CHAPTER X. A PUBLIC APOLOGY.

The interest and excitement over the drill had by no means died out when the school assembled on Monday morning. Nothing else was discussed by the pupils who were there early, and all sorts of reports as to the punishment of those who had been guilty of such flagrant misdeeds were current.

Eager eyes watched for the appearance of Henderson and the members of his company, but when nine o’clock struck, none of them had been seen, and Freeman’s seat was also vacant.

Crawford did not appear until the last moment, and then he dropped into his seat with an evident desire to avoid notice.

Mr. Horton looked grave and troubled, and his brief morning prayer was so full of deep feeling that it impressed even the most careless of his pupils. As soon as the opening exercises were over, he told the class to form in line and march to the hall, and much more silently than usual, and in perfect order, the boys passed up to the hall, where, in a few minutes, the whole school was assembled.

All the teachers except Professor Keene were on the platform, and every face was grave and sad.

Never had those nine hundred boys and girls gathered there on an occasion like this, and never had such a breathless silence reigned in any of their gatherings as reigned now during the few moments while they awaited the appearance of the principal.

They had not long to wait. He came upon the platform, followed by Freeman and eight of the members of Company C, but Henderson was not among them.

Professor Keene’s words to the school were very brief, but very grave and earnest. Then he turned to the boys on the platform, and gave them such a severe reprimand as he had never before given in public to any of his pupils.

Turning again to the assembled school, he said: “To perform such a duty as this, is almost as hard for me as for those whom I am obliged thus publicly to reprimand, but I am very glad to be able to add that every one of these schoolmates of yours has made to me private acknowledgment of his wrong-doing, and has promised henceforth to do his duty in the school, and to try, by his conduct in the future, to efface from all our memories the dishonorable doings of last week; and similar acknowledgment will now be made before us all.”

As the professor took his seat, Freeman stepped forward. His face was colorless, and his voice so low and husky that only those near the platform could hear him at first. Then he caught sight of Clark’s face, full of loving sympathy and encouragement. He seemed to gather strength from that look, and drawing himself up, he made a frank, manly apology to his teachers and to the school, and earnestly declared that it should be his purpose in the future to do his duty in the school as faithfully as he possibly could. As he dropped into the nearest chair, the professor held out his hand, and said in a low tone, “You did well, Freeman, and I am sure that you will live up to what you have promised.”

Baum was the next to speak, and perhaps to no boy in the school could the ordeal have been more trying than to him. He was one of the most silent of boys, never speaking unless spoken to, and then replying in the fewest possible words. He never originated any mischief in the school-room, and would certainly not have done what he did at the drill, but for his intense and bitter mortification over his blunder, and Henderson’s angry, scathing censure before the company. Desperate over all this, he snatched at the opportunity to redeem himself in his captain’s estimation, without stopping to think about the right and wrong of the services required of him.

But in the two days past, he had had time to think the matter over, and he was sincerely ashamed now of what he had done. As he stood there facing the school his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and his heart beat so that he could scarcely breathe, while the perspiration stood in great drops on his forehead.

“Go on, Baum,” said the professor, in a low tone, and the boy burst out, “I don’t know how to speak, boys, but if I should talk all day, I couldn’t begin to tell you how I despise myself for what I did, and for lying about it afterwards. If I ever cut up so again, hope I may be shot.”

Had the boys dared, they would have given a hearty cheer for Baum, but they knew better than to attempt it; but when, feeling sure that he had made a fool of himself, he dropped into his seat with flushed face and trembling hands, he had really risen many degrees in the estimation of his classmates--though he would not have believed it had any one told him so.

The other seven boys made their apologies with more or less sincerity, and then the classes were sent to their separate rooms. But the intense feeling of the morning had unfitted them for study or recitation, and both teachers and scholars were glad when the bell gave the signal for recess.

“Say, Gordon, let’s go and speak to Baum. He came out like a man in the hall this morning,” said Hamlin. “There’s too good stuff in him to be wasted on that rough crowd he goes with.”

“That’s what I was thinking this morning,” said Gordon, as he followed Hamlin. Baum was leaning against the fence watching the various groups. He looked surprised when the two boys approached him, and when they stopped and spoke to him, his plain face lighted up with pleasure. To be thus publicly sought out by the captain and lieutenant of the prize company was an honor that Baum knew how to appreciate, and from that hour he ceased to find pleasure in the companionship of the Antis, and privately resolved that, if possible, his name should be on the list of L. A. O.’s next quarter.

