Jack Hall

Mrs. Hall’s reflections concerning Jack were interrupted by the sound of the door-bell. A moment later Hannah ushered in a no less formidable personage than Mr. Bacon. A call at so early an hour was not likely to be merely social Mrs. Hall well knew, and she began to ask herself what Jack had done now, as her visitor made some observations on the weather before proceeding to explain the real object of his coming.

Mr. Bacon was ceremonious in his general deportment, especially toward ladies. Indeed, his erectness, spruceness, and general starched effect, combined with his austerity toward the boys of the neighborhood, had won for him his nickname. Mrs. Hall had a bowing acquaintance with him, but there was none of that familiarity between them which encourages the friendly discussion of a serious affair. Mr. Bacon announced in well chosen language that his patience (like Mr. Briggs’) was exhausted. He had been badgered, so he phrased it, long enough. Only the night before a party of boys, of which, presumably, Master Hall was one, for the reason that they had concealed themselves in Mrs. Hall’s alley-way, and had sought shelter in Mrs. Hall’s house, had made a barrier across the street with a piece of twine fastened to his door-bell at such a height as to imperil the eyesight, to say nothing of the hats, of the passers. This sort of thing could not go on. He had endured, with forbearance, having his windows smashed by the careless and sometimes deliberate discharge of various missiles, having his doorsteps dirtied by muddy feet, his wife’s pet cat tormented, and himself insulted by offensive epithets, hoping that parental authority might interfere. But it seemed to him as if matters were getting worse every day instead of better. To apply to the police to protect him and his household against his neighbors’ children was a step from which he shrank, yet something must be done. For some reason or other the boys appeared to pitch invariably on him as a victim on whom to practice their pranks, though he was not conscious of having deserved their hostility. Would not Mrs. Hall remonstrate seriously with her son, whom he had reason to believe to be more or less of a ringleader among them?

Mrs. Hall, who had listened with pain and mortification to this account of Jack’s wrong conduct, was too much of a fond mother not to take advantage of Stiffy Bacon’s reference to the fact that he had been especially selected to play tricks upon.

“Of course, Mr. Bacon, Jack has behaved very badly, and you must not think for a moment that I wish to justify his actions,” she said; “but boys will be boys, and may it not be that if you were a little better disposed toward them they might not be so troublesome? Their annoyance of you is indefensible, I know, still, as you yourself say, they seem to single you out especially to play tricks upon.”

Mr. Bacon colored violently. “I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Hall,” he answered. “I pride myself that my treatment of the boys who congregate in this street has been most considerate and lenient. The fact is, madam, I am afraid you do not appreciate what nuisances they have become. If it be true that I have unwittingly incurred your son’s ill will, I can scarcely be held responsible for the constant vexation they occasion the worthy tradesman opposite by their mischievous behavior; scarcely a day passes without some cause for complaint on his part.”

It was now Mrs. Hall’s turn to blush, but she answered, a little warmly, “I think that Mr. Briggs is quite able to fight his own battles, Mr. Bacon. As to Jack, I shall most certainly forbid him to go upon your premises in future. There will be no chance of it at present,” she added, rising, “as he has the measles.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Bacon. “Very sorry to hear it, I’m sure. It is not a serious disease, I believe.”

“I believe not,” she answered coldly, and so they parted. But there was further mortification in store for Mrs. Hall.

Ten minutes later Hannah, in an awe-struck tone, informed her that there was a policeman in the front entry. It occurred to her at once that Mr. Briggs had repented of his leniency and sought protection from the law without waiting for another breach of it. The sight of the tall officer in the blue coat and brass buttons, with a number shining on his breast, filled her with dismay. At least he would have to wait until Jack was well before he carried him off to court.

“The captain has sent me to say, ma’am, that this breaking of lamps must come to an end. There’s been sixteen smashed at the corner here in the last month,” he began.

“Do you mean that he suspects my boy of being concerned in it?” asked Mrs. Hall, as he seemed to be waiting for an answer.

