Boarding schools -- Juvenile fiction; Hockey -- Juvenile fiction; Teenage boys -- Juvenile fiction
Something inside of Toby turned a complete somersault. Perhaps it
was his heart, but it didn’t feel like it. His gaze went startledly,
incredulously from the exact middle of the head in front of him to
Doctor Collins’ face. Some one was shoving him from behind and a voice
hissed over his shoulder: “_Stand up, you chump!_” Toby climbed
dazedly to his feet. If it was a mistake, he told himself hollowly, he
would feel like an awful fool! But there didn’t seem to be any mistake.
Every one was clapping enthusiastically and he saw, or seemed to see,
about a million faces smiling at him. His thoughts, as he held onto the
back of the bench in front, were horribly confused while the applause
lasted. After that, when the Doctor announced the recipients of the
three Haynes Scholarships, and the school’s attention was shifted from
him, he found himself mentally deducting sixty from one hundred and
twenty-five and arriving at the joyful if slightly erroneous result of
sixty. Why, his tuition bill for the rest of the year would be only ten
dollars! (Afterwards he found that it would be fifteen, but he managed
to survive the shock!) So busy was he dwelling on the beatitude of this
thought that he didn’t see Doctor Collins nod nor observe the fact that
the other five fellows had seated themselves again, and only became
alive to his hideous conspicuousness when Garman tugged at his coat. He
sank back onto the bench blushing, but still happy.
After that there was a short congratulatory address by the Principal
and then they all stood up again and sang a hymn. Or, at least, most of
them sang. Toby didn’t. But then his heart was singing, and maybe that
was enough. When the final note had died away Doctor Collins gave the
word of dismissal and a quiet and orderly exodus began which turned,
outside the doors, into a stampede. Toby, however, went slowly, the
better to enjoy his pleasant thoughts, until some one linked an arm in
his and dragged him helter-skelter down the remaining flight.
“Hurray, T. Tucker! Didn’t I tell you you’d do it? It’s great, and I’m
tickled to death, Toby!”
Of course it was Arnold, Arnold laughing and eager to show his delight
by risking his neck in a final mad plunge down the crowded staircase.
Toby brought up at the bottom breathless and shaken and leaned against
the wall. “Wh-where were you?” he gasped. “I looked all around for you.”
“I waited for Homer and we were late and just got in by the skin of our
teeth. Didn’t you see me waving to you when you stood up? Gee, but I’m
glad you got a Ripley, Toby. I was afraid it might be only a Haynes.”
“I was afraid it might be only nothing,” laughed Toby. “I was so
surprised when Doc said my name that I guess I’d be sitting there yet
if some fellow hadn’t shoved me and told me to stand up! I don’t see
now how I happened to do it. I made an awful mess of math for a while,
and then in November I had trouble with Coby about Latin. I don’t see――”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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