Taking the Consequences.
By Eleanor A. Hunter
IN all the annals of Wiscasset Academy there was never known such a time as was experienced during the fall term of the year 1880. Insubordination pervaded every class. Mischief ran riot, and the moral and intellectual tone of the whole school was lowered; worst of all the mainspring and originator of the trouble could not be discovered. The annoyance extended even to the town, and the amazed inhabitants had so many pranks played upon them they began to feel that the Academy, which had been their chief pride, bade fair to be their greatest disgrace. All the ancient tricks which strike a boy as so inexpressibly funny were played, and many a new one beside. Of course the Academy bell was muffled, in fact, as one boy observed, they kept it muffled, as its tone was not sufficiently musical to please their sensitive ears. It was such fun to see old Cox, the janitor, climb up the belfry stairs, lugging his step-ladder after him, to release the clapper from its wrappings; and when Cox guarded the belfry all night, and set traps to catch the boys, they testified their contempt of his efforts by taking away the clapper altogether. While, as for the town, no tradesman ever went to bed at night with any reasonable certainty that his sign would be found in its proper place in the morning. At the Academy, matters were carried so far that at last the principal, Dr. Alexander, announced that the perpetrators of the next joke would, if discovered, be expelled from the school. The following morning when the boys filed in chapel for prayers, "Brother Bones," the academy skeleton, was discovered festively swinging from the center of the dome, arrayed in Dr. Alexander's skull-cap, and an old brown jacket Professor Carter was in the habit of wearing in class, and tied in his bony fingers was the missing bell clapper. Now the originator of all this nonsense, and the leader in every scrape, was Don Malcom, the last boy in the world any one would have suspected of such duplicity, for duplicity it certainly was. Dr. Alexander loved and trusted him like an own son. He led the senior class, he was a member of the school base ball nine, and he was by far the most popular fellow in school. He was the boy of all others who should have kept himself straight and set a good example to his mates. But, as he himself afterward explained, he "got a-going and couldn't stop." He lost sight of the moral questions involved; he was intoxicated by the dash and daring of the thing; the fact of his daily outwitting the Doctor seemed irresistibly funny, and the knowledge that he had nearly every boy in the school under his control, was not without its charm. There was one boy, however, who refused, from the first, to have any share in Don's doings; this was Harry Doremus. Harry and Don had been chums for years; they stood side by side in their classes, and they were to enter Yale together in another year; but since Don had been going wrong they had become very much separated, and latterly they did not speak to each other. There was another boy, Tom Morton, by name, who, much to his schoolmates' surprise, did not join in the fun. Time was when Tom had been the scapegrace of the whole school, but he had recently turned over a new leaf, and was now fighting valiantly against his besetting sins. But the old proverb of "Give a dog a bad name and it will stick to him," is a true one, and Tom was suspected by his teachers of being the author of all the trouble. "I think it's a shame the way those academy boys are acting," said Del Malcom to her brother. "I was down to Lou Carter's to-day, and she says they are almost sure that it is Tom Morton who hung Brother Bones in the chapel last Thursday, for he was seen coming out of the academy just after dark on Wednesday evening, and Lou says Dr. Alexander is going to make an example of him just as soon as he can get positive proof. Tom always was horrid! Poor Dr. Alexander," she went on, "some people say he ought to resign if he can't govern the school better. He feels dreadfully; he has lost ten pounds this last month. I'm so glad you aren't in this fuss, Don." "What would you do if I was?" he asked, curiously. "Why, I don't know, I couldn't imagine such a thing," she answered. "Well," he observed, rising, "Tom Morton's all right. You needn't abuse him any more." "Don, do you know who did it?" she asked. "Yes," said he, going out of the room. Del's chance words brought her brother to a sense of his position, and that night, for the first time in his life, he seriously thought himself over. Conscience awoke, and by her light he traced his actions to their inward springs; he saw himself as he really was, a fraud, a living lie. Father, mother, sister, teachers, were all reposing the fondest confidence in him, and he was deliberately deceiving them. "There is only one thing I can do," he said to himself. "I can own up, and take the consequences; I can't let Tom Morton's reputation suffer for mine." But when he thought what those consequences would be—his father's anger, his mother's sorrow, his sister's grief, the open shame and disgrace of expulsion, the giving up of his college course—for he felt sure that his father would be too angry to give him another chance, they seemed more than he could bear. Sick at heart he could only groan and say to himself: "What a fool I have been." How he lived till he got into the chapel next morning he scarcely knew; he seemed to be wrapped in a miserable dream. After prayers he rose in his place and said:— "Well, Malcom," said the Doctor, kindly, "Did you wish to speak?" "Yes, sir," answered Don, speaking very clearly. "I wish to say that I am responsible for every bit of trouble that has happened in this school this term. I have been the ringleader; I have planned everything, and every boy in the room knows it; I hung Brother Bones from the dome myself, and I am willing to take the consequences." Dr. Alexander seemed fairly staggered. "I need not say," said he, "that I am greatly surprised and pained at this revelation. I will consider your case, Malcom, and until I arrive at a decision you will retain your place in your class. Young gentlemen," he added, "you are dismissed to your class-rooms." In the hall outside the chapel door, Don felt some one touch his shoulder. It was Harry Doremus. "Don," said he, "you've done the square thing now, old boy." He held out his hand and Don clasped it, and without another word, they were friends again. The next morning Don Malcom was publicly expelled from Wiscasset Academy. Dr. Alexander's voice faltered more than once as he spoke the fatal words; but he felt that justice must be vindicated, and that a course of such open disobedience must be punished as it deserved. I will pass over the painful scene at the Malcom home when Don made his confession there; his father's anger and his mother's sorrow. Only his sister stood by him at the time, astonished and grieved though she was, and appreciated the effort by which, at the last moment, he had retrieved his own honor. Harry Doremus coming in during the afternoon, helped to cheer Don up somewhat. "Brace up, old fellow," said he. "You're on the right track now. Keep your lessons with me. I'll tell you where they are and help you all I can. Perhaps by-and-by your father will give you a tutor, and we'll go to Yale together, yet." Don took Harry's advice, and tried to keep up with his classes, though without much hope of attaining to college. A week passed by; it was the longest one of his life. He felt ashamed to be seen on the street. He fancied that old friends looked askance at him as they passed by. How flat and stale his jokes appeared to him now; he wondered that he ever saw any fun in them. Three days more passed; he felt that if life was to go on like this he could not bear it. If it had not been for the cowardice of the thing he would have asked his father to let him leave town. On the tenth day after his expulsion; toward evening, he went to the post-office. He found in the box a letter. The Academy stamp was in the corner. It was addressed in Dr. Alexander's own hand. With shaking fingers he opened it; it ran thus:— "Wiscasset, Nov. 16, 1880.
"MR. DONALD MALCOM—Dear Sir: In view of the frank and manly confession which was made by you before the whole school on the 6th inst., and the willingness which you then expressed to bear whatever penalty should be inflicted for your misconduct, I hereby withdraw the sentence of expulsion which you are under, and give you permission to return to your studies, depriving you, however, of your rank in your class, and relegating you to its foot. Yours, sincerely,
"JAMES ALEXANDER.
"P. S.—Personally I shall be very happy to see you back." Don could have shouted for joy. He rushed home and showed the letter to his mother and sister, and next morning he was back in the dear old academy. He had learned a valuable lesson during that ten days' absence from school; it was that while there is plenty of hearty fun in this world, which it does a boy good to enjoy, he who chooses instead, the pleasures of sin, will find himself in the end covered with shame and dishonor.—Eleanor A. Hunter.