“Boys did it, ma’am; or rather snow-balls fired by boys, and I guess what your son don’t know about it ain’t worth knowing,” replied the officer confidently.

“I feel sure that Jack has not broken any for—eh—a week,” she faltered. “At least he promised me faithfully that he would not, and I never knew him not to keep his word.”

“Can’t pretend to say who did it,” he said. “If I’d seen it done while I was on the beat, there’d been an end to it mighty quick; they take precious good care to wait until I’m not round. All I’m saying is, some one did it, and that some one is boys; and, what’s more, there’s got to be an end of it, or there’ll be trouble. I’ve tried to be easy with them, but it’s no use; the more I overlook the saucier they get, and it’s about time to cry halt. My instructions, ma’am, are, to make arrests, if another lamp is broken.”

“But you can’t arrest a boy if he is innocent,” exclaimed Mrs. Hall, who was becoming alarmed.

“I guess there ain’t much danger of my making any serious mistakes,” said the officer, with a grin. “I’ve been on this beat for the last four years, and I know pretty well by this time who’s innocent and who’s not.”

“The boys all appreciate how lenient you have been with them,” she said, hoping, perhaps, to mollify him by flattery. “They quite look upon you as a friend.”

“Maybe it would have been better if I’d been strict with them from the first. There’s no trusting them; the moment my back’s turned they’re making faces at me or shouting after me,” he said, somewhat bitterly, evidently reflecting on his experience of the previous afternoon. “There ain’t much gratitude in boys if you come to reflect upon it; leastways, I ain’t found much so far. Well, ma’am, I bid you good morning,” he added. “A warning’s a warning, and that’s all there is about it.”

“If there are any lamps broken during the next fortnight,” Mrs. Hall hastened to say, as the officer turned to go, “it won’t be Jack’s fault, for he has the measles.”

“Sho! Has he though? Want to know!” he said slowly, by way of comment, pausing between the phrases. “Well, ’tain’t as bad as scarlet fever. I hate to see boys sick, though. Good day, madam.”

That afternoon Mrs. Hall put on her bonnet and went down town to call on Mr. Warren, whom she always consulted when she wished advice. She told the lawyer briefly, in rather a despairing tone, all that had come to her ears during the morning, and ended by saying that if a good school could be found outside the city, Jack must be sent to it, even if her heart were broken as a consequence. Her heart was certain to be broken if he remained at home.

Mr. Warren listened to her patiently, and when she had finished took a letter from his desk which he handed to her.

“You see I have been making inquiries,” he observed, as he watched her read. “Schools of this sort are cropping up all over the country. You have no idea how many there are until you begin to investigate. But I am told that this is one of the best.”

“Utopia School. What a curious name!” said Mrs. Hall, musingly.

“It suggests progress and hope.”

“Decidedly. But I don’t care to have any experiments tried on Jack.”

“Not even if he turns out a fine manly fellow as a result of them?” asked her friend, with a laugh. “But you need have no fear that there is anything unduly visionary in the curriculum of Dr. Meredith, my dear Mrs. Hall. Those who know him best say that his aim is merely to turn out his pupils, at the end of their course, gentlemen and scholars.”

“John Meredith. That is an attractive name; how old is he?”

“A young man, but then remember we have faith in young men in this country. Between thirty-five and forty, I should say. By the way, he is neither a clergyman nor a doctor; his Dr. means simply that he has taken the University degree of Ph. D.”

“The school was founded eight years ago, I see,” she said, referring to a prospectus inclosed in the letter.

