American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American
But I was brought to earth by the impact of a stone on my head, and the
whimpering voice of my late victim coming from a distance.
"That's my sister," he said, "and you leave her alone and mind your own
business."
My pursuit of him was fruitless, for his legs were longer than mine;
but it seemed to have aroused in him the same protective regard for his
sister as had animated me, for from that time on he never teased her,
and often left the boys to lead her away from possible annoyance from
them--and from probable contact with me. There was danger from the
latter, for on many occasions I "played hooky" to loll away the day in
the bushes, satisfied with one glimpse of the child playing near the
door. And I always returned to school bettered by the experience; for I
studied harder, realizing my seafaring father's ambition that I should
have an education, and responding to his advice that if I "_must_ be a
sailor, to be the right kind--a naval officer." He, with his blood, his
example, and his talk, had impressed upon me his love of the sea, but
instead of crawling in the hawsepipes as he had done I compromised by
winning, in a competitive examination, an appointment to Annapolis, at
the age of sixteen.
My closest competitor was George Morton, from whom I received
half-friendly hints that he would get even, and my warmest admirer
his young sister, now about ten, to whom I, in my new capacity of
prospective hero, had officially been introduced. She thought I was
going to war, and earnestly asked me to be careful and not be killed.
Morton spent two years more at school before going to college, and
in this time made good his threat to get even. He was a popular hero
many times over before I had become sure that I could hold my own
in study, and he acquired this distinction by timely use of his one
talent. In the exclusive, restricted community of wealthy families
there was little of the material from which firemen are drawn, and as
a consequence a volunteer fire company had been formed, with palatial
quarters, gorgeous uniforms, and an up-to-date equipment. Fires were so
scarce, however, that its activity had found vent in parades, dinners,
and balls, until George Morton joined it. Then, as though in response
to the presence of its lover and master, fires broke out here and
there in the manor, all of which he attended, and most of which were
extinguished by his efforts or advice. He intuitively knew the thing
to do--just where to play the stream, just when to pull down a wall.
In six months he was made foreman, and in this time had saved much
property and a few lives.
But his notable feats were performed later, and these were told me by
his sister Grace, when I had finished my second year, and George was
ready for college. My parents had died since my appointment, but I took
my vacations at home, just to meet and be near her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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