it is now in order to follow up giddy-headed stephen, and see what mad plot had been hatched in his fertile brain.
by turning back a little way, the reader will find that that hero left the audience-chamber immediately after the professor had so vividly drawn the onslaught of an imaginary mad dog.
[113]
“it would serve the crazy old shouter right to test his courage,” he muttered. “what business have people to let such a man speak to chicken-hearted little young-muns, all full of weak nerves, and awful to bellow? he might scare some of ’em into fits! i know i’m fond of ‘boorish tricks,’ as george calls them; but if charley can talk that way about hydrophobia and yellow dogs, i guess i can safely play this one nice little trick. why, this would only be in the interests of common sense! and,” cheerfully, “how jim would yell!!!”
stephen’s mode of reasoning was exceedingly subtile—in fact, like the speech of the philosopher on whom he contemplated playing a trick, it is too subtile for our comprehension. but so long as it removed his scruples, he cared not a goose-quill what others might think.
“now,” he said to himself, “let me strike out my plans. first is, to find my dog tip; then, to white-wash him and paint him. but,” doubtfully, “i’m afraid i can’t get any white-wash or any paint. anyway, it would be better and more natural if i could get him on the trail of some animal. poor tip! it’s too bad to treat him so; but then it won’t hurt him any, and if the professor keeps on working up their feelings, i guess there’ll be a stunning howl when tip bounces into the room, the very picture of a ‘rabid canine’!”
if steve had tarried a little longer in the school, and seen the professor as he flourished his murderous weapon, he would have thought better of having tip play the mad dog.
hurrying along through the school-grounds, he finally halted under a venerable and wide-spreading shade-tree, beloved by all the girls and boys of the school. there before him, rolled up in a ball, lay a vivacious-looking dog, sleeping soundly.
“eh, tip!” steve said. “good old boy! here you are, just as i hoped.”
at the first words the dog hopped up briskly, and began to caress his master, frisking and barking to express his delight, and disporting himself as only a pet dog can.
it is conjectured that our young readers may be curious[114] to know what species of dog this was. alas! it is impossible to inform them. neither his master stephen nor any other person in the village could affirm positively to what particular species tip belonged, but all agreed that he was a dog of some sort. this much, however, is known concerning him: he was of medium size and of divers colors, black and white predominating, a universal favorite with all the heroes and heroines of this history.
“eh, tip, are you glad to see me? shall we have some sport? what do you say to a run in the road?”
by way of answer, the dog seized his master’s pants with his sharp teeth, and tugged playfully at them, his way of angling for sport.
“i guess you’ll do, tip. you’ve got lots of fun in you, if i can keep you going;” and steve swung open the gate of the school-grounds and passed out with a chuckle, tip hard at his heels.
then this giddy-headed boy and his unsuspecting dog turned a corner of the fence, found themselves in a dusty and unfrequented lane, and prepared for action.
“now, tip,” said the young rascal, “if we can make you run up and down this lane till you get all covered with dust, and dirt, and slobber, our fortune’ll be made! come on, tip; we shan’t need any white-wash nor any paint. eh, tip?”
going on a little farther, till they reached the river, this wicked boy incited his dog to plunge headlong into the water after sticks and stones. then, returning to the lane, he urged the wet dog to course up and down in the midst of the dust—sometimes after sticks, sometimes after himself. the playful dog enjoyed the sport, and entered into it fully. soon he presented a woful appearance, but steve unpityingly spurred him on till he began to pant hard.
“good!” cried he. “pant away, tip, and get yourself well covered with slobber. that’s it! run, now,—fetch him, tip; go for him. there, roll in the dust!”
thus he continued, till the poor dog was fagged out. then stephen, even stephen, relented, and thought seriously of giving up his proposed experiment.
[115]
but, ah! the reason was—
“i’m afraid, tip, that if you run back to school, you’ll be too tired to scare them much, and if you walk back, you’ll lose most of your foam and slobber. and perhaps we might be too late, anyhow. upon my word,” he cried suddenly, “i never planned how i am to get you into the building! i can’t go with you, and you can’t get in alone!”
in his indecision, stephen retraced his steps to the gate of the school-grounds, opened it, and with his eyes tried to measure the distance from that place to the castellated school-house—tip, meanwhile, recovering his strength and sportiveness.
on a sudden, fate interposed in the form of a muscular and war-worn cat, which appeared leisurely crossing the school-grounds. tip saw it, and forgetting his weariness, furiously gave chase.
