Football -- Juvenile fiction; Schools -- Juvenile fiction
A great many years before the period of this story Alton Academy
manufactured its own illuminating gas from gasoline by means of a
machine in the basement of Academy Hall. The machine was connected by
pipe with a gasoline tank set in a covered pit some sixty feet from the
building. One fine day there was trouble with the gasoline supply and
one of the faculty members known as Old Grubby descended into the pit
to investigate matters. Just what occurred down there was never known,
but shortly after Old Grubby disappeared from sight he reappeared
with vastly more celerity, and his reappearance was accompanied by a
violent concussion that brought everyone rushing to the scene or to the
dormitory windows. A fortunate few gained points of vantage in time
to see the teacher’s ascent interrupted by the force of gravitation
and to watch his return to earth. This happened at a point many feet
distant from the crater that had once been a brick-lined pit, and was
quite spectacular. Fortunately, aside from a severe shaking up, some
contusions and a nervous shock, Old Grubby was uninjured, although just
at first it seemed to the horrified spectators that he had suffered a
direful fate, since he had gone into the pit with a luxuriant growth of
dark hair on his head and had subsequently descended from his flight
with his scalp as bare and polished as a pale-pink billiard ball!
None was more horror-stricken than the unfortunate gentleman himself,
however, when he realized his plight. Clapping both hands to his head,
he broke loose from the solicitous rescuers and ran agitatedly around
in circles. Such extraordinary behavior on the part of an ordinarily
sane gentleman was naturally adjudged to be the result of temporary
dementia produced by the accident, and so, of course, all those who had
arrived on the scene took up the chase. Old Grubby dodged and eluded,
giving vent to inarticulate ejaculations of dismay, and the chase might
have continued for quite a while had he not finally, with a cry of
relief and triumph, snatched a brown object from a lower branch of a
tree, clapped it on his shining head and dashed for his room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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