Chicken Little Jane on the Big John Part 37

"But I thought he was just going to the Naval Academy--why does he have to be sworn in as if he were enlisting?"

"Because he, practically, has enlisted. He enters the government service when he enters the academy, and he simply takes his oath of allegiance."

Mrs. Morton's questioning was interrupted by the entrance of Sherm, Frank, and Marian, who came in demanding news.

"Don't worry, Mother," said Frank, patting her shoulder, "your precious lamb is in good hands. He'll be back next September such a dude the family won't know how to behave in his presence." Frank couldn't resist teasing even when he tried to comfort.

Mrs. Morton sighed. "A great many things can happen in a year."

"Yes, Mother dear, they can, but most always they don't. The only things you can depend on are bad weather and work."

A letter soon followed the telegram, giving details of the examinations, and a glimpse of Ernest's new life, which comforted his mother, because he was forming punctual habits and had to go regularly to chapel whether he wished to or not. He had met Carol unexpectedly, to their mutual joy.

"He's an awfully handsome chap--knows it, too, but I think he has too much sense to let it spoil him. It's jolly to have some one I know here," Ernest wrote.

School began for Chicken Little at the little brown schoolhouse a mile distant, on the fifteenth of September. Chicken Little and the whole Morton family rejoiced, for she had been a most dissatisfied young person of late. Her mother watched her walk away down the lane, immaculate in her new flower-bordered calico, lunch basket in hand, with positive thankfulness.

"Glad to have her out of the way, aren't you, Mother? Jane is too restless a girl to be idle," laughed Marian.

Jane had spoken to her father about her plan for Sherm and he had heartily agreed. But Sherm was not to begin until the first of November when the most pressing of the farm work would be over.

Chicken Little promptly talked the matter over also with the new teacher, Mr. Clay, a young man of twenty-one, fresh from his junior year at college. He was wide awake and attractive, and while ignorant, as they, of many of the niceties of polite society, seemed a very elegant being to the majority of his new pupils. Mamie Jenkins had concluded to stay at home for the fall term instead of going to the Garland High School. For some reason it took an astonis.h.i.+ng number of consultations with the teacher to arrange Mamie's course satisfactorily, especially when she learned that Sherm would be coming soon. She quizzed Chicken Little carefully as to what studies Sherm would take.

"Geometry and Latin, I think. I asked Mr. Clay and he said he could.

Maybe bookkeeping, too."

"I was just thinking I ought to go on with my Latin. I had Beginning Latin last year, and I really ought to take Caesar right away before I forget."

Jane regarded her thoughtfully. She happened to know that Sherm was planning to study Cicero. How mad Mamie would be if she started Caesar all alone! She had half a mind to let her go ahead. Mamie had spent the entire morning recess telling her how the boys bored her hanging round.

Yes, it would do Mamie good to have to recite alone. Chicken Little shut her lips firmly for a second. When she opened them, she replied that she understood Caesar was a very interesting study.

Mamie bridled and said condescendingly: "It's a pity you haven't had Latin so you could come into the cla.s.s, too."

"Oh, I see enough of Sherm at home!" returned Chicken Little maliciously. Mamie had the faculty of always rubbing her up the wrong way.

Mamie gave her shoulders a fling. "Of course, I always forget you are just a little girl, Jane. You're so big and----" Mamie didn't finish her sentence. She merely glanced expressively at Jane's long legs. "I think I'll go in and talk to Mr. Clay. He must be sick of having all those kids hanging round him."

Mamie sailed off in state, leaving Jane feeling as if she had run her hand into a patch of nettles. She was standing there in the suns.h.i.+ne looking after Mamie resentfully when Grant Stowe came along.

He nodded toward the schoolhouse door through which Mamie had vanished.

"What's Miss Flirtie been saying to make you so ruffled? She's begun to sit up nights now fixing her cap for the teacher. Bet you a cookie he's too slick for her."

Chicken Little laughed, but retorted: "Humph, how many times have you sat on her front porch this summer?"

