Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXVII, No. 1 — page 82: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

86 tempt and abuse they might put upon me. I felt the hot blood seething into my cheeks at the very thought. O, if I could only have kept on at the public school! But my mother said that I must have instruction in higher branches than were taught there, and she told me that though Dr. Polisher’s tuition fees were high, she could better afford to pay them, than to send me away where my board would also be required. In this decision Mr. Starkweather also concurred. Mr. Stark- weather was her chief adviser, and assisted and advised .in her business matters. He came out from the city, at long intervals, to see us; but I don’t think he was any relation. I often wondered why he seemed so interested in us; but I never liked to ask mother about him, because she was always so much graver and sadder after his visits, that I would not prolong the impression. I meekly suggested that I did not see why T need to go to school any more at all, since I could read, and spell, and write, and dispose of all problems in arithmetic, that I should ever be likely to need. Why couldn’t I go to work and earn something for myself? There was Jake Scranton would be glad to take me for one of the hands on his fishing-smack. I knew how to steer, and haut on the ropes, and make sail, and in a little while I should be an able seaman; and then maybe I’d soon get along, and own a fishing-boat of my own, and could take care of her, instead of spend- ing the hard earnings of her needle. ~ When I said this, growing bolder as I pro- ceeded, mother sighed and kissed me, and I was quite sure it was a tear slipped down her - cheek, and splashed upon my hand; but she said, firmly, that I must go to the school. Come what would, I must have a good edu- cation. And that was how I came to be walking on my way to the dreaded school, all of a shake and tremble. I tried to whistle, but the tone I got up was as sickly as the notes of a cornstalk fiddle. Then I kept say- ing over to myself: “What a smart fellow you are! Who are you afraid of? Aren’t you as good as any of ’em? I guess I'd be a little more of a man. I’d show’em I wasn’t afraid of any of ’em. I'd have a litt}e more respect for myself.” But it wasn’t any good. I’ve noticed that when you get weak-kneed in that fashion, there’s only one way to do; just to let your trepidation run with you as far as it will, and then suddenly you bring up with a sharp turn, pick yourself up, and turn about man Old Hugh's Look-off. fashion. So I went creeping along, until I found my-elf under the arched gateway whose gilt letters announced: “DR. POLISHERS ACADEMY FOR BOYS.” And there was the lion I dreaded waiting for me. <A group of young fellows, Reginald Motley at their head, were practising archery. I was in hopes they would be so busy as to overlook me, but their leader’s_ eyes were too sharp for that. “ Halloo!” he shouted; “ who’s all this ?” And down went all the bows, and the whole group gathered around me. I had a desper- ate desire to turn about and cut for home at about the rate a comet streaks along, but IL pushed on toward the academy door. “ Halloo, I say!” shouted Reginald Motley. “Stop where you are, you fellow, until ve found out about you.” It was queer, but the very thing which had scared. me so to think about, took away all my alarm. The arrogant insolence of his tone just eooled off my embarrassment. I faced around, looked at him defiantly, and answered : “JT don't know what that has to do with you. I don’t suppose you are Dr. Polisher, are you?” ; “Humph! a little game-cock!” observed the young gentleman, sarcastically. “I’ve seen the chap before. He’s the same little vagabond who kicked my dog down on the beach. You belong to one of those dirty fishing-smacks, I reckon.” “Yes, I kicked your dog, and Ill do it again, if you set him on again to scare poor little Susy Lee, as you did that day,” answerel I, indignantly; and took another step toward the academy door. | “What a distinguished philanthropist!” sneered the persecutor, stepping in front of me and stopping my advanee. “ But what, I say, are you doing here? If you have fish to sell, don’t you know enough to go around to the kitchen door?” “O Reg, you're too bad!” said a pitying voice. “ You know very well the poor fellow has come to the school.” I looked around me, and met the kindly glance of a pair of gentle, blue eyes, beaming from a very delicate face, which no one who saw could help liking, it was so full of inno- _ ¢enee and good-will. “Thank you,” said I, looking at him over Reg Motley’s shoulder. “You are right; I have come to the school becanse apymother —.