Bert's feelings toward Dr. Johnston himself were, as has been already stated, of a mixed nature. At first, he was simply afraid of him, but little by little a gentler feeling crept into his heart. Yet, there was no doubt, the doctor was far more likely to inspire fear than love. He wielded his authority with an impartial, unsparing hand. No allowance was ever made for hesitancy or nervousness on the part of the scholar when reciting his lesson, nor for ebullitions of boyish spirits when sitting at the desk. "Everything must be done correctly, and in order,"

was the motto of his rule. The whippings he administered were about as impressive a mode of school punishment as could be desired. The unhappy boy who had behaved so ill, or missed so many lessons as to deserve one, heard the awful words, "Stand upon the floor for punishment," uttered in the doctor's sternest tones. Trembling in every limb, and feeling cold shivers running up and down his back, while his face flushed fiery red, or paled to ashy white by turns, the culprit would reluctantly leave his seat, and take his stand in the centre aisle, with the eyes of the whole school upon him variously expressing pity, compa.s.sion, or perhaps unsympathetic ridicule.

After he had stood there some time, for be it known this exposure was an essential part of the punishment, he would see the doctor slowly rise from his seat, draw forth from its hiding-place the long black strap that had for so many years been his sceptre, and then come down toward him with slow, stately steps. Stopping just in front of him, the order would be issued: "Hold out your hand." Quivering with apprehension, the boy would extend his hand but half way, keeping his elbow fast at his side. But the doctor would not be thus partially obeyed. "Hold _out_ your hand, sir!" he would thunder; and out would go the arm to its fullest length, and with a sharp swish through the air, down would come the strap, covering the hand from the wrist to finger tip, and sending a thrill of agony through every nerve in the body. Ten, twenty, thirty, or in extreme cases, even forty such stripes would be administered, some boys taking them as fast as the doctor could strike, so that the torture might soon be over, and others pausing between each blow, to rub their stinging palms together, and bedew them with their tears.

It was a terrible ordeal, no doubt, and one that would hardly be approved of to-day, the publicity uniting with the severity to make it a cruel strain upon a boy's nervous system. In all the years that Bert spent at Dr. Johnston's school he was called upon to endure it only once, but that once sufficed. The way it came about was this:

Bert one morning happened to be in a more than usually frolicsome mood, and was making pellets out of the soft part of the rolls he had brought for lunch, and throwing them about. In trying to hit a boy who sat between him and Mr. Snelling's desk, he somehow or other miscalculated his aim, and to his horror, the sticky pellet flew straight at the bald spot on top of Mr. Snelling's head, as the latter bent his shortsighted eyes over a book before him, hitting it in the centre, and staying there in token of its success.

With angry face, Mr. Snelling sprang to his feet, and brushing the unlucky pellet from his shiny pate, called out so fiercely as to attract the doctor's attention:

"Who threw that at me?"

The few boys who were in the secret looked very hard at their books, while those who were not glanced up in surprise, and tried to discover the cause of Mr. Snelling's excitement.

"Who threw that at me?" demanded Mr. Snelling, again.

Bert, who had at first been so appalled by what he had done that his tongue refused to act, was about to call out "It was I, sir," when Rod Graham was seen to hold up his hand, and on Mr. Snelling turning inquiringly toward him, Rod, in a low, sneaking voice, said:

"It was Lloyd, sir; I saw him do it."

Mr. Snelling immediately called out, "Lloyd, come to my desk;" and Bert, feeling hot and cold by turns, went up to the desk, and stood before it, the picture of penitence.

"Did you throw that pellet?" asked Mr. Snelling, in indignant tones.

"Yes, sir; but I didn't mean to hit you, sir," answered Bert, meekly.

"I know nothing about that," answered Mr. Snelling, too much excited to listen to any defence. "Follow me to Dr. Johnston."

Hastening into the presence of the stern headmaster, Mr. Snelling stated what had happened, and pointed to the trembling Bert as the culprit.

"How do you know he is the offender, Mr. Snelling?" inquired the doctor, gravely.

"Graham said he saw him do it, sir, and Lloyd confesses it himself,"

replied Mr. Snelling.

"Oh! indeed--that is sufficient. Leave Lloyd with me." And thus dismissed, Mr. Snelling returned to his desk.

"Lloyd, I am sorry about this. You must stand upon the floor for punishment," said the doctor, turning to Bert; and Bert, chilled to the heart, took his place upon the spot where he had so often pitied other boys for being.

Presently, drawing out his strap, the doctor came toward him:

"Hold out your hand, sir."

Bert promptly extended his right hand to the full. Swish! and down came the cruel strap upon it, inflicting a burning smart, as though it were a red-hot iron, and sending a thrill of agony through every nerve. Swish!

And the left hand was set on fire. Swish! Swish! right and left; right and left, until twenty stripes had been administered; and then, turning on his heel, the doctor walked solemnly back to his desk.

During all this torture not a sound had escaped Bert. He felt that the doctor could not do otherwise than punish him, and he determined to bear the punishment bravely; so closing his lips tightly, and summoning all his resolution, he held out one hand after the other, taking the blows as fast as the doctor could give them. But when the ordeal was over he hurried to his seat, and burying his head in his burning hands, burst into a pa.s.sion of tears--for he could control himself no longer.

A few minutes later his attention was aroused by hearing the doctor call out, in a loud, stern voice:

"Graham, come forward."

