Parkhurst Boys, and Other Stories of School LifeReed, Talbot Baines
General
Parkhurst Boys, and Other Stories of School Life
Reed, Talbot Baines
Schools -- Fiction
became transformed into a bear-garden--as it sometimes will--if suddenly
the door were to open the figure which would inevitably fall on the
master's eye would be that of Sam, dancing a hornpipe in the middle of
the floor, shouting at the top of his voice, and covered from head to
foot with the dust he had himself kicked up.
On such occasions he was led off to the doctor's study. I happened to
be there once when he was brought up, and so had an opportunity of
witnessing a scene which, if new to me, must have been very familiar to
my unfortunate schoolfellow. (By the way, the reason _I_ was in the
doctor's study was merely to return a book he had lent me, mind that,
reader!)
"What, here again, Samuel?" said the doctor, recognising his too-well-
known visitor.
"I'm very sorry, sir," says Sam, humbly. "I can't make out how it is.
I try all I know--I do indeed--but somehow I'm always in trouble."
"You are," replies the doctor. "What is it about this time, Mr
Wardlaw?"
"I can tell you, sir--" begins Sam eagerly.
"Be silent, sir! Well, Mr Wardlaw?"
"The boy has been very disrespectful, sir. When I came into the class-
room this morning and opened my desk, I found it contained a guinea-pig
and two white mice, who had--"
Here the unlucky Sam, after a desperate effort, in the course of which
he has almost choked himself with a handkerchief, bursts into a laugh.
"What do you mean, sir?" thunders the doctor.
"Oh, sir, I couldn't help it--really I couldn't; I would rather have
choked than do it--it's just like me!"
And he looks so distressed and humble that the doctor turns from him,
and invites Mr Wardlaw to resume his impeachment.
"I have only to say that this boy, on being charged with the deed,
confessed to having done it."
"Oh yes, sir, that's all right--I did it; I'm very sorry; somehow I
can't make out how it is I'm so bad," says Sam, with the air of one
suffering from the strain of a constant anxiety.
"Don't talk nonsense, sir!" says the doctor, sternly; "you can make it
out as well as I can."
"Shall I hold out my hand, sir?" says Sam, who by this time has a good
idea of the routine of practice pursued in such interviews.
"No," says the doctor. "Leave him here, Mr Wardlaw; and you," adds he,
for the first time remembering that I was present--"you can go."
So we departed, leaving Sam shivering and shaking in the middle of the
carpet. It was half an hour before he rejoined his schoolfellows, and
this time his hands were not sore. But somehow he managed to avoid
getting into scrapes for a good deal longer than usual. But there is no
resisting the inevitable. He did in due time find himself in another
row; and then he suddenly vanished from our midst, for he had been
expelled.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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