“sic it, tip! sic it!” cried steve, who, in the excitement of the moment, apparently forgot his trick, and eagerly joined in pursuit.
tip soon came up with his hereditary enemy, and a frightful combat ensued. instinct or the force of habit impelled warlike puss to fight stoutly for escape, and he rained blows and execrations, (in the cat language,) that would have done credit to a battle-scarred pirate, upon his assailant.
tip fought because of his “liking for the thing,” and because his master was pricking him on to victory by such spirit-stirring exclamations as: “oh, sic it, tip! go for him! beat ’em! maul ’em! sh! sh! sh!”
rabid canine and outraged feline! would that the professor could have beheld the combat between them!
presently the dog, with a piteous howl, ceased to fight, and rubbed his head vigorously on the ground; whilst the cat, seizing its opportunity, scampered away towards the school-house.
“poor little tip!” said steve remorsefully, as he observed that his dog was reeking with dust, froth, wounds, and blood.
in a moment, however, tip was up again and in hot[116] pursuit of the persecuted feline, but, not wishing to risk another engagement, that redoubtable warrior found refuge somewhere about the school. not so tip. he dashed straight ahead, and made his way into the very room in which were all the school-children, together with professor rhadamanthus and teacher meadows.
steve was close on the dogs heels; but on seeing this, he turned back and shot off in despair.
“oh!” he groaned, “this is worse than i meant it to be! every one’ll think that tip is stark staring mad! o dear me! what shall i do! what shall i do!”
tips arrival was most opportune. thanks to the professor’s vivid imagery, all the scholars were perspiring with racking excitement, and so blood-stained an apparition as tip could not fail to create a commotion. tip still retained sufficient strength and agility to burst impetuously into the room, and the sudden appearance of an animated mass of slaver, wounds, and blood, was enough to unhinge the mind of any school boy in the union.
there were more than one hundred boys in the school; more than forty had a stout jack-knife in their left-hand trowsers pocket; more than thirty had one in their right hand trowsers pocket; some five had both a penknife and a jack-knife about their person; about twenty phlegmatic and chuckle-headed cubs—who took only a languid interest in anything but peppermint candy, circus serpent-charmers, and noisy fireworks—had their jack-knives out, and were trying to while away the time by rounding off the sharp angles of their brand-new lesson-books. as for the others, they had lost their jack-knives on their way to school, and consequently had none. alas, professor! your golden precept was lost on those youths! not one, not one, drew his knife to “stab the beast to its heart.”
an awful yell of consternation smote upon the air, as the demoralized and panic-stricken boys and girls struggled to escape. the young ladies were too prudent to faint, but they screamed with a voice as shrill and discordant as their brothers’. it fared worst with the little girls, who were jostled about and shoved aside without[117] ceremony. not a spark of gallantry animated the bosom of those youths; each one strove to save himself, himself only, and took no thought for the weaker and less active girls. rough and lubberly boys, in their struggle to escape, brutally trod hats and bonnets, books and slates, foot-stools and benches, and school-mates’ toes, under foot. such commotion had never been known in that school. suddenly a boy stepped heavily on the dog, and poor tip howled so lustily that he was heard above all the tumult. this, of course, added to the panic, and a perfect babel ensued.
then, with a roar of horror and agony, a bouncing boy cried out that he was bitten!
what wonder that poor tip should bite, when he was bedewed with grimy tears of honor, yanked this way and that way, stumbled over, jammed against desks, pelted now and then with a stone ink-bottle, and trampled nearly to death?
at length the apartment was cleared of all save a few. as it has been emphatically stated that most of the six were brimming with noble heroism, perhaps it would be better to say nothing about how they behaved. let the reader imagine how he would behave under similar circumstances.
by the way, it was very rash and foolish in the writer to speak of their bravery at all; and it has cost him (or her) no little annoyance—instance chapter the eighth. in fact, on mature deliberation, the writer recants all that has been said of their bravery.
as will was tearing out of the room,—it may be remarked incidentally that it happened he was almost the last to do so,—tip hobbled past him to get out. quick as thought, will caught up a heavy chair, and brained him on the spot.
“there,” will said joyously, “the danger is over now; the dog is dead.” on giving the dog closer examination, he exclaimed, in surprise: “why, it’s steve’s dog tip! poor tip! surely he wasn’t mad!”
meanwhile, where was the great authority on all things in general, rabid canines in particular? where was he with his knife?
