“Jasper!”

Jasper, rushing down the long hall of the Pemberton School, books in hand, turned to see Mr. Faber standing in the doorway of his private room.

“I want to see you, Jasper.”

Jasper, with an awful feeling at his heart, obeyed and went in. “It's all up with Pick,” he groaned, and sat down in the place indicated on the other side of the big round table, Mr. Faber in his accustomed seat, the big leather chair.

“You remember the conversation I had with you, Jasper,” he said slowly; and picking up a paper knife he began playing with it, occasionally glancing up over his glasses at the boy.

Jasper nodded, unable to find any voice. Then he managed to say, “Yes, sir.”

“Well, now, Jasper, it was rather an unusual thing to do, to set one lad, as it were, to work upon another in just that way. For I am sure I haven't forgotten my boyhood, long past as it is, and I realize that the responsibilities of school life are heavy enough, without adding to the burden.”

Mr. Faber, well pleased with this sentiment, waited to clear his throat. Jasper, in an agony, as he saw Pickering Dodge expelled, and all the dreadful consequences, sat quite still.

“At the same time, although I disliked to take you into confidence, making you an assistant in the work of reclaiming Pickering Dodge from his idle, aimless state, in which he exhibited such a total disregard for his lessons, it appeared after due consideration to be the only thing left to be done. You understand this, I trust, Jasper.”

Jasper's reply this time was so low as to be scarcely audible. But Mr. Faber, taking it for granted, manipulated the paper knife a few times, and went on impressively.

“I am very glad you do, Jasper. I felt sure, knowing you so well, that my reasons would appeal to you in the right way. You are Pickering's best friend among my scholars.”

“And he is mine,” exploded Jasper, thinking wildly that it was perhaps not quite too late to save Pickering. “I've known him always, sir.” He was quite to the edge of his chair now, his dark eyes shining, and his hair tossed back. “Beg pardon, Mr. Faber, but I can't help it. Pickering is so fine; he's not like other boys.”

“No, I believe you.” Mr. Faber smiled grimly and gave the paper knife another whirl. And much as Jasper liked him, that smile seemed wholly unnecessary, and to deal death to his hopes.

“He certainly is unlike any other boy in my school in regard to his studying,” he said. “His capacity is not wanting, to be sure; there was never any lack of that. For that reason I was always hoping to arouse his ambition.”

“And you can—oh, you can, sir!” cried Jasper eagerly, although he felt every word he said to be unwelcome, “if you will only try him a bit longer. Don't send him off yet, Mr. Faber.”

He got off from his chair, and leaned on the table heavily.

“Don't send him off?” repeated Mr. Faber, dropping the paper knife, “what is the boy talking of! Why, Jasper—I've called you in here to tell you how much Pickering has improved and—”

Jasper collapsed on his chair. “And is it possible that you haven't seen it for yourself, Jasper?” exclaimed Mr. Faber. “Why, every teacher is quite delighted. Even Mr. Dinsmore—and he was in favor of at least suspending Pickering last half—has expressed his opinion that I did well to give the boy another trial.”

“I thought—” mumbled Jasper, “I was afraid.” Then he pulled himself together, and somehow found himself standing over by Mr. Faber's chair, unbosoming himself of his fright and corresponding joy.

“Pull your chair up nearer, Jasper,” said Mr. Faber, when, the first transport having worked off, Jasper seemed better fitted for conversation, “and we will go over this in a more intelligent fashion. I am really more pleased than I can express at the improvement in that boy. As I said before”—Mr. Faber had long ago thrown aside the paper knife, and now turned toward Jasper, his whole attention on the matter in hand—“Pickering has a fine capacity; take it all in all, perhaps there is none better in the whole school. It shows to great advantage now, because he has regained his place so rapidly in his classes. It is quite astonishing, Jasper.” And he took off his glasses and polished them up carefully, repeating several times during the process, “Yes, very surprising indeed!”

