CHAPTER SEVEN

The New Teacher

SUMMER VACATION CAME to an end. We all went down to the depot to see Sweyn off for Salt Lake City to attend a Catholic academy and boarding school. Mamma was crying. Papa kept clearing his throat. I felt a lump in my throat that wouldn’t go up and wouldn’t go down. Tom was very quiet. The only one who didn’t appear even a little upset was Sweyn.

“Please stop crying, Mamma,” he said.

“What if Father O’Malley forgets to meet you at the depot in Salt Lake?” Mamma sobbed.

“You saw the telegram from Father O’Malley saying he would meet me,” Sweyn said. “Please stop crying, Mamma. People are staring at us. I’m not a little boy.”

Mamma dried her tears with a handkerchief. “You are right, my son,” she said. “You are not a little boy. I know I don’t have to ask you to promise you will write every week.”

The train came. There were kisses, hugs, good-byes, and more tears from Mamma. Sweyn boarded the train. He stood by a window, waving at us as the train pulled out of the station.

I put my arm around Tom’s shoulders. “Old S.D. certainly has courage,” I said. “He didn’t even cry.”

“That was an act put on for Mamma and Papa,” Tom aid. “As soon as the train gets around the bend he will need that extra handkerchief Mamma. put in his pocket.”

“It is going to be lonesome without S.D. around,” I said.

“That is life, J.D.,” Tom said. “When I graduate from the sixth grade, I will be leaving home for the first time to go to school in Salt Lake just like him.”

I didn’t cry when Sweyn left, but I knew I would bawl like a baby when the day came for Tom to leave.

Our friend Andy Anderson didn’t start to school with Tom and me that year. He had stepped on a rusty nail while playing in an abandoned barn on the outskirts of town a couple of weeks before school started. Andy didn’t tell his parents about stepping on the rusty nail because he had been forbidden to play in the barn ever since Seth Smith’s accident. We had been playing follow-the-leader, and Seth was the leader when the accident happened. Seth was going hand over hand across the rafters in the barn when one of them broke. He had fallen on the railing of a stall, breaking two of his ribs. All the kids in town had been forbidden by their parents to play in the barn after Seth’s accident. What parents didn’t seem to realize was that this was one sure way to make us kids play in the barn.

Andy knew he would get a whipping if he told his parents about stepping on the rusty nail. He kept the secret of his injured foot from his mother and father until blood poisoning had set in and turned into gangrene. By that time there was nothing else Dr. LeRoy could do but to amputate Andy’s left leg just below the knee to prevent the gangrene from spreading. I guess Tom missed Andy more than I did because he was nearer Andy’s age, being just a year older.

My first day in school, as I got acquainted with our new teacher, Mr. Standish, I couldn’t help thinking that Andy was lucky he didn’t have to start to school.

Calvin Whitlock and the other two members of the school board, Mrs. Granger and Mr. Douglas, had decided Miss Thatcher was getting too old to teach school. Without even consulting us kids, they had retired Miss Thatcher and hired Mr. Standish to teach the first through the sixth grades in our one-room schoolhouse. Their decision brought about a complete change in the way students were disciplined. Miss Thatcher had her own system. When a student broke any of the rules, she wrote a note to the parents, leaving the punishment up to the parents. It was a good system because the punishment meted out by the parents was always more drastic than anything Miss Thatcher could have done. Just dipping a girl’s pigtails in an inkwell called for a whipping by most parents.

Miss Thatcher had been smart enough to know how tough the first day back at school is for kids. She had always pretended not to see any mischief going on that first day. But Mr. Standish let us know there would be no nonsense even on the first day of school.

He was a man in his late thirties with jet black hair that came to a widow’s peak on his forehead, giving him a sinister appearance.

“Students will come to order,” he said, rapping a ruler on his desk right after we’d been assigned our desks and seats.

Nobody paid any attention to him because Miss Thatcher had always called us .to order three or four times on the first day of school before we obeyed.

Mr. Standish looked at the front row of first graders, then at the second row of second graders, and then at the rows of third, fourth, and fifth graders, and finally at the back row of sixth graders. Not a single student had come to order. Mr. Standish then took out his watch.

“For every minute you fail to come to order,” he said, “you will all remain for fifteen minutes after school.”

We came to order in a hurry.

