Part 15 (1/2)
The gong sounded for second period; noise and bustle commenced, the Virgil cla.s.s made for the Latin recitation room with all the enthusiasm of prepared lessons. Time dragged today of all days, the day of the annual football game between the Juniors and the Seniors, so much more vivid than the wanderings of Aeneas. Red and orange, the colors of the Senior and Junior cla.s.ses respectively, were everywhere conspicuous.
But lessons had to be gotten through somehow so with open books, making the final attempt to gather up loose ends in the translation, they waited for the recitation to commence. Miss Rhodes, the young Latin teacher, had observed the cla.s.s during the three weeks of the new term.
She had noted the fact that none of the cla.s.s excelled the others, that all of them sometimes made brilliant recitations, all sometimes stumbled through pa.s.sages in a way to cause the long deceased Virgil to blush with shame. The students could have explained that if she would always call upon them for the particular seven lines which had been their portion they could always be brilliant. However, they maintained a wise and discreet silence. Scientific observation and a.n.a.lysis is never wasted, however.
”Will the cla.s.s please pa.s.s their Latin sentences to me?” Miss Rhodes requested at the beginning of the hour.
Eight pairs of eyes were instantly fixed on her in amazed consternation. Eight pairs of unwilling hands fumbled among papers and slowly gave up the one paper, which was the exact duplicate of every other paper. ”Hurry, please, cla.s.s. You may now write your translations of today's lesson for twenty minutes.”
The clock ticked, eight industrious students concentrated and slaved over Dido's curse. Translations which sounded plausible enough when orally stumbled through did not look well when written. In the meantime Miss Rhodes looked through the sentences which they had given her. Her suspicions were confirmed. The cla.s.s, unaware that they were harming only themselves, were daily copying their sentences from each other.
Stolen glances at the young and pretty teacher informed the students that her mouth had tightened, her chin had suddenly become terrifyingly firm. After an eternity had pa.s.sed the period came to an end.
”Cla.s.s is dismissed. Please rea.s.semble in this room this afternoon at 2.30,” Miss Rhodes succinctly stated. Did they hear aright? Why, this afternoon was the afternoon of the game. It was incredible. Eight seniors and one of them the crack halfback of the senior team, not to be at their own game. It was not to be dreamed of. In vain they protested.
”If you expect to graduate, you will be here at 2.30. Cheaters deserve no consideration.”
Half past two found the eight sad and wiser seniors again in the Latin room. Again they applied themselves to translating Latin into English, English into Latin, while in the distance they could hear the shouts of the football fans. The hours ticked by. The game was over, the Juniors winners in one of the closest games of years over the Seniors, who lost because of the absence of their halfback who sat translating Latin, failing his cla.s.s in their need. He would never live down the shame.
Just before dismissing this extra session of the cla.s.s, Miss Rhodes quietly said, ”Let me tell you from experience that the ability to make a good bluff is a rare gift. Good bluffs are always founded on consistent hard work.”
Slowly and sadly the Virgil cla.s.s pa.s.sed out of the room; realizing that the days of cooperative Virgil were relegated to the dim, suffering past.
THE BAND OF GIDEON
JOSEPH S. COTTER
The Band of Gideon roam the sky, The howling wind is their war-cry, The thunder's roll is their trump's peal, And the lightning's flash their vengeful steel.
Each black cloud Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud With each strong deed, ”The sword of the Lord and Gideon.”
And men below rear temples high And mock their G.o.d with reasons why, And live, in arrogance, sin and shame, And rape their souls for the world's good name.
Each black cloud Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud With each strong deed, ”The sword of the Lord and Gideon.”
The band of Gideon roam the sky And view the earth with baleful eye; In holy wrath they scourge the land With earthquake, storm and burning brand.
Each black cloud Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud With each strong deed, ”The sword of the Lord and Gideon.”
The lightnings flash and the thunders roll, And ”Lord have mercy on my soul,”
Cry men as they fall on the stricken sod, In agony searching for their G.o.d.
Each black cloud Is a fiery steed.