“And he seems to like to study now,” said Jasper, ready to bring forward all the nice things that warranted encouragement.

“Does he so?” Mr. Faber set his glasses on his nose, and beamed at him over them. The boys at the Pemberton School always protested that this was the only use they could be put to on the master's countenance. “Well, now, Jasper, I really believe I am justified in entertaining a very strong hope of Pickering's future career. And I see no reason why he should not be ready for college with you, and without conditions, if he will only keep his ambition alive and active, now it is aroused.”

“May I tell him so?” cried Jasper, almost beside himself with joy. “Oh, may I, Mr. Faber?”

“Why, that is what I called you in here for, Jasper,” said the master. “It seemed so very much better for him to hear it from a boy, for I remember my own boyhood, though so very long since; and the effect will, I feel sure, be much deeper than if Pickering hears it from me. He is very tired of this study, Jasper,” and Mr. Faber glanced around at the four walls, and again came that grim smile. “And even to hear a word of commendation, it might not be so pleasing to be called in. So away with you. At the proper time, I shall speak to him myself.”

Jasper, needing no second bidding, fled precipitately—dashed in again. “Beg pardon, I'd forgotten my books.” He seized them from the table, and made quick time tracking Pickering.

“Where is Pick?” rushing up to a knot of boys on a corner of the playground, just separating to go home.

“Don't know; what's up, King?”

“Can't stop,” said Jasper, flying back to the schoolroom. “I must get Pick.”

“Dodge has gone,” shouted a boy clearing the steps, who had heard the last words. So Jasper, turning again, left school and playground far behind, to run up the steps of the Cabot mansion.

“Pickering here?”

“Yes.” The butler had seen him hurrying over the stairs to his own room just five minutes ago. And in less than a minute Jasper was up in that same place.

There sat Pickering by his table, his long legs upon its surface, and his hands thrust into his pockets. His books sprawled just where he had thrown them, at different angles along the floor.

“Hullo!” cried Jasper, flying in, to stop aghast at this.

“Yes, you see, Jasper, I'm played out,” said Pickering. “It isn't any use for me to study, and there are the plaguey things,” pulling out one set of fingers to point to the sprawling books. “I can't catch up. Every teacher looks at me squint-eyed as if I were a hopeless case, which I am!”

“Oh, you big dunce!” Jasper clapped his books on the table with a bang, making Pickering draw down his long legs, rushed around to precipitate himself on the rest of the figure in the chair, when he pommelled him to his heart's content.

“If you expect to beat any hope into me, old boy,” cried Pickering, not caring in the least for the onslaught, “you'll miss your guess.”

“I'm hoping to beat sense into you,” cried Jasper, pounding away, “though it looks almost impossible now,” he declared, laughing. “Pick, you've won! Mr. Faber says you've come up in classes splendidly, and—”

Pickering sprang to his feet. “What do you mean, Jasper?” he cried hoarsely, his face white as a sheet.

“Just what I say.”

“Say it again.”

So Jasper went all over it once more, adding the other things about getting into college and all that, as much as Pickering would hear.

“Honest?” he broke in, his pale face getting a dull red, and seizing Jasper by the shoulders.

“Did I ever tell you anything that wasn't so, Pick?”

“No; but I can't believe it, Jap. It's the first time in my life I've—I've—” And what incessant blame could not do, praise achieved. Pickering rushed to the bed, flung himself face down upon it, and broke into a torrent of sobs.

Jasper, who had never seen Pickering cry, had wild thoughts of rushing for Mrs. Cabot; the uncle was not at home. But remembering how little good this could possibly do, he bent all his energies to stop this unlooked-for flood.

But he was helpless. Having never given way in this manner before, Pickering seemed determined to make a thorough job of it. And it was not till he was quite exhausted that he rolled over, wiped his eyes, and looked at Jasper.

“I'm through,” he announced.

“I should think you might well be,” retorted Jasper; “what with scaring me almost to death, you've made yourself a fright, Pick, and you've just upset all your chances to study to-day.”

