The Knights of the White Shield Part 19

"Who is Jane?"

"Tim Tyler's sister."

"Old Tim's?"

"Yes, and young Tim's mother."

"Where does she live?"

"O the Tylers all live in the same nest."

"Jane and Aunt Stanshy, then, do not speak to one another," reflected Charlie.

CHAPTER XI.

THE CLUB IN SPLINTERS.

There is such a thing as a club breaking, going to splinters even. This sad end of a club was experienced by the Up-the-Ladder Club. It was not a strange thing, as all human organizations have their ups and downs, and many have their downs especially.

It happened in this way.

"Boys," said the president one day, "let's play school. I'll be teacher.

No; let's have a public declamation--pieces, you know, and so on. Then we can charge something and perhaps get a little money--nails, I mean."

The real cash was scarce, and nails became a necessity.

"And not play school?" asked the literary governor. "A school is real interestin', you know."

"Yes, we might play that afterward as a sort of rest."

"Agreed," was the general sentiment. The old sheet that had done service so many times was once more brought out and strung across one corner of the barn chamber. An audience of three was secured, the governor's youngest brother, Pip's little sister, and Sid Waters's young cousin from the country. The members of the club gathered behind the sheet for action, but the auditors, all of them plump children, were ranged in a row upon a window-blind supported by blocks of wood. The first piece was a song by Sid. He strutted out pompously and began, "How beau--" He stopped. He had forgotten his bow. Executing this, he started once more, "How beautiful the cow--"

He was halting again.

"How beautiful the cow--"

He hesitated once more.

"O beautiful cow," sang out the roguish Wort behind the sheet.

"Shut up!" shrieked the infuriated vocalist, rushing to the bed-sheet.

"Don't interrupt me!"

He resumed his recitation:

"How beautiful the cow-slip Upon the verdant mead, How diligent the sower Who drops the tiny seed."

He continued and finished the piece amid great enthusiasm on the part of the boys behind the sheet, who applauded tumultuously. There was little movement on the part of the b.u.t.ter-tubs. They opened their eyes and stared wonderingly. Then they opened their mouths and grinned.

Charlie now appeared, announcing as his selection "Independence Bell," a subject which he commenced to treat vigorously. The reference was to the bell at Philadelphia, rung at the Declaration of Independence, and somebody behind the sheet now began to shake a cowbell, a device which it was thought would heighten the effect of the performance.

"'Taint time!" called out Charlie, turning in despair to the curtain. Here Wort's round, beaming face appeared at a rent which was growing larger every few minutes.

"Tell me when," he whispered.

Charlie resumed his recitation. Soon he whispered, "Go it!" Didn't Wort do his duty! No bell-ringer in Philadelphia could have been more enthusiastic, and no cow astray seeking after home ever wagged her bell so continuously. It was afterward found out that every boy behind the curtain had a chance to swing that bell, a fact accounting for the popularity of the piece and for the tumultuous applause following it. The applause came from brother-performers, but was none the less gratifying to the speaker.

The final piece was by Wort, "The Last Rose of Summer." If given, no one can say how successful it might have been, but while the subject implied a compliment to Wort and those preceding him, the adjective "last" was ominous. There were several boys struggling to look through the curtain, one through the old rent Wort had used, and the others through new rents that they had ingeniously made with their fingers. But what curtain could hold up against the continued pressure of three stout boys? There was nothing that such a curtain could do but come down; and this it did, the three boys sprawling at the base of the stem of the Last Rose of Summer--in other words, at Wort's feet! Wort, in turn, was ignominiously night-capped by the sheet, for it completely covered him. The b.u.t.ter-tubs now gave way to their sense of the ludicrous, and clapped and laughed merrily. This did not please the four boys in or on the floor, who angrily rubbed their shins. Sid declared that it was too bad to act as disgracefully. All this was poor preparation for the serious duties of school-keeping, to which the president now directed his attention. With how much pomp and dignity he took up the duties of school-teacher, confronting a row of uneasy boys occupying seats on a green blind, each one wearing his cap!

"Hats off!" shouted Sid.

"Where are my books?" asked Charlie.

"They are probably where they ought to be, young man, in your desk."

Each boy then proceeded to take an imaginary reader out of an imaginary desk. Wort, though, had a book.

"All properly supplied with readers? Open them. Read, 'Merry Gentlemen,'

read. Wort may begin."

There was no response.

"Read, I say."

There was silence still.

"Do you mean to disobey me?"

"You haven't told us what to read," replied Wort.

"Yes, I have."

"You haven't," stoutly reaffirmed Wort. "You said, 'Merry gentlemen, read.'"

"I mean the piece called 'Merry Gentlemen,' on page--well, you know. We have read it in school enough times to know it, and then scholars ought to know their readers well enough to be able to turn to any place and read without a book even. Who is that speaking? Tell me. Haven't I told you a thousand times that there must be no speaking in this school? I see the guilty scholar. Richard Grimes, come this way!"

"I didn't."

"No trifling, young man. Come this way," and collaring the refractory Rick, Sid led him into the closet. The governor was not to be wholly suppressed, and kept protruding a red pug-nose into very plain sight.

"Teacher," called out Wort, "I see a red sugar-plum sticking out."

"Richard, come this way. You're looking out."

"No, sir; it was my nose."