The Confessions of Artemas Quibble | Page 3

an actor, a lecturer, a
preacher, and a pedagogue. He was a fine scholar of Latin and could
quote Terence, Horace, and Plautus in a way that could stir the
somnolent soul even of a school-boy. His chief enemy, next to laziness,
was drink. He would disappear for days at a time into his study, and
afterward explain that he had been engaged in the preparation of his
magnum opus, which periodically was just on the point of going to
press.
During these interludes the school was run by Mrs. Quirk, a robust,
capable, and rosy Englishwoman, who had almost as much learning as
her husband and ten times as much practical ability. There were twelve
boys in the school, for each of whom the Quirks received the modest
sum of two hundred and seventy-five dollars a year. In exchange for
this they gave board, lodging, and tuition. Each of us received separate
instruction--or as Quirk expressed it "individual attention"--and
excellent instruction it was. We arose at six, breakfasted at six-thirty,
and helped around the house until eight, when our studies began. These
continued until twelve, at which time we had dinner. After that we were
free until two-thirty, when we resumed our labors until four.
Quirk was a tall, lank, loose-jointed man, with long black hair that lay
well over his Byronic collar. He had a humorous eye and a cavernous
mouth that was always twisting itself into grimaces, alternately
side-splitting and terrifying. On occasions he would use the birch--and
very thoroughly, too, as I have reason to remember --but he ruled us by
fear of authority. For though he dressed like a clergyman, he always
smelled strongly of stale cigar smoke, and his language at times was

more forcible than is generally expected of a wearer of the cloth.
I dwelt with the Quirks, winter and summer, until I was able to pass my
examinations for Harvard, which I did in the summer of 1871. My
allowance had been gradually increased to meet my new expenses, and
I entered the freshman class with an income sufficient to permit me to
dress suitably and enjoy myself in such simple ways as were in vogue
among the collegians. But coming as I did, alone, from a small
boarding-school, proved to be a great disadvantage, for I had all my
friends to make after my arrival and I had neither the means nor the
address to acquire ready-made social distinction. Thus it happened that
I was very lonely during my first years in Cambridge; missed the genial
companionship of my old friends, the Quirks, and seized every
opportunity that offered for going back to Methuen.
I had grown into a tall, narrow-shouldered youth, with a high-arched
nose between rather pale cheeks, and prominent ears. Though I could
hardly flatter myself into the belief that I was handsome, I felt that my
appearance had something of distinction and that I looked like a
gentleman. I affected coats with long tails and a somewhat dandified
style of waistcoat and neck-cloth, as well as a white beaver, much in
favor among the "bloods" of those days. But this took most of my
available cash, and left me little to expend in treating my fellow
students at the tavern or in enjoying the more substantial culinary
delights of the Boston hotels. Thus though I made no shabby friends I
acquired few genteel ones, and I began to feel keenly the disadvantages
of a lean purse. I was elected into none of the clubs, nor did I receive
any invitations to the numerous balls given in Boston or even to those
in Cambridge. This piqued my pride, to be sure, but only intensified my
resolution to become a man of fashion on my own account. If my
classmates could get on without me I felt that I could get on without
them, and I resolutely declined to appreciate any social distinction that
might artificially exist between a man born in Salem and one born in
Lynn, although I now understand that such distinction exists, at least so
far as Boston society is concerned. Consequently as time went on and I
could achieve prominence in no other way, I sought consolation for the
social joys denied by my betters in acquiring the reputation of a sport. I

held myself coldly aloof from the fashionable men of my class and
devoted myself to a few cronies who found themselves in much the
same position as my own. In a short time we became known as the
fastest set in college, and our escapades were by no means confined to
Cambridge, but were carried on with great impartiality in Boston and
the neighboring towns.
We organized a club, which we called the Cock and Spur, and had a
rat-pit and cock-fights