Pickering flung himself off the bed as summarily as he had gone on.

“That's likely, isn't it?” he cried mockingly, and shamefacedly scrabbling up the books from the floor. “Now, then,” and he was across the room, pouring out a basinful of water, to thrust his swollen face within it.

“Whew! I never knew it used a chap up so to cry,” he spluttered. “Goodness me!” He withdrew his countenance from the towel to regard Jasper.

“How you look!” cried Jasper, considering it better to rail at him.

Whereupon Pickering found his way to the long mirror. “I never was a beauty,” he said.

“And now you are less,” laughed Jasper.

“But I'm good,” said Pickering solemnly, and flinging himself down to his books.

“You can't study with such eyes,” cried Jasper, tugging at the book.

“Clear out!”

“I'm not going. Pick, your eyes aren't much bigger than pins.”

“But they're sharp—just as pins are. Leave me alone.” Pickering squirmed all over his chair, but Jasper had the book.

“Never mind, I'll fly at my history, then,” said Pickering, possessing himself of another book; “that's the beauty of it. I'm as backward in all of my lessons as I am in one. I can strike in anywhere.”

“You are not backward in any now,” cried Jasper in glee, and performing an Indian war dance around the table. “Forward is the word henceforth,” he brought up dramatically with another lunge at Pickering.

“Get out. You better go home.”

“I haven't the smallest intention of going,” replied Jasper, and successfully coming off with a second book.

“Here's for book number three,” declared Pickering—but too late. Jasper seized the remaining two, tossed them back of him, then squared off.

“Come on for a tussle, old fellow. You're not fit to study—ruin your eyes. Come on!” his whole face sparkling.

It was too much. The table was pushed one side; books and lessons, Mr. Faber and college, were as things never heard of. And for a good quarter of an hour, Pickering, whose hours of exercise had been much scantier of late, was hard pushed to parry all Jasper's attacks. At the last, when the little clock on the mantel struck four, he came out ahead.

“I declare, that was a good one,” he exclaimed in a glow.

“Particularly so to you,” said Jasper ruefully. “You gave me a regular bear-hug, you scamp.”

“Had to, to pay you up.”

“And now you may study,” cried Jasper gaily; and snatching his books, he ran off.

“Oh, Pick,” putting his head in at the door.

“Yes?”

“If the lessons are done, come over this evening, will you?”

“All right.” The last sound of Jasper's feet on the stairs reached Pickering, when he suddenly left his chair and flew into the hall.

“Jap—oh, I say, Jap!” Then he plunged back into his room to thrust his head out of the window. “Jap!” he howled, to the consternation of a fat old gentleman passing beneath, who on account of his size, finding it somewhat inconvenient to look up, therefore waddled into the street, and surveyed the house gravely.

Pickering slammed down the window, leaving the old gentleman to stare as long as he saw fit.

“I can't go over there to-night, looking like this.” He pranced up to the mirror again, fuming every step of the way, and surveyed himself in dismay. There was some improvement in the appearance of his countenance, to be sure, but not by any means enough to please him. His pale blue eyes were so small, and their surroundings so swollen, that they reminded him of nothing so much as those of a small pig he had made acquaintance with in a visit up in the country. While his nose, long and usually quite aristocratic-looking, had resigned all claims to distinction, and was hopelessly pudgy.

“Jasper knows I can't go in this shape,” he cried in a fury. “Great CÆsar's ghost! I never supposed it banged a fellow up so, to cry just once!” And the next moments were spent in sopping his face violently with the wet towel, which did no good, as it had been plentifully supplied with that treatment before.

At last he flung himself into his chair. “If I don't go over, Jap will think I haven't my lessons, so that's all right. And I won't have them anyway if I don't tackle them pretty quick. So here goes!” And presently the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the little clock, varied by the turning of his pages, or the rattling of the paper on which he was working out the problems for to-morrow.