Mr. Standish put his watch back in his pocket. Then he pointed at a paddle in the corner. "I am here to educate you children,” he said, “and I will not tolerate anything that interferes with your education. The paddle will be used on boys of all ages who shoot spitballs, dip a girl’s pigtails in an inkwell, put a frog or any other animal in a girl’s desk, throw chalk, or any other infraction of the rules.”

Then he picked up a ruler from his desk. “This ruler will be used on the palms of girls who break the rules, and they will be forced to remain after school and clean blackboards and erasers.”

Mr. Standish let us know beyond doubt that first day of school, he was not only our teacher but our warden as well. He paddled five boys so hard they all cried. He made three girls remain after school to clean blackboards and erasers.

I was completely cowed when I left the one-room schoolhouse that first day. “That Mr. Standish is a holy terror,” I said to Tom as we walked home. “He’s got me so scared I’m afraid to go to school.”

“He’s a mean one all right,” Tom agreed.

“I’d hate to be Jimmie Peterson,” I said. “Mr. Standish is taking board and room at Jimmie’s mother’s boarding house. It’s tough enough having Mr. Standish for a teacher, but poor old Jimmie has to live in the same house with him.”

“I’m not going to worry about Mr. Standish,” Tom said.

Three days later Tom had to worry about Mr. Standish. Hal Evans put a live frog in Muriel Cranston’s desk. Like any girl, she began screaming and carrying on when she opened her desk and saw the frog. Mr. Standish got the frog and threw it out the window. Then he stood before the class.

“I want the boy who did that to come right up here,” he said, which was a silly thing to say in my opinion.

When nobody moved, Mr. Standish pointed at Basil, who had the desk behind Muriel.

“Basil, come up here,” Mr. Standish ordered.

This was Basil’s first year in an American school. I could tell he was frightened as he stood up.

“I no do it” he said.

“Your desk is right behind Muriel’s desk,” Mr. Standish said. “If you didn’t do it, you must have seen who did.”

“I no see,” Basil said, so frightened I thought he was going to start jabbering in Greek.

“I think you did,” Mr. Standish said. “Now you either tell me who did it if you didn’t do it or come up here and take a paddling.”

Basil walked to the front of the classroom as Mr. Standish got the paddle from the corner.

Tom stood up. “You can’t paddle Basil,” he said. “He didn’t do it.”

Mr. Standish looked at Tom like a cat at a mouse. “If you know for a fact that Basil didn’t put the frog in Muriel’s desk,” he said, “then you must know who did. I want the name of the boy who did.”

Tom folded his arms on his chest. “I’m no tattletale,” he said defiantly.

Mr. Standish told Basil to return to his desk. Then the new teacher ordered Tom to the front of the classroom.

“You will tell me who put the frog in Muriel’s desk or take a paddling yourself,” Mr. Standish said.

“You can’t paddle me for something I didn’t do,” Tom said, glaring at the teacher.

“But I can paddle you for not telling me who did it.” Mr. Standish had an answer for everything.

“I’m not going to tell, and I’m not going to take a paddling,” Tom said defiantly.

“We’ll see about that,” Mr. Standish said as he grabbed my brother and threw Tom across his knees.

I felt tears come into my eyes as I watched Mr. Standish give Tom ten hard whacks with the paddle. The tears weren’t for the pain I knew Tom was suffering. I knew my brother could stand pain like an Indian without crying. The tears were for the humiliation I knew Tom was enduring.

“Maybe that will teach you to respect your teacher,” Mr. Standish said as he let Tom go.

I was proud of my brother. There were no tears in his eyes as he glared at the new teacher.

“You’ll be sorry for this,” he said.

Mr. Standish pointed at Tom. “You keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll give you another paddling” he threatened.

It was the rawest deal a kid ever got from a teacher. I couldn’t wait for school to let out so we could tell Papa and Uncle Mark. Finally the school day was over and I walked home with my brother.

“When we tell Papa that Mr. Standish paddled you for nothing,” I said, “he will write an editorial and get the new teacher fired. And when we tell Uncle Mark, he will arrest Mr. Standish and put the new teacher in jail. There must be some kind of a law against a teacher paddling a kid for nothing.”

“We aren’t going to tell Papa or Uncle Mark or anybody,” Tom said to my surprise. “I can take care of myself. Mr. Standish will rue the day he paddled me because I wouldn’t be a tattletale.”

My brother sounded like a prophet of doom. I felt a chill come over me.