“Yes,” he answered; “it started with twenty-five pupils and has now about two hundred, who represent nearly every State in the Union. It was founded by individual enterprise and generosity; half a dozen wealthy men, who, very likely, were as puzzled what to do with their sons as you are with Jack, put their heads together at the suggestion of this young Meredith, who felt that he had ideas on the subject, and subscribed the money to build a tasteful schoolhouse, with dormitories for the boys, and a wing for the master’s own use, all under a single roof. And now, not ten years later,”—Mr. Warren reached out his hand for the prospectus, which he perused an instant to refresh his memory,—“yes, here it is, now there are three new dormitories, each adapted to house sixty boys, a schoolhouse where the lessons are recited, which includes a fine library as well, a chapel, and a gymnasium, all forming a large quadrangle. Within the quadrangle is a foot-ball ground and a base-ball ground, and around the foot-ball ground is a running track. Outside there appear to be lawn-tennis courts, and not more than a quarter of a mile away, a lake a mile and a half long and a quarter of a mile wide, on the banks of which is a boat-house. Add to this picturesque country surroundings, good food, and the personal supervision of the masters over the morals and health of each boy,—you will notice that point insisted upon,—and it seems to me that you have a paradise.”

“I could go and see him occasionally?”

“As often as you please, I imagine. Five or six hours in the train would bring you to him or him to you at any time.”

“But I shall miss him so much, Mr. Warren. In England it is a matter of course to send boys away from home, and the parents don’t seem to mind it; but we are more like the French, we cannot bear to be separated from our children.”

“I remember,” replied Mr. Warren reflectively, “being told by a young man who had been a pupil at one of the large English public schools,—Eton, or Harrow, or Rugby, I forget which,—that whereas his parents, who were then living in London, came to see him a number of times in the course of the year, it was unusual for the rest of the boys to receive a visit from a relation from one end of a term to another. English fathers and mothers like to affect not to have feelings, on the theory that the display of emotion and affection tends to make boys unmanly. They would consider one who wept on parting with his mother rather a milksop, I imagine; and on the same principle they consider it better discipline to keep away during term time. But we have no such theory as yet, Mrs. Hall.”

“I should hope not,” she replied. “I should feel very badly if Jack didn’t shed a few tears on parting with me. As for myself, I can’t say what I might not do in my despair. I suppose that I must bring myself to it, Mr. Warren,” she added. “You feel sure that Jack will be well looked after? He needs personal influence; all the floggings and punishment in the world wouldn’t do him any good. What he requires is to have his mind awakened to the fact that there are more important matters in life than snow-balling and coasting and base-ball, and to recognize that he owes something to others. At present he seems to think that if the whim seizes him he is justified in playing the most disagreeable tricks on people, even to the extent of ignoring the rights of property, if Mr. Briggs is to be believed. While remaining the manly, earnest boy that he is in many ways, I wish to see him become more thoughtful and considerate. Do you think Utopia School will produce those results?”

“So I am assured. We have no very old schools of the sort in this country, therefore the testimony must needs be imperfect as to their value. But, as that letter informs you, Dr. Meredith’s first aim is that his pupils should be, at graduation, high-minded youths.”

“I suppose I must consent to it,” murmured Mrs. Hall presently, and so her resolution was taken.

Correspondence was at once opened with Dr. Meredith, who suggested that Jack should come to him after the Easter recess, as there happened to be a vacancy in the school. Before this time Jack had recovered from his illness, though he looked somewhat pale and thin. His mother did not inform him of her intention to send him away from home until about a fortnight before he was to go. Jack manifested, on hearing the news, unmitigated satisfaction, but as the day drew near which was to separate him from his mother, he became very quiet and unlike his usual self. He sat beside her in the evenings, his shock of dark hair nestled upon her breast, while she gave him counsel as to what he must be sure to do and not to do when he no longer had her to watch over him. She made him promise to study well and to obey his new master, and he would listen in thoughtful silence to her instructions as to keeping his clothes neat, and not forgetting to say his prayers morning and night, and sometimes to read his little Bible, her gift on his tenth birthday. “And whatever you do, Jack, remember, always speak the truth and never do anything mean.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Your father had a horror of falsehood above everything else; he used to say that he had no patience with a lie. Ah, how I shall miss you, my dear little man! You will not forget me, will you, Jack?”

Forget her! Then was the moment for him to fling his arms about his mother’s neck, and kissing her again and again, vow that he would be miserable away from her, and that he would far rather stay at home,—which whole-souled protestations sounded sweet in the poor widow’s ears, and helped to ease the pang of parting.

