony opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it quickly, and with aslight inclination of his head, turned and left the room.
“He means to rub it in by slow degrees, by his peculiar and unspeakablemethods of torture,” was Jimmie’s comment when Tony had told himof the interview later. “You were an ass not to let me share theresponsibility. The Gumshoe accept an apology! why, he hasn’t thecharity of a mosquito. As Kit would say,” he added thoughtfully, “he is‘a gloomy ass.’ Well, I reckon, Tonio, old sport, we’ll have to chuck_The Spectacle_.”
“Hang it, of course, we will. It was a poor fool sheet, Jim; rathera sad business for two good little schoolboys like us to be taken upwith.”
“And like most wicked things, amusing,” remarked Reggie from thedepths of an armchair where he had been an interested hearer of theconversation. “Like most forbidden things, diverting.”
“What a crude philosopher you sometimes are, Reggie,” said Lawrence.“One looks to you for illuminating comment—not for the obviousplatitude.”
“True, my poet,” drawled Carroll, “but there are moments when oneinadvertently sinks below one’s normal level. But adieu to somediverting moments!”
“Thanks! Adieu, too, to my Addisonian English! I wish we could aseasily bid adieu to the consequences.”
“I fancy it will be a long time before you say farewell to those, myyoung friends.”
“Hm, he evidently doesn’t mean to take it to the Head,” said Tony.
“No, not yet,” said Reggie, with the air of a prophet, “the time isnot ripe; but the Gumshoe, like Fate, will take a fall out of you inthe hour of your pride. Beware.”
“Bosh!” said Tony, “I’m going to forget it.” And he fell to work.