6. CHAPTER VI.
EXPERIMENTUM CRUCIS.
“The truth is, Gyles,” said Abel to Blanding, his chum,
“Gabriel Bennet's mother ought to come and take him home
for the summer to play with the other calves in the country.
People shouldn't leave their spoons about.”
The two boys went in to tea.
In the evening, as the pupils were sitting in the dining-room,
as usual, some chatting, some reading, others quite
ready to go to bed,
“Mr. Gray,” said Abel to Uncle Savory, who was sitting
talking with Mrs. Gray, whose hands, which were never idle,
were now busily knitting.
“Well, Abel.”
“Suppose we have some game.”
“Certainly. Boys, what shall we do? Let us see. There's
the Grand Mufti, and the Elements, and My ship's come loaded
with—and—well, what shall it be?”
“Mr. Gray, it's a good while since we've tried all calling
out together. We haven't done it since Gabriel Bennet
came.”
“No, we haven't,” answered Mr. Gray, as his small eyes
twinkled at the prospect of a little fun; “no, we haven't.
Now, boys, of course a good many of you have played the
game before. But you, new boys, attend! the thing is this.
When I say three—one, two, three!—every body is to shout out
the name of his sweet-heart. The fun is that nobody hears
any thing, because every body bawls so loud. You see?”
asked he, apparently feeling for his handkerchief. “Gabriel,
before we begin, just run into the study and get my handkerchief.”
Gabriel, full of expectation of the fun, ran out of the room.
The moment he closed the door Mr. Gray lifted his finger and
said,
“Now, boys! every body remain perfectly quiet when I
say three.”
It was needless to explain why, for every body saw the intended
joke, and Gabriel returned instantly from the study
saying that the handkerchief was not there.
“No matter,” said Mr. Gray. “Are you all ready, boys.
Now, then—one, two, three!”
As the word left Mr. Gray's lips, Gabriel, candid, full of
spirit, jumped up from his seat with the energy of his effort,
and shouted out at the top of his voice,
“Hope Wayne!”
—It was cruel. That name alone broke the silence, ringing
out in enthusiastic music.
Gabriel's face instantly changed. Still standing erect and
dismayed, he looked rapidly around the room from boy to boy,
and at Mr. Gray. There was just a moment of utter silence,
and then a loud peal of laughter.
Gabriel's color came and went. His heart winced, but not
his eye. Young hearts are tender, and a joke like this cuts
deeply. But just as he was about to yield, and drop the tell-tale
tear of a sensitive, mortified boy, he caught the eye of
Abel Newt. It was calmly studying him as a Roman surgeon
may have watched the gladiator in the arena, while his lifeblood
ebbed away. Gabriel remembered Abel's words in the
play-ground—“There's more than one kind of fagging.”
When the laugh was over, Gabriel's had been loudest of all.
