Chapter Ten. I Fight Conway

The Story of a Bad Boy

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

There was one person, however, who cherished a strong suspicion
that the Centipedes had had a hand in the business; and that person
was Conway. His red hair seemed to change to a livelier red, and his
sallow cheeks to a deeper sallow, as we glanced at him stealthily
over the tops of our slates the next day in school. He knew we were
watching him, and made sundry mouths and scowled in the most
threatening way over his sums.

Conway had an accomplishment peculiarly his own-that of throwing
his thumbs out of joint at will. Sometimes while absorbed in study,
or on becoming nervous at recitation, he performed the feat
unconsciously. Throughout this entire morning his thumbs were
observed to be in a chronic state of dislocation, indicating great
mental agitation on the part of the owner. We fully expected an
outbreak from him at recess; but the intermission passed off
tranquilly, somewhat to our disappointment.

At the close of the afternoon session it happened that Binny
Wallace and myself, having got swamped in our Latin exercise, were
detained in school for the purpose of refreshing our memories with a
page of Mr. Andrews's perplexing irregular verbs. Binny Wallace
finishing his task first, was dismissed. I followed shortly after,
and, on stepping into the playground, saw my little friend plastered,
as it were, up against the fence, and Conway standing in front of him
ready to deliver a blow on the upturned, unprotected face, whose
gentleness would have stayed any arm but a coward's.

Seth Rodgers, with both hands in his pockets, was leaning
against the pump lazily enjoying the sport; but on seeing me sweep
across the yard, whirling my strap of books in the air like a sling,
he called out lustily, "Lay low, Conwayl Here's young Baileyl"

Conway turned just in time to catch on his shoulder the blow
intended for his head. He reached forward one of his long arms-he had
arms like a windmill, that boy-and, grasping me by the hair, tore out
quite a respectable handful. The tears flew to my eyes, but they were
not the tears of defeat; they were merely the involuntary tribute
which nature paid to the departed tresses.

In a second my little jacket lay on the ground, and I stood on
guard, resting lightly on my right leg and keeping my eye fixed
steadily on Conway's-in all of which I was faithfully following the
instructions of Phil Adams, whose father subscribed to a sporting
journal.

Conway also threw himself into a defensive attitude, and there
we were, glaring at each other motionless, neither of us disposed to
risk an attack, but both on the alert to resist one. There is no
telling how long we might have remained in that absurd position, had
we not been interrupted.

It was a custom with the larger pupils to return to the
play-ground after school, and play baseball until sundown. The town
authorities had prohibited ball-playing on the Square, and, there
being no other available place, the boys fell back perforce on the
school-yard. just at this crisis a dozen or so of the Templars
entered the gate, and, seeing at a glance the belligerent status of
Conway and myself, dropped bat and ball, and rushed to the spot where
we stood.

"Is it a fight?" asked Phil Adams, who saw by our freshness that
we had not yet got to work.

"Yes, it's a fight," I answered, "unless Conway will ask
Wallace's pardon, promise never to hector me in future-and put back
my hair!"

This last condition was rather a staggerer.

"I sha'n't do nothing of the sort," said Conway, sulkily.

"Then the thing must go on," said Adams, with dignity. "Rodgers,
as I understand it, is your second, Conway? Bailey, come here. What's
the row about?"

"He was thrashing Binny Wallace."

"No, I wasn't," interrupted Conway; "but I was going to because
he knows who put Meeks's mortar over our door. And I know well enough
who did it; it was that sneaking little mulatter!" pointing at me.

"O, by George!" I cried, reddening at the insult.

"Cool is the word," said Adams, as he bound a handkerchief round
my head, and carefully tucked away the long straggling locks that
offered a tempting advantage to the enemy. "Who ever heard of a
fellow with such a head of hair going into action!" muttered Phil,
twitching the handkerchief to ascertain if it were securely tied. He
then loosened my gallowses (braces), and buckled them tightly above
my hips. "Now, then, bantam, never say die!"

Conway regarded these business-like preparations with evident
misgiving, for he called Rodgers to his side, and had himself arrayed
in a similar manner, though his hair was cropped so close that you
couldn't have taken hold of it with a pair of tweezers.