“Oh dear me! Jasper,” Polly exclaimed about half-past seven, “I don't believe Pickering is coming.”

“He hasn't his lessons, I suppose,” said Jasper. “You know I told him to come over as soon as they were done. Well, Polly, we agreed, you know, to let him alone as to invitations until the lessons were out of the way, so I won't go over after him.”

“I know,” said Polly, “but oh, Jasper, isn't it just too elegant for anything, to think that Mr. Faber says it's all right with him?”

“I should think it was,” cried Jasper. “Now if he only keeps on, Polly.”

“Oh, he must; he will,” declared Polly confidently. “Well, we can put off toasting marshmallows until to-morrow night.”

About this time, Pickering, whose lessons were all done, for he had, as Mr. Faber had said, “a fine capacity” to learn, was receiving company just when he thought he was safe from showing his face.

“Let's stop for Pickering Dodge,” proposed Alexia, Clare having run in for her to go over to Polly Pepper's, “to toast marshmallows and have fun generally.”

“All right; so we can,” cried Clare. So they turned the corner and went down to the Cabot mansion, and were let in before the old butler could be stopped.

Pickering, whose uncle and aunt were out for the evening, had felt it safe to throw himself down on the library sofa. When he saw that John had forgotten what he told him, not to let anybody in, he sprang up; but not before Alexia, rushing in, had cried, “Oh, here you are! Come on with us to Polly Pepper's!” Clare dashed in after her.

“Ow!” exclaimed Pickering, seizing a sofa pillow, to jam it against his face.

“What is the matter?” cried Alexia. “Oh, have you a toothache?”

“Worse than that,” groaned Pickering behind his pillow.

“Oh, my goodness me!” exclaimed Alexia, tumbling back. “What can it be?”

“You haven't broken your jaw, Pick?” observed Clare. “I can't imagine that.”

“I'll break yours if you don't go,” said Pickering savagely, and half smothered, as he tried to keep the pillow well before the two pairs of eyes.

This was a little difficult, as Clare, seeing hopes of running around the pillow, set himself in motion to that end. But as Pickering whirled as fast as he did, there was no great gain.

“Well, if I ever did!” exclaimed Alexia, quite aghast.

And the next moment Pickering, keeping a little opening at one end of the pillow, saw his chance; darted out of the door, and flinging the pillow the length of the hall, raced into his own room and slammed the door, and they could hear him lock it.

“Well, if I ever did!” exclaimed Alexia again, and sinking into the first chair, she raised both hands.

“What's got into the beggar?” cried Clare in perplexity, and looking out into the hall, as if some help to the puzzle might be found there.

“Well, I guess you and I, Alexia, might as well go to Polly Pepper's,” he said finally.

“And if I ever come after that boy again to tell him of anything nice that's going to happen, I miss my guess,” declared Alexia, getting herself out of her chair, in high dudgeon. “Let's send Jasper after him; he's the only one who can manage him,” she cried, as they set forth.

“Good idea,” said Clare.

But when Alexia told of their funny reception, Jasper first stared, then burst out laughing. And although Alexia teased and teased, she got no satisfaction.

“It's no use, Alexia,” Jasper said, wiping his eyes, “you won't get me to tell. So let's set about having some fun. What shall we do?”

“I don't want to do anything,” pouted Alexia, “only to know what made Pickering Dodge act in that funny way.”

“And that's just what you won't know, Alexia,” replied Jasper composedly. “Well, Polly, you are going to put off toasting the marshmallows, aren't you, till to-morrow night, when Pick can probably come?”

“Oh, I wouldn't wait for him,” Alexia burst out, quite exasperated, “when he's acted so. And perhaps he'd come with an old sofa pillow before his face, if you did.”

“Oh, no, he won't, Alexia,” said Jasper, going off into another laugh. But although she teased again, she got no nearer to the facts. And Polly proposing that they make candy, the chafing dish was gotten out; and Alexia, who was quite an adept in the art, went to work, Jasper cracking the nuts, and Polly and Clare picking out the meats.

