Читать книгу Trumps - George William Curtis - Страница 10

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“The truth is, Gyles;” said Abel to Blanding, his chum, “Gabriel Bennet’s mother ought to come and take him home for the summer to play with the other calves in the country. People shouldn’t leave their spoons about.”

The two boys went in to tea.

In the evening, as the pupils were sitting in the dining-room, as usual, some chatting, some reading, others quite ready to go to bed,

“Mr. Gray,” said Abel to Uncle Savory, who was sitting talking with Mrs. Gray, whose hands, which were never idle, were now busily knitting.

“Well, Abel.”

“Suppose we have some game.”

“Certainly. Boys, what shall we do? Let us see. There’s the Grand Mufti, and the Elements, and My ship’s come loaded with—and—well, what shall it be?”

“Mr. Gray, it’s a good while since we’ve tried all calling out together. We haven’t done it since Gabriel Bennet came.”

“No, we haven’t,” answered Mr. Gray, as his small eyes twinkled at the prospect of a little fun; “no, we haven’t. Now, boys, of course a good many of you have played the game before. But you, new boys, attend! the thing is this. When I say three—one, two, three!—every body is to shout out the name of his sweet-heart. The fun is that nobody hears any thing, because every body bawls so loud. You see?” asked he, apparently feeling for his handkerchief. “Gabriel, before we begin, just run into the study and get my handkerchief.”

Gabriel, full of expectation of the fun, ran out of the room. The moment he closed the door Mr. Gray lifted his finger and said,

“Now, boys! every body remain perfectly quiet when I say three.”

It was needless to explain why, for every body saw the intended joke, and Gabriel returned instantly from the study saying that the handkerchief was not there.

“No matter,” said Mr. Gray. “Are you all ready, boys. Now, then—one, two, three!”

As the word left Mr. Gray’s lips, Gabriel, candid, full of spirit, jumped up from his seat with the energy of his effort, and shouted out at the top of his voice,

“Hope Wayne!”

—It was cruel. That name alone broke the silence, ringing out in enthusiastic music.

Gabriel’s face instantly changed. Still standing erect and dismayed, he looked rapidly around the room from boy to boy, and at Mr. Gray. There was just a moment of utter silence, and then a loud peal of laughter.

Gabriel’s color came and went. His heart winced, but not his eye. Young hearts are tender, and a joke like this cuts deeply. But just as he was about to yield, and drop the tell-tale tear of a sensitive, mortified boy, he caught the eye of Abel Newt. It was calmly studying him as a Roman surgeon may have watched the gladiator in the arena, while his life-blood ebbed away. Gabriel remembered Abel’s words in the play-ground—“There’s more than one kind of fagging.”

When the laugh was over, Gabriel’s had been loudest of all.