Trumps | Page 7

boys, never. These things are all taken out of them by fagging. It stands to reason they should be. If I shy my boots at a fellow's head, is he likely to domineer? If I kick a small boy who contradicts me, is he likely to be opinionated and dogmatic? If I eat up my fag's plum-cake just sent by his mamma, hot, as it were, from the maternal heart, and moist with a mother's tears, is that fag likely to be selfish? Not at all. The boots, and the kicking, and the general walloping make him manly. It teaches him to govern his temper and hold his tongue. I swear I should like to have a fag!" perorated Abel, meaning that he should like to be the holy office, and to have Gabriel Bennet immediately delivered up to him for discipline.
Once Gabriel overheard this kind of conversation in the play-ground, as Abel Newt and some of the other boys were resting after a game at ball. There were no personal allusions in what Abel had said, but Gabriel took him up a little curtly:
"Pooh! Abel, how would you like to have Gyles Blanding shy his boots at your head?"
Abel looked at him a moment, sarcastically. Then he replied:
"My young friend, I should like to see him try it. But fagging concerns small boys, not large ones."
"Yes!" retorted Gabriel, his eyes flashing, as he kept tossing the ball nervously, and catching it; "yes, that's the meanness of it: the little boy can't help himself."
"By golly, I'd kick!" put in Little Malacca.
"Then you'd be licked till you dropped, my small Sir," said Abel, sneeringly.
"Yes, Abel," replied Gabriel, "but it's a mean thing for an American boy to want fagging."
"Not at all," he answered; "there are some young American gentlemen I know who would be greatly benefited by being well fagged; yes, made to lie down in the dirt and lick a little of it, and fetch and carry. And to be kicked out of bed every morning and into bed every night would be the very best thing that could happen to 'em. By George, I should like to have the kicking and licking begin now!"
Gabriel had the same dislike of Abel which the latter felt for him, but they had never had any open quarrel. Even thus far in the present conversation there had been nothing personal said. It was only a warm general discussion. Gabriel merely asked, when the other stopped,
"What good does the fagging do the fellow that flings the boots and bullies the little one?"
"Good?" answered Abel--"what good does it do? Why, he has been through it all himself, and he's just paying it off."
Abel smiled grimly as he looked round upon the boys, who did not seem at all enthusiastic for his suggestion.
"Well," said he, "I'm afraid I shall have to postpone my millennium of fagging. But I don't know what else will make men of you. And mark you, my merry men, there's more than one kind of fagging;" and he looked in a droll way--a droll way that was not in the least funny, but made the boys all wonder what Abel Newt was up to now.

CHAPTER IV.
NIGHT.
It was already dusk, but the summer evening is the best time for play. The sport in the play-ground at Mr. Gray's was at its height, and the hot, eager, panting boys were shouting and scampering in every direction, when a man ran in from the road and cried out, breathless,
"Where's Mr. Gray?"
"In his study," answered twenty voices at once. The man darted toward the house and went in; the next moment he reappeared with Mr. Gray, both of them running.
"Get out the boat!" cried Mr. Gray, "and call the big boys. There's a man drowning in the pond!"
The game was over at once, and each young heart thrilled with vague horror. Abel Newt, Muddock, Blanding, Tom Gait, Jim Greenidge, and the rest of the older boys, came rushing out of the school-room, and ran toward the barn, in which the boat was kept upon a truck. In a moment the door was open, the truck run out, and all the boys took hold of the rope. Mr. Gray and the stranger led the way. The throng swept out of the gate, and as they hastened silently along, the axles of the truck kindled with the friction and began to smoke.
"Carefully! steadily!" cried the boys all together.
They slackened speed a little, but, happily, the pond was but a short distance from the school. It was a circular sheet of water, perhaps a mile in width.
"Boys, he is nearly on the other side," said Mr. Gray, as the crowd reached the shore.
In an instant the boat was afloat. Mr. Gray, the stranger, and the six stoutest boys in