Both she and Hannah were kept very busy in getting his wardrobe ready. There were new sets of shirts and stockings to be bought and marked, and the old things had to be darned and generally put in order. He was pleased beyond measure by the purchase of a leather trunk, stamped with his initials, to carry his belongings, which were numerous, and would have filled two or three trunks had he been permitted to carry them all. It was difficult for Jack to decide what to leave behind; everything was dear to him, from his discarded rocking-horse with its moth-eaten hide to his latest treasure, a small engine, which was operated by steam, and which he had bought by saving up his pocket-money. His room was full of toys: there were tin soldiers and forts in the defense of which to employ them, a splendid tool-chest, a theatre, a magic-lantern, and an assortment of marbles, shuttlecocks, bats, and balls, the accumulations of his childhood. He persuaded his mother to let him take the engine, but he was compelled to see most of the other things, which Hannah stigmatized as truck, put away to await his return. An exception was made in favor of his favorite base-ball bat, which he was to carry in his hand, a few tools, the shuttlecocks, and his bag of marbles, all of which would take up but little room, and which would be useful to him at Utopia.

Outside the house, the news of his proposed departure had aroused great interest among his companions, who one and all expressed their envy of what they considered his great good-fortune. Dubsy Perkins was inconsolable, and Bill French announced an intention of persuading his father to let him follow Jack in the autumn. Even Mr. Briggs, when Jack for the fourth time in three days went into the grocer’s store to be weighed, remarked, with a commendable degree of warmth, considering their relations toward one another, “I hear we’re to lose you soon, Master Hall.”

“Yes, I’m going to boarding-school, where there are two hundred boys, next week,” replied Jack proudly.

“I want to know,” responded the grocer, and he added a moment later, by way of expressing his interest or gratitude,—let us believe it was the former,—“Have some dried apples?”

The invitation was meant to include the group of half a dozen boys in the store at the time, who accepted it gladly, but with some wonderment. Since the visit of Mr. Briggs to Mrs. Hall and several of the other parents, the behavior of his tormentors had shown marked improvement; though they still meandered about and through his premises on the smallest pretext, the pilfering had mostly ceased, and the snow-balls found in his bread-basket were less numerous. As, owing to his mother’s strenuous exhortation, Jack had restrained his fingers ever since from the barrel containing the beans and dried apples, and the box of figs, the permit dazed him for a moment; but when he realized that “Old Briggs” was actually “standing treat,” his heart felt warm toward his old enemy, and some shame for his own cruel treatment of him was mingled with his reflections.

Indeed, Jack had also the satisfaction of parting with Stiffy Bacon under peculiarly pleasant circumstances. That gentleman’s irate threats, as repeated by Jack to the other fellows, had produced such a feeling of alarm that none of them had dared to venture on his premises ever since. On one of the few balmy days which come early in April to herald the approach of spring, the boys, who had assembled at the corner to enjoy the first game of scrub of the season, were astonished to see Stiffy Bacon come down the steps of his house with two new cricket bats and a set of wickets in his hands, with which he advanced toward them. The boys stopped their game and gazed at him in bewilderment, scarcely believing their eyes and half inclined to run. The sight of a Greek bearing gifts is not apt to be assuring, but in this case there was no cause for alarm. Mr. Bacon stopped a foot or two away, and addressing them all, but more especially Jack, said:

“Young gentlemen, I am very much obliged to you for being so quiet and behaving so well during my wife’s illness, and I ask you to accept this cricket set as a token of my good will.” Whereupon he held out the bats and wickets to Jack, who received them mechanically, so utterly at a loss was he in common with all the others to understand what Mr. Bacon was driving at. The fact was, that Mrs. Bacon had presented her husband with a fine baby a few weeks before; but this interesting circumstance was quite unknown to the boys, who, accordingly, were feeling very shamefaced at the praise bestowed upon them, knowing that they had been quiet for quite another reason.