"Is your man ready?" asked Phil Adams, addressing Rodgers.

"Ready!"

"Keep your back to the gate, Tom," whispered Phil in my car,
"and you'll have the sun in his eyes."

Behold us once more face to face, like David and the Philistine.
Look at us as long as you may; for this is all you shall see of the
combat. According to my thinking, the hospital teaches a better
lesson than the battle-field. I will tell you about my black eye, and
my swollen lip, if you will; but not a word of the fight.

You'll get no description of it from me, simply because I think
it would prove very poor reading, and not because I consider my
revolt against Conway's tyranny unjustifiable.

I had borne Conway's persecutions for many months with lamb-like
patience. I might have shielded myself by appealing to Mr. Grimshaw;
but no boy in the Temple Grammar School could do that without losing
caste. Whether this was just or not doesn't matter a pin, since it
was so-a traditionary law of the place. The personal inconvenience I
suffered from my tormentor was nothing to the pain he inflicted on me
indirectly by his persistent cruelty to little Binny Wallace. I
should have lacked the spirit of a hen if I had not resented it
finally. I am glad that I faced Conway, and asked no favors, and got
rid of him forever. I am glad that Phil Adams taught me to box, and I
say to all youngsters: Learn to box, to ride, to pull an oar, and to
swim. The occasion may come round, when a decent proficiency in one
or the rest of these accomplishments will be of service to you.

In one of the best books1 ever written for boys are these
words:

"Learn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket and football.
Not one of you will be the worse, but very much the better, for
learning to box well. Should you never have to use it in earnest
there's no exercise in the world so good for the temper, and for the
muscles of the back and legs.

"As for fighting, keep out of it, if you can, by all means. When
the time comes, if ever it should, that you have to say 'Yes' or 'No'
to a challenge to fight, say 'No' if you can-only take care you make
it plain to yourself why you say 'No.' It's a proof of the highest
courage, if done from true Christian motives. It's quite right and
justifiable, if done from a simple aversion to physical pain and
danger. But don't say 'No' because you fear a licking and say or
think it's because you fear God, for that's neither Christian nor
honest. And if you do fight, fight it out; and don't give in while
you can stand and see."

And don't give in when you can't! say 1. For I could stand very
little, and see not at all (having pommelled the school pump for the
last twenty seconds), when Conway retired from the field. As Phil
Adams stepped up to shake hands with me, he received a telling blow
in the stomach; for all the fight was not out of me yet, and I
mistook him for a new adversary.

Convinced of my error, I accepted his congratulations, with
those of the other boys, blandly and blindly. I remember that Binny
Wallace wanted to give me his silver pencil-case. The gentle soul had
stood throughout the contest with his face turned to the fence,
suffering untold agony.

A good wash at the pump, and a cold key applied to my eye,
refreshed me amazingly. Escorted by two or three of the
schoolfellows, I walked home through the pleasant autumn twilight,
battered but triumphant. As I went along, my cap cocked on one side
to keep the chilly air from my eye, I felt that I was not only
following my nose, but following it so closely, that I was in some
danger of treading on it. I seemed to have nose enough for the whole
party. My left cheek, also, was puffed out like a dumpling. I
couldn't help saying to myself, "If this is victory, how about that
other fellow?"

"Tom," said Harry Blake, hesitating.

"Well?"

"Did you see Mr. Grimshaw looking out of the recitation-room
window just as we left the yard?"

"No was he, though?"

"I am sure of it."

"Then he must have seen all the row."

"Shouldn't wonder."

"No, he didn't," broke in Adams, "or he would have stopped it
short metre; but I guess be saw you pitching into the pump which you
did uncommonly strong-and of course be smelt mischief directly."

"Well, it can't be helped now," I reflected.

"-As the monkey said when he fell out of the cocoanut tree,"
added Charley Marden, trying to make me laugh.

It was early candle-light when we reached the house. Miss
Abigail, opening the front door, started back at my hilarious
appearance. I tried to smile upon her sweetly, but the smile,
rippling over my swollen cheek, and dying away like a spent wave on
my nose, produced an expression of which Miss Abigail declared she
had never seen the like excepting on the face of a Chinese idol.