And then all the story of Pickering's splendid advance in the tough work of making up his lessons came out, Jasper pausing so long to dilate with kindling eyes upon it, that very few nuts fell into the dish. So Polly's fingers were the only ones to achieve much, as Clare gave so close attention to the story that he was a very poor helper.

In the midst of it, Alexia threw down the chafing-dish spoon, and clapped her hands. “Oh, I know!” she exclaimed.

“Oh,” cried Polly, looking up from the little pile of nut-meats, “how you scared me, Alexia!”

“I know—I know!” exclaimed Alexia again, and nodding to herself wisely.

Jasper threw her a quick glance. It said, “If you know, don't tell, Alexia.” And she flashed back, “Did you suppose I would?”

“What do you know?” demanded Clare, transferring his attention from Jasper to her. “Tell on, Alexia; what do you know?”

“Oh, my goodness me! this candy never will be done in time for those meats,” cried Alexia, picking up the spoon to stir away for dear life. And Jasper dashed in on what Mr. Faber said about Pickering's chances for college; a statement that completely carried Clare off his feet, so to speak.

“You don't mean that he thinks Pick will get in without conditions?” gasped Clare, dumfounded.

“Yes, I do.” Jasper nodded brightly. “If Pick will only study; keep it up, you know, I mean to the end. He surely said it, Clare.”

It was so much for Clare to think of, that he didn't have any words at his command.

“Now isn't that perfectly splendid in Pickering!” cried Alexia, making the spoon fly merrily. “Oh dear me! I forgot to put in the butter. Where—oh, here it is,” and she tossed in a big piece. “To think that—oh dear me, I forgot! I did put the butter in before. Now I've spoilt it,” and she threw down the spoon in despair.

“Fish it out,” cried Polly, hopping up and seizing the spoon to make little dabs at the ball of butter now rapidly lessening.

“But it's melted—that is, almost—oh dear me!” cried Alexia.

“No, it isn't; there, see how big it is.” Polly landed it deftly on the plate and hopped back to her nut-meats again.

“And I should think you'd better shake yourself, Clare,” said Jasper, over at him. “We shouldn't have any nuts in this candy if it depended on you.”

“You do tell such astounding stories,” cried Clare, setting to work at once. And Jasper making as much noise as he could while cracking his nuts, Alexia's secret was safe.

But when the candy was set out to cool, and there was a pause in which the two boys were occupied by themselves, Alexia pulled Polly off to a corner.

“Where are they going?” asked Clare, with one eye after them.

“Oh, they have something to talk over, I presume,” said Jasper carelessly.

“Nonsense! they've all the time every day. Let's go over and see.”

“Oh, no,” said Jasper. “Come on, Clare, and let's see if the candy is cool.” But Clare didn't want to see if the candy was cool, nor anything else but to have his own way. So he proceeded over to the corner by himself.

“Oho! You go right away!” cried Alexia, poking up her head over Polly's shoulder. “You dreadful boy! Now, Polly, come.” And she pulled her off into the library.

“You see you didn't get anything for your pains,” said Jasper, bursting into a laugh. “You'd much better have staid here.”

“Well, I don't want to know, anyway,” said Clare, taking a sudden interest in the candy. “I believe it is cold, Jasper; let's look.”

“Polly,” Alexia was saying in the library behind the portiÈres, “I know now; because I did it once myself: it was when you first promised you'd be a friend to me, and I went home, and cried for very joy. And I didn't want to see anybody that night.”

“Oh, Alexia!” exclaimed Polly, giving her a hug that satisfied even Alexia.

“No, I didn't; and I remember how I wanted to hold something up to my face. I never thought of a sofa pillow, and I couldn't have gotten it if I had thought, 'cause aunt had it crammed against her back. Oh, my eyes were a sight, Polly, and my nose was all over my face.”

Top