Graham got out of his seat, and in a half-frightened way, slunk up to the doctor's desk.

"I understand, Graham," said the doctor, with his grimmest expression, "that you volunteered to tell Mr. Snelling who it was that threw that pellet. You know, or ought to know, the rule of this school as to informers. You will receive the same punishment that I have just given Lloyd. Stand upon the floor."

Completely taken aback at this unexpected turn in affairs, Rod Graham mechanically took up his position, looking the very picture of abject misery. The doctor kept him there for full half-an-hour, and then administered twenty stripes, with an unction that showed, clearly enough, his profound contempt for that most contemptible of beings, an informer.

Now, Bert was not an angel, but simply a boy--a very good boy, in many respects, no doubt, but a boy, notwithstanding. It would, therefore, be doing him an injustice to deny that he took a certain delight in seeing his tormentor receive so sound a whipping, and that it brought, at least, a temporary balm to his own wounded feelings. But the wound was altogether too deep to be cured by this, or by Frank Bowser's heartfelt sympathy, or even by the praise of his schoolmates, many of whom came up to him at recess and told him he was "a brick," "a daisy," and so forth, because he had taken a whipping without crying.

All this could not hide from him what he felt to be the disgrace of the thing. So ashamed was he of himself that he could hardly find courage to tell them about it at home; and although, easily appreciating the whole situation, Mr. Lloyd had only words of cheer for him, and none of condemnation, Bert still took it so much to heart that the following Sunday he pleaded hard to be allowed to remain away from the Sunday school, as he did not want to face Mr. Silver and his cla.s.smates so soon. But his father wisely would not suffer this, and so, much against his will, he went to school as usual, where, however, he felt very ill at ease until the session was over, when he had a long talk with Mr.

Silver, and told him the whole story.

This relieved his mind very much. He felt as if he were square with the world again, and he went back to Dr. Johnston's far lighter in heart on Monday morning than he had left it on Friday afternoon. He had learned a lesson, too, that needed no reteaching throughout the remainder of his school days. That was the first and last time Bert Lloyd stood upon the floor for punishment.

CHAPTER XIX.

VICTORY AND DEFEAT.

As may be easily imagined, Dr. Johnston's severe punishment of Rod Graham for having taken upon himself the part of an informer did not tend to make that young gentleman any more pleasant in his bearing toward Bert. By some process of reasoning, intelligible only to himself, he held Bert accountable for the whipping he had received, and lost no opportunity of wreaking his vengeance upon him. Every now and then during that winter Bert had bitter proof of his enemy's unrelenting hate. It seemed as though there were no limit to Rod's ingenuity in devising ways of annoying him, and many a hot tear did he succeed in wringing from him.

As spring drew near, this persecution grew more and more intolerable, and, without Bert himself being fully conscious of it, a crisis was inevitable. This crisis came sooner, perhaps, than either Bert or Rod antic.i.p.ated. One bright spring morning, as Bert, with satchel strapped upon his back, approached the school, feeling in high spirits, and looking the very picture of a st.u.r.dy schoolboy, Rod, who had been in hiding behind a porch, sprang out upon him suddenly, s.n.a.t.c.hed the cap off his head, and, with a shout of, "Fetch it, doggy; go, fetch it,"

flung it into the middle of the street, that was now little better than a river of mud.

This proved to be the last straw upon the back of Bert's endurance, and it broke it. With a quickness that gave his tormentor no chance to dodge or defend himself, he doubled up his fist, shut his eyes tight, and, rushing at him, struck out with all his might. The blow could hardly have been more effective if Bert had been an expert in boxing, for his fist landed full on Rod's left eye, sending him staggering backward several paces, with his hands clapped over the injured optic. But he soon recovered himself, and, with clenched fists, was rushing upon Bert, to pummel him fiercely, when Teter Johnston, who had just come up, sprang in between, and, catching Rod's uplifted arm, cried out, sternly:

"Stop, now! none of that! This must be a fair fight, and you shan't begin until Lloyd is ready."

Then turning to Bert, while Rod, who had too much respect for Teter's prowess not to obey him, gave way with a malignant scowl, Teter said, encouragingly:

"You must fight him, Bert. It's the only way to settle him. You'll thrash him all right enough. I'll see you through."

Bert had a good many doubts about his thrashing "him all right enough,"

but he was still too angry to think calmly, and, moreover, he was not a little elated at the surprising success of his first blow, which, although struck at a venture, had gone so straight to the mark, and so he nodded his head in a.s.sent.

"Very well, then, it's a fight," said Teter to Rod. "In the yard at the noon recess. You bring your second, Graham; I'll look after Bert myself."

The words were hardly uttered when the bell rung, and the boys had all to hurry to their places in the schoolroom.

That morning was one of the most miserable poor Bert had ever spent. He was a prey to the most diverse feelings, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he could bring his mind to bear sufficiently upon his lessons to keep his place in the cla.s.ses. In the first place, he really dreaded the fight with Rod Graham. Graham was older, taller, and much more experienced in such affairs, and Bert could see no reason why he should hope for a victory over him. It was all well enough for dear old Frank to say from time to time, as he noticed Bert's depression:

"Keep up your spirit, Bert; you'll thrash him sure. And if you don't, I will, as sure as I'm alive."

But that did not make the matter any clearer, for Bert would rather not get a thrashing at Rod's hands, even though Rod should get one at Frank's hands shortly after.