Grant reddened. "Oh, we're neighbors, and a fellow has to kill time summer evenings. Father and mother always go to bed with the chickens and it's no fun listening to the frogs all by yourself. Suppose your folks wouldn't let anybody come to see you--I hear they're all-fired particular."

Jane did not have an opportunity to answer. One of the little girls came begging her to play Blackman with a group of the younger children. Grant suggested that she choose up for one side, and he would for the other.

She had just begun to choose when Mr. Clay appeared at her elbow. "May I play on your side, Jane?"

"Teacher's" entrance into the game acted like magic. The few big boys who had come on this first day, edged near enough to be seen and were speedily brought into the sport. Mamie, venturing languidly to the door to see what had become of Mr. Clay, suddenly decided she was not too big to play "just this once."

Teacher and Jane were both swift runners and Grant had hard work to make a showing. Mamie sweetly let herself be caught by teacher the first rush, to Grant's openly expressed disgust. The big boys warmed into envious rivalry with Mr. Clay right from the start, but he soon convinced them that they would have to work, if they worsted him at any of their games or exercises.

Chicken Little found team work with him very delightful and could scarcely believe the noon hour was over, when he pulled out his watch and announced that he must call school. She turned a radiant face up to him.

"Oh, it's such fun to have you play--I wish you would often."

"Thank you, it's fine exercise, isn't it?"

Mamie began her Caesar the next day, requiring much help from "Teacher."

She also came to school in her best dress. Mamie had faith in first impressions. Chicken Little had been tempted the night before to betray Mamie's schemes to Sherm, but she stopped with the words on the tip of her tongue. She couldn't exactly have explained the scruple that would not let her "give Mamie away," as she phrased it.

"Is the teacher any good?" Sherm had asked, meeting her at the ford on her way home, and taking lunch basket and books with an air of possession, which was the one trick of Sherm's that annoyed Chicken Little. He never asked leave or offered to relieve her of burdens; he merely reached over and took them.

She minded this more than usual to-day; Mr. Clay's manner had been so delightful. She couldn't even thank Sherm. They trudged along in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Sherm asked dryly: "Left your tongue at school, Miss Morton?--you're not very sociable."

Chicken Little responded by making a face at him, which brought an ominous sparkle into the boy's eyes. Things hadn't gone very well with him that day and he had waited for Jane for a little companioning.

"Well," he demanded gruffly, "what's the matter? Did Mr. Clay stand you in a corner the first day or did the handsome Grant neglect you for Mamie?"

The last thrust put fire in Chicken Little's eye. She turned and looked at him squarely.

"Sherm, if I slapped you some day would you be surprised?" she demanded unexpectedly.

Sherm flashed a sidelong glance at her. "Not as surprised as you'll be, if you ever try it."

Chicken Little considered this remark. Just what did he mean?

Sherm's face was flushed a trifle angrily. He looked as if he might mean most anything. She replied demurely with a provoking shrug of her shoulders.

"I didn't say I should--but I wanted to dreadfully a minute ago."

The tall lad beside her seemed genuinely surprised at this statement.

"I suppose you know what you are talking about, Chicken Little, but I'm blamed if I do."

"It's the way you take my books and----"

"Yes?" Sherm was still more surprised. Then an idea popping into his mind, "Oh, I presume you'd like to have me take off my hat and make you a profound reverence as your favorite heroes do in novels. What in thunder you girls find to like in those trashy novels is more than I can see!"

Chicken Little bristled. "Hm-n, Walter Scott and Was.h.i.+ngton Irving, trashy! Shows how much you know, if you have graduated from High School, Sherman Dart! Besides, I didn't mean any such thing. Only, you sort of take my things without asking--as if--as if----" She was getting into rather deeper water than she had antic.i.p.ated.

"Yes, as if what?"

"Oh, I don't suppose you mean it that way--but you act as if I was only a silly little girl--and didn't count!"

Chicken Little was decidedly red in the face by the time she finished.

Sherm didn't say anything for a moment, but he continued to look at her.