“What are you going to do?” I asked breathlessly.

“I’m going to put my great brain to work on getting rid of Mr. Standish,” Tom answered.

“Oh boy!” I shouted. “I’d hate to be in his shoes.”

“When we get home,” Tom said “I want you to sneak the bottle of liniment out of the medicine cabinet without Mamma seeing you and bring it up to our room. You can rub it on my behind. I’ll bet it is black and blue.”

I was disappointed when a whole week passed without my brother’s great brain devising a scheme for getting rid of Mr. Standish. The new teacher paddled several kids the second week of school. He didn’t paddle Tom or me because he had no reason for doing so.

Saturday came. Tom and I did our chores. Then Tom went up to his loft in the barn to put his great brain to work on getting rid of Mr. Standish. He stayed up in his loft all day.

That night after supper Tom sat on the floor in the parlor, staring into the fireplace. I knew his great brain was working like sixty because his forehead was wrinkled. Just before it was time for our Saturday night baths, he got up and walked over to where Papa was reading the New York World.

“What does a schoolteacher have to do to be dismissed by the schoolboard?” he asked.

Papa laid aside the newspaper. “Is Mr. Standish that bad?” he asked. “I know some parents have complained that the new teacher uses the paddle quite freely.”

“All the kids hate him and want Miss Thatcher back,” Tom said.

“I’m afraid, T.D.,” Papa said, “they are going to have to put up with Mr. Standish for at least the rest of the school year. And it is in his contract that he can use the paddle or any other means he wishes to keep discipline in school.”

“There must be something a teacher can do that will make a schoolboard dismiss him,” Tom said.

“There are several things,” Papa said. “A schoolteacher must maintain a reputation that is beyond reproach. Now, a teacher who drank or gambled or used profanity, for example, would be considered too immoral to be in charge of children. But your Mr. Standish does none of these things.”

Mamma came into the parlor at that moment and said it was time for our baths. I was the youngest and so I had to go first.

Monday morning during recess I saw Tom talking to Jimmie Peterson. I also saw him hold whispered conversations with several other kids during the afternoon recess. He didn’t tell me what was going on until we were on our way home from school that day.

“I’ve called a meeting in our barn of all the kids who aren’t Mormons,” he told me.

“Your great brain has figured out a way to get rid of Mr. Standish!” I cried with excitement.

“Mr. Standish will rue the day he paddled me,” Tom said.

“But why no Mormon kids?” I asked. “They hate him as much as we do.”

“You’ll find out why later,” Tom said.

A short time later fourteen kids besides Tom and me were assembled in our barn. Tom climbed up the rope ladder to his loft. He came right back down carrying the skull of the Indian chief that always sat on an upturned keg in the loft. He placed it on a bale of hay.

“My great brain has figured out a way to get rid of Mr. Standish,” he announced. “But before I tell you about it, I want you all to take an oath on the skull of this dead Indian chief.”

Danny Forester had never been up to Tom’s loft. “How do we know it is the skull of a dead Indian chief?” he asked.

“Because my Uncle Mark who gave it to me says so,” Tom answered. “He is the marshal and a deputy sheriff and his word is the law. Now do you believe it?”

“If your Uncle Mark says so,” Danny answered.

“Now line up,” Tom said. “Come forward one at a time and place your right hand on the skull of this dead Indian chief, and swear you will never tell anybody what we are going to do to get rid of Mr. Standish.”

One by one we all took the oath never to tell.

Tom then raised his hands over his head. “I call upon the ghost of this dead Indian chief to come back to earth and cut out the tongue of anybody who tells,” he chanted. Then he looked at us and said in his natural voice, “And just to make sure, I will personally give two black eyes and a bloody nose to anybody who does tell.”

Tom then picked up an empty gunnysack and held it up. “Behold, the first step in Mr. Standish’s downfall,” he said.

Basil took a step forward. "Me no understand,” he said.

“It is only the first step,” Tom said. Then he looked at Sammy Leeds. “Can you sneak out of your house after curfew tonight?” he asked.

"Sure," Sammy answered.

"Meet me here,” Tom said. "Wait until you hear the curfew whistle blow and then leave your house. The rest of you meet me here tomorrow after school. I will tell you then of the rest of my plan and why no Mormon kids were invited.”

