Fish stood gazing with stupid astonishment at the closed door for some seconds after the sound of Birdie’s footsteps had died away. He was alone, with no check whatever upon his Hunnish craving for mauling and smashing. Yet mauling and smashing in se were not what delighted the heart of John Fish. He liked to stroll about a room when its occupants were at home, and goad them gradually into a destructive fray. He liked to do accidental damage under the eyes of the sufferers. In the corner near the door of Fowle’s bedroom had once stood a handsome and solid chair. By sitting in this chair whenever he came in, by tipping it back on its hind legs and wrenching it and twisting it with silent disregard of the protests of its owner, he had at last brought it to complete collapse—of course, unintentionally. In the embroidered scarf which hung from the mantelpiece were two big scorch-rimmed holes; here he had accidentally held a lighted cigarette behind him as he stood in front of the fireplace. He had enjoyed himself in this room, but always in the presence of spectators. The pleasure of laying waste dwindled to nothing, if the victims were not on hand to expostulate and mourn. He really was at a loss what to do with his liberty.

While he was still ruminating, the door flew open and Sam Archer rushed in. The new-comer threw his coat into a corner, turned up his cuffs, and opened the door. Then he spoke, briefly and to the point, “Get out!”

Fish looked across the table into Archer’s face and recognized there an expression different from that worn by the challenger to an amicable rough-and-tumble. He had no mind for a serious set-to with the vanquisher of the redoubtable boxer Runyon, neither did he wish to retire tamely before a mere threat.

“Get out yourself!” he answered. “It isn’t your room.”

“No, it’s Fowle’s room, and he wants you out of it. You know well enough that rough-housing will fire him. I’m here in his place. Now, beat it!”

“I’ll go when I get ready,” growled Fish in return.

They began circling the table. As Fish passed the door, he slammed it to. When Sam reached it, he opened it again and shoved a heavy arm-chair against it. Then he removed the lamp to the mantelpiece, and made another half turn round the table. This movement brought Fish near the door again. He stooped over to swing aside the arm-chair which kept the door open, and at the same moment Sam vaulted the barrier.

As Fish beheld his assailant’s long legs swinging over the edge of the table in a hurdler’s leap, and the sinewy body bearing down upon him, it flashed into his brain, and from his brain with instantaneous impulse into nerves and muscles, that by dodging the frontal attack and delivering an immediate rear charge, he could put Archer himself out of the room and close the door upon him. His dodge, however, was not quite quick -----File: 249.png—- -----File: 250.png—- enough. The hurdler came down with long arms flying, and one of these flying arms, or the clenched fist attached to it, as it swung up, caught the ducking Fish under the eye. It was an unintentional blow, but it had force, and Fish went back against the door-post, for a moment dazed. When he got to his feet again, he found himself in the entry. The door was locked behind him; over the banisters he beheld the head of the descending Archer.

On the second floor at the foot of the stairs Mr. Alsop was standing, peering suspiciously upwards. “Another disturbance in Fowle’s room, I judge,” he said, frowning.

“I’ll explain, sir, if you’ll let me,” said Sam, breathing hard. “Won’t you come in here?”

He threw open his door and let the teacher pass in ahead of him.

“Now, what is it?” said Mr. Alsop, when they were inside.

“It’s this,” responded Sam. “Fowle has been trying his best to keep his probation and live up to the faculty’s orders. This morning a fellow came into his room to stir up a rough-house, and Fowle, knowing that he couldn’t keep out of it if he stayed at home, cut out and left the fellow there. He’s over in the library now.”

“Who is, Fowle or the fellow who came to rough-house?” asked Mr. Alsop, sarcastically.

“Fowle! He stopped on his way down and told me about it; I went up and—”

“And what?”

“Threw the fellow out,” continued Sam. “I had to, or he’d have smashed everything in the room.”

Mr. Alsop smiled with an air of incredulity. Sam drew himself up to his full six feet. The look of wounded self-respect that he flashed into the teacher’s face was unmistakably real.

“I suppose you don’t believe me,” he said proudly. “If you will go to the library, you’ll find Fowle there. He’ll let you into the room, and you’ll see my coat just as I dropped it.”

“I have not said that I don’t believe you. I do believe you,” interposed Mr. Alsop, hastily. “You probably would not care to tell me who this intruder was?”

“No, sir, I couldn’t,” returned Sam. “I don’t believe he’ll come again,” he added, looking ruefully at his knuckles, still numb from the blow which had felled the audacious Fish. “I didn’t mean to say anything against anybody. I just wanted to have you know that Birdie—that Fowle—wasn’t in it at all.”