She hustled me unceremoniously into the presence of my
grandfather in the sitting-room. Captain Nutter, as the recognized
professional warrior of our family, could not consistently take me to
task for fighting Conway; nor was he disposed to do so; for the
Captain was well aware of the long-continued provocation I had
endured.

"Ah, you rascal!" cried the old gentleman, after hearing my
story. "Just like me when I was young-always in one kind of trouble
or another. I believe it runs in the family."

"I think," said Miss Abigail, without the faintest expression)
on her countenance, "that a table-spoonful of hot-dro-" The Captain
interrupted Miss Abigail peremptorily, directing her to make a shade
out of cardboard and black silk to tie over my eye. Miss Abigail must
have been possessed with the idea that I had taken up pugilism as a
profession, for she turned out no fewer than six of these
blinders.

"They'll be handy to have in the house," says Miss Abigail,
grimly.

Of course, so great a breach of discipline was not to be passed
over by Mr. Grimshaw. He had, as we suspected, witnessed the closing
scene of the fight from the school-room window, and the next morning,
after prayers, I was not wholly unprepared when Master Conway and
myself were called up to the desk for examination. Conway, with a
piece of court-plaster in the shape of a Maltese cross on his right
cheek, and I with the silk patch over my left eye, caused a general
titter through the room.

"Silence!" said Mr. Grimshaw, sharply.

As the reader is already familiar with the leading points in the
case of Bailey versus Conway, I shall not report the trial further
than to say that Adams, Marden, and several other pupils testified to
the fact that Conway had imposed on me ever since my first day at the
Temple School. Their evidence also went to show that Conway was a
quarrelsome character generally. Bad for Conway. Seth Rodgers, on the
part of his friend, proved that I had struck the first blow. That was
bad for me.

"If you please, sir," said Binny Wallace, holding up his hand
for permission to speak, "Bailey didn't fight on his own account; he
fought on my account, and, if you please, sir, I am the boy to be
blamed, for I was the cause of the trouble."

This drew out the story of Conway's harsh treatment of the
smaller boys. As Binny related the wrongs of his playfellows, saying
very little of his own grievances, I noticed that Mr. Grimshaw's
hand, unknown to himself perhaps, rested lightly from time to time on
Wallace's sunny hair. The examination finished, Mr. Grimshaw leaned
on the desk thoughtfully for a moment and then said:

"Every boy in this school knows that it is against the rules to
fight. If one boy maltreats another, within school-bounds, or within
school-hours, that is a matter for me to settle. The case should be
laid before me. I disapprove of tale-bearing, I never encourage it in
the slightest degree; but when one pupil systematically persecutes a
schoolmate, it is the duty of some head-boy to inform me. No pupil
has a right to take the law into his own hands. If there is any
fighting to be done, I am the person to be consulted. I disapprove of
boys' fighting; it is unnecessary and unchristian. In the present
instance, I consider every large boy in this school at fault, but as
the offence is one of omission rather than commission, my punishment
must rest only on the two boys convicted of misdemeanor. Conway loses
his recess for a month, and Bailey has a page added to his Latin
lessons for the next four recitations. I now request Bailey and
Conway to shake hands in the presence of the school, and acknowledge
their regret at what has occurred."

Conway and I approached each other slowly and cautiously, as if
we were bent upon another hostile collision. We clasped hands in the
tamest manner imaginable, and Conway mumbled, "I'm sorry I fought
with you.'

"I think you are,' I replied, drily, "and I'm sorry I had to
thrash you."

"You can go to your seats," said Mr. Grimshaw, turning his face
aside to hide a smile. I am sure my apology was a very good one.

I never had any more trouble with Conway. He and his shadow,
Seth Rodgers, gave me a wide berth for many months. Nor was Binny
Wallace subjected to further molestation. Miss Abigail's sanitary
stores, including a bottle of opodeldoc, were never called into
requisition. The six black silk patches, with their elastic strings,
are still dangling from a beam in the garret of the Nutter House,
waiting for me to get into fresh difficulties.

1 "Tom Brown's School Days at Rugby"