“Where’s Freeman?” asked Hamlin, as he and Gordon joined Clark.

“He’s gone home. Horton told him to. He was not fit to come to school to-day, anyhow, but he wanted to be in the hall this morning,” answered Clark.

“He spoke well there,” said Hamlin, “and it must have been an awful hard thing for him to do.”

“So he did,” said Gordon, “and,” he added, “I hope that you and he will both join the L. A. O.’s next fall. We want your help, Clark.”

Clark was so taken by surprise, that for a moment he could not speak, and in that moment Gordon and Hamlin passed on.

“I’m glad you said that, Gordon,” Hamlin said, as soon as they were out of hearing; “Clark deserves it, and if the other fellows in the society will only treat him as they ought, he’ll be glad enough to join us, I know, and he’ll be a big help, too. There won’t be more than one meeting of the society this term, will there?”

“That’s all,” answered Gordon, “and I want to give all the Antis one more chance to join us. They are subdued now, and some of them, I think, might join if we ask them now--but if we wait till fall, they will have gotten over all this, and perhaps, be as bad as ever.”

“I’ve not much faith in Green’s promises,” said Hamlin.

“Nor I,” said Gordon. “He looked to me as if he apologized to escape being expelled, and not because he was really sorry for having had a hand in this business.”

“They say Henderson has cleared out. Have you heard anything about it, Gordon?”

“I heard so. Somebody said his father was so furious over his disgrace that he had turned him out of doors.”

“Well, it’s a bad business,” said Hamlin, “but one thing I’m sure of, and that is, that there’ll be a heap less trouble in section D next year if Henderson is not here.”

“I think so, too, though if Crawford is here there’s sure to be trouble enough.”

“Yes, he and Green are a bad team. I hope Freeman will keep away from them now.”

“Clark thinks he will,” said Hamlin.

“I hope he’s right,” replied Gordon; “I believe there’s good stuff in little Freeman.”

The school year was nearly ended now, and for the next two weeks written examinations were held almost every day.

When the last reports were given out, the L. A. O.’s all stood well, and some had excellent records. Clark and Gordon each had a hundred for the quarter, while Henderson and one or two others were well up in the nineties; but in spite of all this, the class record was a very poor one.

At the last meeting of the L. A. O.’s, this was the first subject discussed. Parliamentary methods had not, as yet, been introduced into these meetings to any extent, and all the discussions were perfectly free and informal.

It was Raleigh who began. “I’m about sick of this old school,” he began gloomily. “Just see how we’ve worked and dug these last two terms, and, in spite of it all, section D stands no higher than it did the first quarter. We’re still at the bottom of the heap, and still known in the city as the ‘tough section.’ I’ve made up my mind to cut it all next year and go to a private school. My father says I may.”

“And my father says I must,” said Bates, who had long since joined the L. A. O.’s. “After the doings at the drill, he said I shouldn’t come back here next year.”

“Oh, come, now, fellows, that’s too mean--to back out that way,” said Hamlin. “My father told me I could go somewhere else, if I wanted to, and I said, ‘No, sir-e-e! I’m not going to desert the old Central in that fashion.’ I’m coming back next year, and I’m going to do my best to make D the finest section in the school.”

“Good for you, Hamlin,” said Gordon’s clear, quiet voice. “My father was a high school-boy, and he says that in his time the school stood higher than any private school in the city, both as to scholarship and character. I mean to come back next year, and do all I can to bring the reputation of the school up to that point again.”

“But we _can’t_ do it,” grumbled Raleigh. “See how it is now. After all our hard work, a dozen mean, lazy cubs have spoiled our class record, and, worse than that, made section D the talk of the town.”

“I know--it has been mighty rough on us this year,” admitted Gordon; “but, Raleigh, we won’t have quite so much to fight next year. Henderson won’t be here, and I hope we can win over most of the Antis, and break up their society altogether. Freeman, I’m sure, will join us, and I reckon Baum will, and Ridley. There won’t be so many of the tough fellows left, and they’ve all had a lesson that I think they’ll not have forgotten by next fall.”

“Henderson won’t be back, of course,” said another, “but Crawford will, and Green and Coyle, I suppose, and they can keep us from making any decent class record.”

“Crawford has behaved himself since he came back,” said Hamlin quickly, “and nobody need say anything against his scholarship now. He came near a hundred this last report.”

