Читать книгу The Heroes of the School: or, The Darewell Chums Through Thick and Thin - Chapman Allen - Страница 3

A chorus of laughter broke out among the students. It certainly was mirth-provoking to see that picture in place of the fire and clouds of smoke from the volcano. The class was in an uproar.

Professor Long waited patiently until the noise had subsided. He even allowed the wrong slide to remain on the screen. The boys finally ceased laughing. Then the instructor spoke.

“I presume that was done as a joke,” he said. “If so I think it was a very poor one. I don’t mind fun, but I like it in the right place. A certain amount is good, even in the schoolroom.”

His tone was sarcastic now, and Ned began to feel a little uncomfortable.

“You young gentlemen,” and he seemed to hesitate at the word, “you young gentlemen are sent here to learn. If you can do so and have fun, all right. I am paid by the city to teach you. I am expected to put a certain amount of knowledge into your brains. I can’t unless you let me. I’m not a magician.”

“I thought you would be interested in this lecture. It seems you would rather have a lot of horse-play and rowdyism instead. If I had known that I might have provided a different set of pictures. But not in school hours. The school authorities expect me to instruct you in physics and chemistry; not in foolishness. Young gentlemen, the lecture is over, but you can remain in your seats in the darkness until the usual hour for dismissing the class.”

This was a different ending to the joke than Ned had anticipated. It was he who had put the wrong slide in with the others, having had access to the laboratory that morning. There were several murmurs from the boys not in on the plot. They did not relish sitting in the darkness for half an hour.

Professor Long began putting away the apparatus. He withdrew the firecracker slide and turned out the stereopticon. Then Ned did a manly thing.

“Professor Long,” he called, out of the darkness. “I want to apologize to you and the class. I put the wrong picture into the pile. I’m sorry and I’ll not do it again.”

A silence ensued. The boys wondered at Ned’s pluck in acknowledging his fault. But then he and his chums were that kind of boys.

“I can’t excuse your conduct under any circumstances, Wilding,” said Professor Long, sternly. “Still I will admit I like your manliness in admitting your fault. In view of what you have said, and as it is evident the other boys had no hand in it, I will go on with the lecture. But I must ask you to withdraw, and, as a punishment you will write out fifty lines of Cæsar after school.”

It was a task that made some of the boys catch their breaths. But Ned felt he deserved it, though he said to himself the joke was worth it. He left the laboratory, and the lecture went on. He remained after school and completed his penance. Professor Long, who had some experiments to prepare for the next week’s work, had also stayed after school.

“Don’t do it again, Wilding,” was all he said, and Ned was almost sure he saw the teacher smile.

Ned found his chums waiting for him. They were a little diffident about referring to the joke, but Ned had no such scruples.

“That was a sort of a boomerang,” he remarked. “I spent fifty cents getting that slide, and to think how it turned out! Long is pretty touchy when it comes to his lectures. I guess I’ll not monkey with ’em again.”

“Well, you missed a lot of fun,” said Frank slowly. “He told us a lot of interesting stuff about volcanoes.”

“Bet none of ’em could match mine,” came from Ned, with a laugh. “Mine was up-to-date.”

“What you going to do to-morrow?” asked Bart of his friends.

“Nothing special,” replied Ned.

“Can’t we arrange a ball game?” inquired Fenn.

“I tried to but couldn’t,” said Bart. “Supposing we all go fishing?”

“Fine!” was the general cry.

“All right, meet at the Point, with lines and poles, at nine o’clock to-morrow and we’ll go to the Riffles.”

The Point was a tongue of land extending out into the river about a mile above the town. It was a favorite place for swimming as there was a sort of sandy beach there. The Riffles were a series of shallow spots about two miles above the point, and from there on up was good fishing. The river near the Riffles ran through a dense woods which were seldom visited.

Promptly on time the boys were at the meeting place. They had with them everything needed for a day’s fishing, from bait and poles to a lunch for themselves, as they did not intend coming back until afternoon.

The boys tramped through the woods toward the fishing holes, which they had often visited. They were talking of the events of the previous day at school, and Ned was explaining over again how he substituted the wrong picture slide.

“Here, where are you boys going?” a voice suddenly hailed them from the bushes that lined the path they were traveling.

They looked up, to see an old man, with a white straggling beard, which fell almost to his waist, peering at them. He was half hidden by the underbrush.

“Where you going?” he repeated.

“Fishing,” replied Ned.

“Whereabouts?”

“Up at the Riffles,” said Fenn.

“Better not,” cautioned the aged person. “It’s a dangerous place.”

The man stepped forth into full view. The boys saw he was poorly dressed. His trousers were quite ragged and his coat was torn in several places. He wore no hat.

“What makes you think so?” asked Frank.

“Don’t let it be known,” the old man went on, “but the King of Paprica holds dominion over the Riffles. He has forbidden any one, under pain of being fed to the sacred crocodile, from taking the green bull frog from the pool.”

“He’s crazy,” whispered Bart.

“But we’re after fish, not bull frogs,” interposed Frank, who seemed inclined to humor the strange man.

“Oh, in that case, don’t forget to bait your hooks with soft soap,” said the old man, as he held up a warning finger. “Now remember, not a word to the King of Paprica if you meet him. He knows I’m here on guard, so don’t tell him,” and with that the old man, winking at Frank as though there was a good joke between them, vanished amid the bushes.

“Well, of all queer things,” said Ned softly.

“He’s daffy,” spoke Bart. “Escaped from some asylum, I suppose. However he looks harmless. Come on, we don’t want to get mixed up with him. We’re out for fish.”

“I’d like to find out more about him,” came from Frank. “He winked at me as though it was some sort of a trick.”

“Yes, the kind Ned played yesterday,” exclaimed Frank.

“No more from yours truly,” uttered the perpetrator of the wrong slide. “No more jokes for a while. I’m going fishing. Come on.”