The donor further heaped coals of fire upon their heads by producing a cricket ball and the bails for the wickets from his pocket, in response to which there came a feeble murmur of “Thank you, sir,” from the group, who stood like gawks, half frightened and yet very much pleased withal. Jack, who, as the one to whom Mr. Bacon had principally addressed his speech, felt that it was incumbent on him to make an appropriate acknowledgment of the gift, stood uneasily shifting his feet and trying to think what to say. As in the case of Mr. Briggs, such unexpectedly friendly conduct had produced a revulsion of feeling toward his former enemy. Just as Mr. Bacon, after an awkward pause on both sides, was turning away, Jack, seized by an inspiration, exclaimed, “Now, fellows, three cheers for Stif—Mr. Bacon!”

They were given with a will and a tiger, and at the sound of them the gentleman in question looked back evidently much gratified and lifted his hat, for he could not help being extremely polite even when he was most gracious.

“Thank you, very much, sir,” several boys cried now that the ice was broken, and Bill French was hypocrite enough to add, “I hope Mrs. Bacon is quite well again,” which nearly caused a titter. Jack, congratulating himself that the word “Stiffy” had been repressed in time, struck up the song, “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” which was continued by all hands until Mr. Bacon was in-doors again. First and last the affair was a most auspicious one, and let it be hoped that henceforward a perpetual truce was observed between the boys and the Bacon family.

On that point Jack was never fully informed, for he left home a week later for Utopia. When the day actually arrived he was much too elated to feel any severe pangs at leaving the dear old street where he had done so much mischief during the past four or five years, and even his partings with his friends were so jolly that nothing but the delightful prospect before him could have excused such light-heartedness.

Mrs. Hall, like the brave woman she was, had shed her tears in secret or was saving them up until she should be left alone, for her face was wreathed in smiles as she clasped her darling to her bosom for one last hug after the driver announced that there was no time to lose if he wished to catch the train. Jack was in an exuberant state of mind, for in addition to the proud consciousness that he was to travel alone for the first time in his life, he had been allowed a full cup of coffee for breakfast, which was a great treat to him. Beside Hannah, who threw her apron over her head every minute or two to hide her eyes, there were Dubsy Perkins and Bill French and Harry Dale in the hall to see him off, and each had brought a parting gift. Bill French’s was a knife with eight blades including a gimlet, a cork-screw, and other useful devices, which, as Bill explained with pride, cost ten dollars. Beside it Dubsy’s present looked very insignificant, but a tip-cat made by Dubsy was regarded in the neighborhood as a work of art entitling its possessor to the congratulations of his friends. “I made it on purpose for you, Jack,” said the manufacturer, with a look of genuine affection on his honest but not over-clean face. Harry Dale had brought a book entitled “Every Boy his own Carpenter,” which gave directions how to make everything under the sun.

Jack’s new trunk had been strapped on behind, and all was ready. After that last hug he ran down the steps crying “Good-by, everybody,” and got into the carriage. The boys thrust their hands through the open window for a final shake, and just as the driver had said “Clk!” to the horses, Hannah came rushing out with some cold chicken and a turnover done up in a napkin, which had almost been left behind.

But at last he is really off, with his head out so as to wave one more “good-by” to his mother, and after he has drawn it in out it flies again on the other side, for in turning the corner he perceives old Briggs in his white apron standing on the threshold of his store grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Good-by, Mr. Briggs, good-by!” he shouts, while Hannah murmurs, “God bless his heart; there isn’t a soul in the street who won’t miss him,” a remark in which the worthy henchwoman might have found herself, it is to be feared, in a minority, if the vote had been taken.

Meantime, Bill and Dubsy and Harry, who being each armed with a catapult have let fly simultaneously some tolerably large shot at the little window in the rear of the carriage as it rolls off, one of which just misses the driver’s ear, run to the corner and watch until the carriage reaches the foot of the street and turns again, being rewarded by a final wave of Jack’s arm as he catches a glimpse of them, to which they reply with a prolonged “Ehu—ehu—ehu.” Wafted on his way by which familiar war-whoop of his childhood, Jack Hall takes his first step forward in the battle of life.