“He does well enough in class,” admitted Raleigh rather reluctantly, “but he and Henderson have put the Antis up to all sorts of tricks this last quarter. They didn’t deserve the marks they got for deportment.”

“I admit all that, Raleigh,” said Gordon, “but, as I said before, the Antis have had a pretty severe lesson, and I can’t believe that they’ll dare to do much to make trouble next year; and they’re most all bright enough, so, if they _do_ make up their minds to work--I mean, if we can any way arouse their ambition and awaken a feeling of pride in the section and the school--we can make a splendid record without any question.”

“Ambition!” echoed Raleigh scornfully. “I’d like to see Green or Coyle show any pride or ambition in the school.”

“Well, I hope you will see it. Stranger things than that have happened,” said Gordon, and Hamlin added:--

“_I’ve_ too much pride to be willing to give up the fight, and let half a dozen mean fellows run the section and ruin it. I know that both Professor Keene and Mr. Horton are heartily on our side, and I’m pretty sure that if Green or Crawford or any of the rest of that set should undertake to cut up as they have done this year, they’ll find themselves bounced without much ceremony, and I do hope that all you nice fellows will make up your minds to come back and help us make such a record next year as the Central has never had yet.”

“We never could beat A section, no matter how hard we might work,” said one.

“Pooh! Don’t you believe it,” replied Hamlin. “_I’m_ not going to admit that a girl’s section can go ahead of us, if we really set out to win.”

“Well, you see they’ve got first rank, and it’s a sight easier for them to hold it than for us to win it away from them,” said Reed. “Possession is nine points of the law, you know.”

“There spoke our future chief justice,” laughed Hamlin, for Reed’s predilection for the study of the law was well known. “But the girls of section A will find themselves ousted from their possession of first rank in the Central next year, or I miss my guess.”

When this last meeting of the L. A. O.’s adjourned, Gordon and Hamlin felt pretty well assured that all the members except Bates would return in the fall, and they discussed between themselves many and various plans for the enlargement and improvement of the society the coming year.

The graduating class was so large that it was impossible for the members of it to take part in the commencement exercises. Once or twice in recent years, one member had been selected to deliver an oration, or in some other way to represent the class, but it was a difficult matter to select one from among so many without awakening much hard feeling, and so now the class took no part in the exercises except to sit on the platform and receive their diplomas from the hand of some distinguished man who had been invited to honor the occasion. This distinguished gentleman, or some other, was also asked to address the graduates, and such was the program on this year.

But, as the two schools numbered over twelve hundred, they and the friends and relatives of the graduates made a very large assemblage, so that the exercises were always held in one of the great opera houses.

As our boys in section D were to be themselves among the graduates the next year, they were all present on this occasion, it being to them in the nature of a rehearsal.

The girls in their white dresses and ribbons, with the beautiful flowers they carried, made a pretty picture on the platform; but this time, our boys were more interested in the other portion of the graduating class. They watched the boys as they went forward to receive their diplomas, and wondered if they themselves would be able to make as graceful a bow as some did, or if they should be as stiff and awkward as other poor fellows who became sadly embarrassed when they found themselves in such a conspicuous position.

“Now for a good time,” said Hamlin, as he left the opera house when the exercises were over. “Where are you going to spend the vacation, Clark?”

“Right here,” said Clark.

“No!” exclaimed the other. “That’s too bad, Clark. You need a rest, and it’s awful hot here in summer.”

“Expect it is,” replied Clark, “but I’ve no choice, Hamlin. Where are you going?”

“Up in the mountains. We have a summer cottage in the Catskills. I wish you’d go up with me for two or three weeks, Clark--can’t you?”

“No, I can’t possibly, Hamlin, though it’s awfully good of you to ask me,” Clark replied. “But I hope you’ll have a grand time, and come home in prime condition for work.”

“I’ll try to,” laughed the other, “and don’t you forget that we count on you as an L. A. O. next year,” and with a friendly hand-grasp, he said, “good-bye,” and ran to overtake Gordon.

A day or two later, the doors of the Central high school were closed, and the boys and girls gathered there no more, but some at the seashore, and some in the mountains, they sought rest and pleasure, while many others--unable to leave the city, soon found themselves looking forward to September, when they might take up again the school duties that, after all, have so much that is bright and pleasant, mingled with the hard and tiresome round.