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was Pepper Whitcomb）； who made some mysterious motions to me。 I
didn't understand them； but； as they were clearly of a pacific nature； I
winked my eye at him。 This appeared to be satisfactory； for he then went
on with his studies。 At recess he gave me the core of his apple； though
there were several applicants for it。
Presently a boy in a loose olive…green jacket with two rows of brass
buttons held up a folded paper behind his slate； intimating that it was
intended for me。 The paper was passed skillfully from desk to desk until it
reached my hands。 On opening the scrap； I found that it contained a small
piece of molasses candy in an extremely humid state。 This was certainly
kind。 I nodded my acknowledgments and hastily slipped the delicacy into
my mouth。 In a second I felt my tongue grow red…hot with cayenne pepper。
My face must have assumed a comical expression； for the boy in the
olive…green jacket gave an hysterical laugh； for which he was instantly
punished by Mr。 Grimshaw。 I swallowed the fiery candy； though it brought
the water to my eyes； and managed to look so unconcerned that I was the
only pupil in the form who escaped questioning as to the cause of
Marden's misdemeanor。 C。 Marden was his name。
Nothing else occurred that morning to interrupt the exercises；
excepting that a boy in the reading class threw us all into convulsions by
calling Absalom A…bol'…som 〃Abolsom； O my son Abolsom！〃 I laughed as
loud as anyone； but I am not so sure that I shouldn't have pronounced it
Abolsom myself。
At recess several of the scholars came to my desk and shook hands
with me； Mr。 Grimshaw having previously introduced me to Phil Adams；
charging him to see that I got into no trouble。 My new acquaintances
suggested that we should go to the playground。 We were no sooner out…of…
doors than the boy with the red hair thrust his way through the crowd and
placed himself at my side。
'I say； youngster； if you're comin' to this school you've got to toe the
mark。〃
I didn't see any mark to toe； and didn't understand what be meant； but I
replied politely； that； if it was the custom of the school； I should be happy
to toe the mark； if he would point it out to me。
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〃I don't want any of your sarse；〃 said the boy； scowling。
〃Look here； Conwayl〃 cried a clear voice from the other side of the
playground。 〃You let young Bailey alone。 He's a stranger here； and might
be afraid of you； and thrash you。 Why do you always throw yourself in the
way of getting thrashed？〃
I turned to the speaker； who by this time had reached the spot where
we stood。 Conway slunk off； favoring me with a parting scowl of defiance。
I gave my hand to the boy who had befriended me … his name was Jack
Harris…and thanked him for his good…will。
〃I tell you what it is； Bailey；〃 he said； returning my pressure good…
naturedly； 〃you'll have to fight Conway before the quarter ends； or you'll
have no rest。 That fellow is always hankering after a licking； and of course
you'll give him one by and by； but what's the use of hurrying up an
unpleasant job？ Let's have some baseball。 By the way； Bailey； you were a
good kid not to let on to Grimshaw about the candy。 Charley Marden
would have caught it twice as heavy。 He's sorry he played the joke on you；
and told me to tell you so。 Hallo； Blake！ Where are the bats？〃
This was addressed to a handsome； frank…looking lad of about my own
age； who was engaged just then in cutting his initials on the bark of a tree
near the schoolhouse。 Blake shut up his penknife and went off to get the
bats。
During the game which ensued I made the acquaintance of Charley
Marden； Binny Wallace； Pepper Whitcomb； Harry Blake； and Fred
Langdon。 These boys； none of them more than a year or two older than I
（Binny Wallace was younger）； were ever after my chosen comrades。 Phil
Adams and Jack Harris were considerably our seniors； and； though they
always treated us 〃kids〃 very kindly； they generally went with another set。
Of course； before long I knew all the Temple boys more or less intimately；
but the five I have named were my constant companions。
My first day at the Temple Grammar School was on the whole
satisfactory。 I had made several warm friends and only two permanent
enemies…Conway and his echo； Seth Rodgers； for these two always went
together like a deranged stomach and a headache。
Before the end of the week I had my studies well in hand。 I was a little
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The Story of a Bad Boy
ashamed at finding myself at the foot of the various classes； and secretly
determined to deserve promotion。 The school was an admirable one。 I
might make this part of my story more entertaining by picturing Mr。
Grimshaw as a tyrant with a red nose and a large stick； but unfortunately
for the purposes of sensational narrative； Mr。 Grimshaw was a quiet；
kindhearted gentleman。 Though a rigid disciplinarian； he had a keen sense
of justice； was a good reader of character； and the boys respected him。
There were two other teachers…a French tutor and a writing…master； who
visited the school twice a week。 On Wednesdays and Saturdays we were
dismissed at noon； and these half…holidays were the brightest epochs of my
existence。
Daily contact with boys who had not been brought up as gently as I
worked an immediate； and； in some respects； a beneficial change in my
character。 I had the nonsense taken out of me； as the saying is…some of the
nonsense； at least。 I became more manly and self…reliant。 I discovered that
the world was not created exclusively on my account。 In New Orleans I
labored under the delusion that it was。 Having neither brother nor sister to
give up to at home； and being； moreover； the largest pupil at school there；
my will had seldom been opposed。 At Rivermouth matters were different；
and I was not long in adapting myself to the altered circumstances。 Of
course I got many severe rubs； often unconsciously given； but I bad the
sense to see that I was all the better for them。 My social relations with
my new schoolfellows were the pleasantest possible。 There was always
some exciting excursion on foot…a ramble through the pine woods； a visit
to the Devil's Pulpit； a high cliff in the neighborhood…or a surreptitious low
on the river； involving an exploration of a group of diminutive islands；
upon one of which we pitched a tent and played we were the Spanish
sailors who got wrecked there years ago。 But the endless pine forest that
skirted the town was our favorite haunt。 There was a great green pond
hidden somewhere in its depths； inhabited by a monstrous colony of turtles。
Harry Blake； who had an eccentric passion for carving his name on
everything； never let a captured turtle slip through his fingers without
leaving his mark engraved on its shell。 He must have lettered about two
thousand from first to last。 We used to call them Harry Blake's sheep。
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These turtles were of a discontented and migratory turn of mind； and
we frequently encountered two or three of them on the cross…roads several
miles from their ancestral mud。 Unspeakable was our delight whenever we
discovered one soberly walking off with Harry Blake's initials！ I've no
doubt there are； at this moment； fat ancient turtles wandering about that
gummy woodland with H。B。 neatly cut on their venerable backs。
It soon became a custom among my playmates to make our barn their
rendezvous。 Gypsy proved a strong attraction。 Captain Nutter bought me a
little two…wheeled cart； which she drew quite nicely； after kicking out the
dasher and breaking the shafts once or twice。 With our lunch…baskets and
fishing…tackle stowed away under the seat； we used to start off early in the
afternoon for the se