Mr. Alsop felt no disposition to discuss Fowle. Having frequently proclaimed the young man to be the pernicious influence in his domain, he did not like to acknowledge that he had erred. He therefore contented himself with repeating certain hackneyed sentiments as to the responsibility for order in the well and the offended spirit of the school,—and withdrew.

As far as his dormitory master was concerned, Fish certainly possessed a charmed life. When he appeared the next day with the darkly obvious marks of a bruise about his right eye, he had no difficulty in drawing upon Mr. Alsop’s sympathies by his explanation of the flying ring which had struck him in the face in the gymnasium. It did not occur to the instructor to put together the fact of the black eye and Sam’s account of the forcible expulsion of a trespasser.

This example of the unique way in which order was maintained in his well, Mr. Alsop repeated with satisfaction to several of his colleagues, among others to Dr. Leighton.

“And you have no suspicion as to who this rough-houser was?” asked Dr. Leighton.

“None whatever.”

“Have you noticed Fish’s black eye?”

“Yes; he got that in the gymnasium from a flying ring. Bad bruise, wasn’t it?”

“There seems to be a different version about that eye going round the school. They charge it up to some fracas with another boy.”

“They would anyway,” replied Mr. Alsop, sagely. “Boys always joke over a black eye. Fish told me all about it himself.”

The comment on Dr. Leighton’s lips remained unspoken. He had his own opinion as to Fish, formed from investigations which were not yet complete. He did not wish to hazard his plan by setting Alsop to pounding along the trail. If his suspicions were well founded, Fish would sooner or later betray himself.

Fish had grown incautious. Of late he had taken to keeping liquors in his room. He had found an excellent hiding-place, the pedal compartment at the bottom of Moorhead’s piano. It was closed by a lid which swung down on hinges set at the lower edge. Moorhead came in one day just in season to find Fish closing the door of this borrowed cupboard.

“What are you doing to my piano?” he demanded sharply.

“Nothing, just seeing how it works.”

Moorhead went straight to the piano, and opening the compartment, discovered Fish’s two bottles and a glass.

“Do you call that nothing?” he asked, reddening with anger.

“Yee-up, I do,” answered Fish, complacently. “The faculty might not.”

“I don’t want them there, do you hear?” announced Moorhead. “I don’t want to be mixed up with the things at all.”

“They won’t do any hurt. Nobody ever opens the place.”

“I don’t care!” retorted Moorhead. “I won’t have them there.”

“Oh yes, you will,” Fish answered complacently, and went about his own affairs as if the matter were settled.

A few hours later Fish discovered his precious bottles on the floor in the back of his closet. He restored them to their appointed place in the piano, and lay in wait for Moorhead.

“You dirty little scut!” he shouted, as the rebel appeared. “Didn’t I tell you to leave those bottles alone?”

“I said I wouldn’t have them in my piano,” faltered Moorhead.

“And I said you were to leave ’em alone. You might as well have handed ’em over to Lady Jane while you were about it. If you touch ’em again, you’ll find your pretty music box there scratched from top to bottom.”

And Moorhead, who knew what Fish was capable of, gave heed to the threat and held his tongue.

It was not long after this that slow-moving justice at last overtook Mr. John Fish. One morning when Moorhead was just starting for breakfast, he noticed that the lid of the piano compartment was down. Feeling under no obligation either to replace the lid, or to remove the chair which screened it from the casual observer, he took his book from the top of the piano and went his way. At the clang of the first chapel bell, Fish crawled forth from bed and for the next seven minutes devoted his energies exclusively to the task of throwing on his clothes and getting into chapel before the second bell ceased to ring. He had no leisure to waste in idle contemplation of his study.

The chambermaid, making her rounds, observed the bottles and called the matron. The matron came, closed the lid, and reported to Mr. Alsop. Mr. Alsop, scandalized and incredulous, made an examination of the premises and demanded an explanation separately from each occupant of the room. Each disclaimed ownership of the bottles. Fish declared, in addition, that he did not even know that there was any such cupboard in the piano; Moorhead acknowledged that he knew that the bottles were there, but would give no information as to their owner. As the piano belonged to Moorhead, Mr. Alsop was inclined to hold him either the criminal or an accomplice.

But this time the truth proved stronger than the lie. When the matter came before the faculty, every individual teacher to whom Moorhead recited conducted himself like an attorney engaged to defend him. After Dr. Leighton brought forward the report of his investigation into Fish’s manner of life, the august body voted that Fish be dismissed; and the yea vote was so overwhelming that Mr. Alsop did not venture to raise a dissenting voice. The evidence that came to light a few days after the disgraced student left town, evidence which showed that Mr. Alsop had been shamelessly imposed on since the beginning of the year, was a severe blow to that gentleman’s self-esteem.