Part 3 (2/2)

”I hate the idea of it,” a.s.serted Hal. ”I hate these public show-offs, besides, I don't feel well. I wish they would make some other chap do it.” But neither masters nor boys would take no for an answer. Then disaster threatened, for a week before the event Hal fell really ill; a slow fever seemed to grip him, and if Sir George and Lady Bennington had not been already on the sea on their homeward way, Professor Warwick would have felt very much like cabling them. Hal was utterly disgusted when it was mentioned to him. ”Don't you think of it,” he growled.

”You've done as I wished about not telling them about that bally accident, and don't you hurry them home for me.” So the boy was made to stay in bed, and, truth to tell, he was too ill to remonstrate much.

But the night before the viceregal visit Hal knew in his heart that he was too ill to go out and read the address. Late at night he sent for Professor Warwick, told him the truth, and asked him to get subst.i.tute.

”My boy, I am more distressed than I can say,” began the Professor.

”Your illness is worse than any upsetting of arrangements; we are getting a trained nurse for you, and I shall relieve your mind of all worries. We have hardly time now to consult everyone about a subst.i.tute, but if I tell the boys you have appointed a deputy, so to speak, I think they will be satisfied.”

”Then let s.h.a.g Larocque take my place,” decided Hal instantly.

”Very appropriate, too, I should say,” replied the Professor spontaneously. ”Lord Mortimer has seen s.h.a.g and knows him; very appropriate.”

So Hal slept that night contentedly, with never a dream of the storm that would burst on the morrow.

The first indication of the tempest was when Locke burst into his room after breakfast, with, ”Hal, you _must_ be sick! Why, man alive, you are clean batty! s.h.a.g read that address--why, it is impossible!”

”And why?” said Hal, glaring at him.

”He can't do it; we won't let him; we won't have that Indian heading the whole school!”

”Who won't?”

”We! we! we!--Do you hear it? _We_!” yelled Locke.

”You and Shorty and Simpson and about two others, I suppose,” answered Hal. ”Well, he's going to read it; now, get out and shut the door--I feel a draft.”

”Well, he isn't going to read it!” thundered Locke, banging the door after himself as he stormed down the hall to the cla.s.srooms, where the boys were collecting to arrange details for the day. Hal s.h.i.+vered back into the bedclothes, listening anxiously to various footsteps trailing past. He could occasionally catch fragments of conversation; everyone seemed to be in a high state of excitement. He could hear his own name, then s.h.a.g's, then Shorty's, and sometimes Locke's.

”I've evidently kicked up a hornets' nest,” he smiled weakly to himself, too tired and ill to care whether the hornets stung or not. Presently Locke returned. ”I tell you, Hal, it won't do; that Indian isn't a fit representative of this college.”

”The masters won't do a thing; you've got to appoint someone else.

You're disgracing the college,” said Shorty at the door. ”We won't stand for it, Hal; this is no North-West Indian school. We won't have it, I tell you!”

”s.h.a.g's going to read that address!” said Hal, sitting up with an odd drawn but determined look around his mouth.

”Well, he isn't!” blurted Shorty. ”There's a big meeting in the cla.s.sroom, and there's a row on--the biggest row you ever saw.”

”s.h.a.g Larocque read that address!” yelled Simpson from the hall; ”not if I know it! He's not a decent sport, even--he won't resent an insult.

I called him a Red River halfbreed and he never said a word--just swallowed it!”

”Shut that door!” shouted Hal, the color surging into his face, ”and shut yourselves on the outside! Go to the cla.s.sroom, insult him all you like, but you'll be sorry for it--take my word for it!”

Once more they banged the door. No sooner was it closed than Hal sprang out of bed. His legs shook with weakness, his hands trembled with illness, but he began to get into some clothes, and his young face flushed scarlet and white in turn.

Out in the cla.s.sroom a perfect bedlam reigned. Dozens of voices shouted, ”s.h.a.g's the man for us! Hurrah for s.h.a.g!” and dozens replied, ”Who will join the anti-Indians? Who will vote for a white man to represent white men? This ain't an Indian school--get out with the Indians!”

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