I watched Tom remove the screen from our bedroom window that night right after the curfew whistle at the powerhouse sounded. He leaned out the window and grabbed a limb of the elm tree by the side of the house. He went hand over hand down the limb to the trunk of the tree. I watched him shinny down the trunk and disappear into the darkness. I was sure I wouldn’t fall asleep until he got back, but the next thing I knew it was morning.

“Did everything go all right last night?” I asked.

“Perfect “ Tom answered.

I thought that school day would never end. It just seemed to drag on and on. Tom and I and the other fourteen kids were on our good behavior all day so nobody would be kept after school.

The moment we had been waiting for finally came as we all trooped into our barn after school let out. Tom removed a gunnysack from beneath some hay. Something in it made a tinkling sound.

“Last night under the cover of darkness,” Tom said, “Sammy and I, with the stealth of Indian scouts, made our way to the rear of The Whitehorse Saloon. There we obtained part of the evidence that will get rid of Mr. Standish.”

I watched breathlessly as Tom removed two empty quart whiskey bottles and two empty pint whiskey flasks from the gunnysack.

“The plan my great brain devised for getting rid of Mr. Standish is to convince the schoolboard that he is a secret drinker,” Tom explained. “With Jimmie’s help we will plant evidence in Mr. Standish’s room.”

I thought I saw through the plan. “Jimmie will put the empty whiskey bottles in the teacher’s room?”

“Not empty ones,” Tom said.

I didn’t understand. “How are kids like us going to get whiskey?” I asked.

“My great brain has thought of everything,” Tom said confidently. “That is why I didn’t let any Mormon kids in on this. The Mormons can’t drink whiskey because it’s against their religion. Now how many of you have fathers who drink whiskey or keep it in the house for medicinal purposes?”

P

Twelve kids raised their hands.

“Good,” Tom said. “Now how many of you think you could sneak just one drink out of the bottle?”

Basil stepped forward. “Why only one drink?” he asked.

“Because if we take any more our fathers might get suspicious,” Tom answered.

“My pa,” Danny Forester spoke up, “keeps his bottle in the pantry. I could sneak in there when Ma isn’t in the kitchen, but how am I going to carry it?”

“J.D.,” Tom said to me, “go up to the loft and get that old hot water bottle of Mamma’s.”

I scooted up the rope ladder to the loft and back down with the hot water bottle.

“Now watch me closely,” Tom said as he took the hot water bottle. “You open your shirt and put the hot water bottle under it and down in your pants. Then you unscrew the top like this.” He picked up one of the empty quart whiskey bottles. “Now pretend this is your father’s bottle of whiskey. You take the cork out and pour a drink from the whiskey bottle into the hot water bottle. You screw back the cap on the hot water bottle like this. You can button up your shirt and if you hold in your belly you can walk right by anybody without them getting suspicious.”

“What a brain!” Danny Forester shouted. “We can go to my house right now. Pa is at work and Ma is over helping my Aunt Sarah do some canning.”

“All right, Danny,” Tom said with a grin, “We’ll begin Mr. Standish’s downfall with you.”

One of the greatest whiskey raids ever made took place after school during the rest of the week. Papa’s bottle was short a couple of ounces along with the bottles belonging to the fathers of twelve other kids. When the raid was over, there was enough whiskey in the hot water bottle to pour about three ounces of whiskey into each of the pint bottles and about six ounces into one of the quart bottles.

The success of Tom’s plan to get rid of Mr. Standish depended a great deal on Jimmie Peterson. Tom met with Jimmie and Sammy Leeds in our barn on Saturday morning. I was permitted to attend the meeting.

“I printed this note,” Tom said as he handed Sammy an envelope. “Tomorrow night after curfew you sneak out of your house and slip the note and envelope under Calvin Whitlock’s front door. Got it?”

“Got it,” Sammy said as he put the note in his pocket.

“Now, Jimmie,” Tom said, “tonight after curfew I’ll sneak out of the house. I’ll hide the pint flask and quart bottle with whiskey in them in your woodshed where I showed you. You’ve got all day tomorrow to wait for just the perfect chance to sneak them up to your room and hide them. Monday morning after Mr. Standish leaves for the schoolhouse, it will be up to you to hide the pint flask under his pillow and the quart bottle in his clothes closet. Got it?”

“Got it,” Jimmie said, grinning.