[118]
at the first note of danger, he, being nearest the front-door, had leaped to his feet and ingloriously shown his heels; but not being so familiar with the internal arrangement of the building as he thought, he fell heavily down the four steps of the entry. the fall stunned him, and for a few minutes he lay insensible. where was the wonderful knife that was to disarm the fury of all mad dogs? alas! it was safe in his pocket!
before the learned man could grapple with the situation and gather himself up, the horrified school children were swarming out of the door, and—over him! awful magnate that he was, not one among them hesitated to make him a stepping-stone in this time of fancied danger. in fact, the next day an immoral boy was heard to say that the professor made a better door-step than speaker; “for,” as he phrased it, “we slid down over him at top speed, and got outside all the sooner.”
as for teacher meadows, he had perceived that the peroration was at hand; and when the dog appeared, he was carefully digesting an “extempore” little speech, in which he intended to express his gratitude to the learned man for the very lucid and forcible manner in which the absorbing topic of hydrophobia had been presented to the “students.” but the advent of the dog diverted the train of his thoughts, and his nice little speech was never made. after a vain attempt to stem the hubbub and find where the mad dog was, he followed the example set by the noble speaker, and hurried out of the school; for, though naturally brave, he saw that it was useless to remain.
although the dog was slain, it was some time before the quaking children could be brought to understand that the danger past, and when at last their fears were quieted, it was found that a great many were missing—among them, the boy who had been bitten. what a startling report they spread in the village about that mad dog! as may be imagined, the strange orator’s name was so much mixed up in their incoherent and “artless” story, that most of the villagers laid all the blame of the affair on him.
[119]
let us return to him, the precept-giving sage, the gifted declaimer. as soon as he recovered himself, and found an opportunity to do so, he made good his escape—without even making his adieux to teacher meadows! he reached the depot without molestation; but instead of taking the train for the next seminary, to rant on his darling themes, he took the first train for his home, in boston.
there he lamented the degeneracy of american youth, and trembled for the integrity of the union if those boys should ever usurp the right of running the machinery of government.
now, our wondrous-wise philosopher firmly believed the heart to be the seat of courage. being aware that he had played the poltroon on the occasion of the struggle with the “mad dog,” he became alarmed about the state of that organ, and consulted one of the most eminent physicians of boston, who gravely informed him that the left ventricle was affected.
hence you perceive, gentle reader, that the professor must not be censured for deserting his post as he did; for had his heart been in its normal condition, he would have proved a far more formidable antagonist to tip than the pugnacious grimalkin.
but teacher meadows probably suffered most acutely, and he should be pitied most. let us return to him. after mustering the remaining school children, he demanded threateningly. “can any of you throw any light on this mysterious affair?”
there was silence—unbroken, except occasionally, by an hysterical “ah!” or “oh!” from some tender and cream-faced child, who still quaked with fear.
soon will spoke. “the dog is dead, mr. meadows,” he said. “i killed him,” with boyish pride, “and i don’t believe he was mad at all; for he was stephen goodfellow’s dog.”
“oh, the dog is dead? well, let me see it; where is it?” mr. meadows said eagerly.
will led the way to the place where tip lay dead, and good mr. meadows vainly tried to determine whether the dog had been mad or not. poor man! he was better versed in latin verbs than in “lycanthropy.”
[120]
“can any one explain this?” he again demanded. “i never before saw a dog in so pitiable and unnatural a condition, but as to his being mad—” and he stopped short, nodding his head in great perplexity.
“i guess i saw him first,” piped up the chubby hobbledehoy who had been the first to cry out in terror on the dog’s arrival. “i saw him bolt in through the winder.”
“you did not!” exclaimed another. “he came in through the door.”
“i know it; i only said i saw him bolt in through the winder,” screamed the first speaker, who was blissfully ignorant of syntactical constructions.
“well?”—
“well?” mockingly. “don’t you wish you’d seen him bolt in, too?”
“oh, you!” furiously.
“stop that noise!” cried the teacher, authoritatively. “you must say, ‘burst in.’” then, swelling with pettishness, he said vehemently, “i demand an explanation! some one must know how and where this originated.”
“i can explain it—mostly,” said jim (our jim), stepping forward.
poor jim! it had fared hardly with him; for, besides having his weak mind nearly thrown off its balance, he had been clawed and pommelled cruelly in his struggles to escape, and was now suffering with an agonizing attack of his peculiar disease—“the chills.”