“Tomorrow night after curfew,” Tom said, “I’ll sneak out of the house again and put the empty quart bottle in Mrs. Taylor’s trash can where she will be sure to see it Monday morning when she goes to the backhouse. And I’ll plant the other pint flask with whiskey in it in Mr. Standish’s coat pocket at school Monday morning.”

Everything went without a hitch that weekend, and on Monday morning Tom’s plan for getting rid of the new teacher went into action. Jimmie was in the kitchen where his mother was preparing breakfast for her boarders when Mrs. Taylor knocked on the back door. Jimmie’s mother opened the door.

“teacher went into action. Jimmie was in the kitchen where

his mother was preparing breakfast for her boarders when

Mrs. Taylor knocked on the back door. Jimmie’s mother

opened the door.

“I’ll thank you, Mrs. Peterson,” Mrs. Taylor said as she waved the empty quart whiskey bottle that Tom had planted in her trash can, “to tell your boarders that I do not want them throwing their empty whiskey bottles in my trash can.”

“So, it is Mrs. Peterson instead of Jenny is it?” Jimmie’s mother said. “Well, I’ll thank you, Mrs. Taylor, not to be accusing my boarders of doing such a thing. None of my boarders ever touches a drop.”

“Where else could this bottle have come from?” Mrs. Taylor demanded. “You and your boarders are the only people in the block who aren’t Mormons, and you know us Mormons never touch alcohol.”

“Then you must have a backslider in your midst,” Jimmie’s mother said. “I would not take in a boarder who drank or smoked.”

And with that, Jimmie told us later, his mother slammed the door in Mrs. Taylor’s face.

After eating breakfast, Jimmie waited in his room until he saw Mr. Standish leave for the schoolhouse. Then he slipped into the teacher’s room and put the pint flask under the pillow and hid the quart bottle in the clothes closet. And for an added touch that Tom had thought up on Sunday, Jimmie placed an open package of Sen Sen, which had cost my brother five cents, on the teacher’s dresser.

Mr. Standish kept a black alpaca coat at the schoolhouse, which he wore during school hours. He hung his regular coat in the hallway on one of the hooks used by pupils. It was no trick at all for Tom to sneak into the hallway that Monday morning and plant the pint flask in the teacher’s inside coat pocket.

What followed I didn’t learn until later, but I’m going to tell it as it happened.

Calvin Whitlock had his breakfast interrupted that morning by his housekeeper, Mrs. Hazzelton, who handed him the note Sammy had slipped under the front door. It read:

THE NEW SCHOOLTEACHER IS A SECRET DRINKER. IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE IT, LOOK IN HIS COAT POCKET AT SCHOOL AND SEARCH HIS ROOM.

Mr. Whitlock immediately telephoned the other two schoolboard members. The three of them went to Mrs. Peterson’s boarding house. They arrived just as Jimmie’s mother was coming out of the house.

“I was just on my way to see you,” she said to Mr. Whitlock. “I will not tolerate any drinkers in my boarding house. And I certainly will not tolerate any teacher who drinks as a teacher for my son, Jimmie.”

“You discovered this only now?” Mr. Whitlock asked.

“Just this morning,” Mrs. Peterson replied.

“Then you didn’t write the note?” Mr. Whitlock asked.

“What note?” Mrs. Peterson asked.

The banker showed Jimmie’s mother the note.

“It’s printed,” Mrs. Peterson said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t Mrs. Taylor who wrote it. It all started with her coming to the house this morning and accusing one of my boarders of throwing empty whiskey bottles in her trash can. I couldn’t believe it was one of my boarders until I went up to make up Mr. Standish’s room. Laying right under his pillow where he’d forgotten it was a pint bottle with whiskey in it. And on his dresser there was an open package of Sen Sen which he took to kill the odor of the whiskey on his breath.”

“Did you leave the bottle where you found it?” Mr. Whitlock asked.

When Mrs. Peterson nodded, the banker said he would need the bottle for evidence. They all went up to the teacher’s room.

“I never did like that man,” Mrs. Granger said as they entered the room. “There was something about him I just ‘ didn’t like.”

Mr. Whitlock removed the pint flask from under the pillow and put it in his pocket. Then he looked around the room. “With a man like this you never know,” he said. “Perhaps we should search the room.”

When the quart bottle with whiskey in it was found in the clothes closet, Mr. Whitlock exclaimed with disgust.