“you can explain it?” said teacher meadows. “then, wherefore have you withheld your communication so long?”
he, at least, had profited by the professor’s discourse; he had caught that long-winded gentleman’s scholastic phraseology.
“i—i—was afraid to speak; i—i ain’t well;” jim stammered.
“pray begin your version of it,” said mr. meadows, with a weary look, that told of an aching head and a sore heart.
“yes, mr. meadows,” jim said hastily. “while mr. rhadamanthus was speaking, i saw steve slip out of[121] school and go to the far end of the grounds, where his dog was sleeping; and then they both got up and they went outside of the gates; but the fence hid them from me, and so i can’t tell you what they did outside of the gates.”
here the narrator paused to take breath, and teacher meadows said, sharply, “yes, very good; but why didn’t you pay attention to the speaker? instead of idly gaping out of the window at a boy and his dog, why didn’t you listen to that spirited dissertation on hydrophobia, and assiduously take notes of the learned remarks? so distinguished a speaker may never visit our town again; and—”
“yes, sir,” interrupted jim, “but if i hadn’t looked out of the window, i shouldn’t have known how it all happened.”
teacher meadows was nonplussed. with a zigzag wave of the hand, he simply said, “resume; i will not argue the point.”
jim resumed. “i was sitting by the window, and i watched until they came back to the gates. they were too far away for me to see what they had been doing; but i watched, and pretty soon i seen tip chasing a whopping big old striped used-up cat like—like—like—”
“like what?” angrily asked the teacher.
jim started, hesitated, and said, desperately, “i don’t know, i’m sure.”
“go on!” said the wearied listener, with a sinister frown.
“yes, sir. well, he caught the cat, and they had an awful fight! i expect tip got used up in the fight, mr. meadows. then the cat got away—then tip chased after it towards the school—and then the next thing i knew, tip was right in the school! that’s all i know about it, sir.”
“a most succinct relation, james,” commented mr. meadows, with a reckless disregard for the rules of grammar as regulated by logic in his octavo grammar. “but when you knew all about it, why didn’t you warn us in time? then this misfortune would not have happened.”
[122]
“i—i was frightened myself, sir,” jim acknowledged.
“where was stephen? you left him at the gate,” said the teacher.
“no, sir; i wasn’t with him; i didn’t do anything to him;” jim said innocently.
“i guess he ran off after the fight,” ventured a boy.
“here comes steve now,” a scholar announced.
and a minute later the boy under discussion hove in sight, but so changed in appearance that he seemed another boy. light-hearted and light-headed steve was now a haggard, woebegone wretch, who looked as if his conscience had goaded him over the verge of frenzy. from a distance he had heard and seen the uproar at the school; and, far from felicitating himself on the “success” of his trick, he had undergone torments. in fact, the thought had been forced home to him that there is a higher purpose in life than that of playing coarse practical jokes, and that he had frightened the children more than even the orator, mr. rhadamanthus.
yet the boy had at least one good quality; he was always ready to shoulder the blame of his misdoings, and he never tried to take refuge by telling a lie or by distorting the truth.
“stephen goodfellow,” began mr. meadows, severely, “let me hear you in your defence. according to all accounts, you alone are the guilty one; so give me your version of this scandalous affair.”
“yes, sir; i did it all;” steve said, meekly. “it was my dog tip; but he wasn’t no madder than i was.”
“then he must have been remarkably sane!” commented the teacher.
we need not weary the reader by detailing the trickster’s “version.” when he had rehearsed his story from beginning to end, teacher meadows said, in deliberate and awful tones that cut steve to the quick, and fairly made his hair stand on end: “i have a few remarks to make, but i will not detain you long. your ‘trick’ may have been strikingly novel and daring, the inspiration of a genius; but that it was dishonorable[123] and brutal, unworthy of a citizen of this glorious republic, i presume no one will attempt to deny. you have created a great sensation in our peaceful little village, but what you have done will not redound to your credit; you have forfeited the esteem and friendship of your school-fellows; you have, i doubt not, mortally wounded the feelings of professor rhadamanthus, the great philosopher and able speaker, as well as cast opprobrium upon our school; you have terrorized the children, and even fatal results might have ensued; and by sequestering yourself from the scene of conflict, you have laid yourself open to the stigma of cowardliness. though great harm has been done, i will not punish you, for the odium of this affair and the prickings of your conscience will be sufficient punishment. your dog, the sportive tip, is dead, as i suppose you know. you will acknowledge that no one except yourself is to be blamed for that. but one word more: i advise you all to hasten to your homes, to try to forget this shameful occurrence, and never to practice cowardly tricks.”
steve did not know that tip was dead, and he gave a convulsive gasp and then burst into a flood of tears, for he loved his dog. poor fellow, his heart was so full of grief and remorse that his eyes mechanically pumped the tears cut of their reservoir. and that reproof! his former misdemeanors had generally been overlooked by the kind-hearted teacher, and this oratorical reproof stung him to the quick.
as for the teacher himself, his own eloquence had a wonderfully soothing effect on him. no one, except a few gaping, trembling school-children, was there to hear him, it is true; but for all that, he was pleased with his little speech, and—surprised at it! in fact, it did his headache as much good as an application of hartshorn and alcohol.
fearing, perhaps, that the teacher might change his mind and re-open school, the juveniles set off for home at a round pace. steve was not wholly avoided by the boys; on the contrary, several gathered round him, to condole with him or to blame him, as the case might be.[124] not a few envied him the “notoriety” to which he had attained.
“well, steve, are you a ‘citizen of this republic’ or not?” charles anxiously inquired. “i couldn’t settle that point from what mr. meadows said.”
the unworthy citizen smiled mournfully, but said nothing.
“steve,” charley pursued, “i hope that between the phenomenon mr. prof. rhadamanthus, yourself, and your dog, the ‘little ones,’ ‘big ones,’ and every one present, will have a tolerably clear idea of hydrophobia and mad dogs.”
“please don’t speak of tip, boys,” steve said pleadingly.
“no, steve, we won’t,” george replied. “but really, now,” he added, “i wasn’t so flurried as the rest of them; and i took it coolly; and i doubted all the time whether the dog was mad. you see, i’ve read a good deal on the subject lately, and he hadn’t the build of a dog that would go mad. mad dogs always look—”
at this point the sage was interrupted by a burst of laughter, in which even stephen joined feebly.
“then, george, i suppose you understood that lecture?” will asked.
“y-e-s,” george said, with some hesitation.
“steve, it was me that killed your dog;” will said doubtfully. [though the writer has heard hundreds of boys say, “it’s me,” “it’s him,” etc., he never knew but one boy to say, “it is i.” that boy did not say it because he knew it to be correct, but because necessity compelled him to do so. the phrase occurred in a sentence which he was reading.] “it was me that killed your dog; but i thought i was killing a mad dog at the time. i’m sorry for it, steve.”
“no, will; you did all right: i don’t blame you a bit;” steve replied.
“don’t!” said marmaduke, softly. “respect steve’s grief, and talk about something else.”
the excitement in the village was appeased at last; but great indignation was felt towards stephen when it became known that he was the author of it all.
[125]
the poor boy who had been bitten was in great terror, and his parents sent for the doctor in hot haste. that worthy—who had a theory of his own about hydrophobia, and was only waiting and longing for an opportunity to put it into practice—chipperly trod his way to the rescue with a case of surgical instruments, and was about to perform some horrible operation on the hapless youth, when the news came that the dog was not mad. then he applied a soothing poultice to the bite, and wearily plodded his way back to his office, full of bitterness because he had not been able to try his little experiment.
the bitten boy, however, was of a malicious disposition, and he vowed to take dire revenge for the indignities heaped upon him.
stephen’s position was not one to be envied. he was so thoroughly ashamed of himself that he latibulized in the house for four livelong days; and, for a boy of his restless disposition, that was unheard-of penance. what passed between him and his scandalized parents would not benefit or interest the reader, consequently it is not recorded here. he mustered his resolution and took to reading his sisters’ “little books,” which he had always abhorred and eschewed with the unreasonable and implacable hatred of boyhood, and gladdened his mother’s heart with his staidness and meekness. for one whole month he refrained from playing off or studying up any trick, and those most interested in him began to hope that his reformation in that respect was sincere.
alas! such hopes were built on quicksands! his father, taking pity on the dogless boy, had bought him a frisky newfoundland pup, which he cared for lovingly and almost idolized; and as the memory of poor tip gradually faded from his mind, he forgot the many morals and precepts that had been held up to him by his well-meaning parents. in a merry moment steve named this pup “thomas henry;” but as this provoked the laughter of his school-fellows, in sheer desperation he nicknamed it “carlo.”
at the end of that one month, the street urchins got[126] tired of teasing him about mad dogs, and he recovered his spirits and his love of mischief, and returned to his former pursuits with gusto. in a word, stephen became himself again.