“The man is nothing but a drunken sot. Whiskey under his pillow. Whiskey in his clothes closet. And according to the note he even takes whiskey to school with him. How could we have been so taken in by such a man?”

The two bottles and the package of Sen Sen were placed in a brown paper bag. Mr. Whitlock was carrying the paper bag when he and the other two members of the schoolboard entered the schoolhouse. They went directly into the hallway where they found the pint flask with whiskey in it in the teacher’s coat pocket. This bottle joined the others in the brown paper bag. Then Mr. Whitlock and the two board members came into the classroom. The banker’s face was red with anger as he looked at Mr. Standish.

“You will dismiss school for today immediately,” Mr. Whitlock said, “and report to me and the other board members at my home this afternoon at two o’clock sharp.”

Tom was rubbing his hands gleefully as we left the schoolhouse. “I told you I would make Mr. Standish rue the day he paddled me,” he chuckled. “He was a fool to go up against my great brain.”

Papa was upset when he came home for lunch. “I met Calvin Whitlock this morning,” he told Mamma. “The schoolboard is meeting this afternoon to dismiss Mr. Standish.”

“Because of the paddlings?” Mamma asked.

“No,” Papa said, shaking his head, “it seems that Mr. Standish is a secret drinker.”

“I can’t believe it” Mamma said.

“Calvin has more than enough evidence to prove it,” Papa said. “He told me they would rehire Miss Thatcher until such a time as they can get another teacher.”

“Hurray!” Tom shouted.

Papa gave Tom a funny look. Then he shook his head as if dismissing some crazy idea he might have had.

When Papa came home for supper that night, he was very quiet. He hardly spoke at all until Mamma and Aunt Bertha had finished the supper dishes and came into the parlor. Mamma looked at him as she sat down in her maple rocker.

“What is on your mind?” she asked.

“I can’t get Mr. Standish off my mind,” Papa said. “The poor man came to see me this afternoon after being dismissed by the schoolboard. He swears he never took a drink in his life and doesn’t know how the whiskey got into his room or in his coat pocket at school.”

“Isn’t that about what a secret drinker who was a schoolteacher would say?” Mamma asked.

“I suppose so,” Papa said, “but I flatter myself I am a pretty good judge of character. I just can’t believe Mr. Standish is guilty. The man swore before God to me that he was innocent and somebody must have framed him.” Papa shrugged helplessly. “But who in the world would do a contemptible thing like that?”

Tom got up from the floor where we were playing dominoes. He walked over to Papa.

“Why did you say ‘contemptible’?” he asked.

“What would you call a person who ruined my reputation with false evidence?” Papa said.

“But that is different,” Tom said. “Every kid in school hates Mr. Standish.”

“That is no excuse,” Papa said. “If Mr. Standish is innocent, as he claims to be, somebody in this town has done one of the cruelest things one man can do to another.” Papa turned his head and looked at Mamma. “Mrs. Peterson wouldn’t even let the poor man in the house. She had his things packed and placed on the front porch. He had to take a room at the Sheepmen’s Hotel. He is leaving for Salt Lake City in the morning. I can’t help feeling sorry for him, guilty or innocent.”

“But, Papa,” Tom protested, “Mr. Standish paddled me because I wouldn’t be a tattletale. He had no right to paddle me for that.”

I thought Papa was going to choke. His face turned red and his cheeks puffed up like a tormented bullfrog. Then he relaxed.

“It couldn’t be,” he said as if reassuring himself. “The whiskey rules it out.”

Mamma knew my brother better than Papa did. She crooked her linger and motioned to Tom with a stern look on her face. Tom walked over and stood in front of her.

“Tom Dennis,” Mamma said sharply, “I have a sneaking suspicion that you know something. If you do know anything that will prove Mr. Standish innocent of these charges, you had better speak up right now.”

“He had no right to paddle me.” Tom said stubbornly.

“But the whiskey…” Papa cried out as if in pain.

I jumped to my feet. “Twelve kids helped us get it,” I said without thinking.

“Oh, no!” Papa said with a groan as he pressed the palms of his hands to the sides of his head.

“Tom’s great brain figured out how to get rid of the new teacher,” I said, thinking now that I’d spilled the beans I might as well spill some more.

Papa’s mouth flapped open and shut without any words coming from it as he looked helplessly at Mamma. For the first time in my life I saw Mamma so stunned she couldn’t react quickly to a crisis as she stared at me with her mouth open. I couldn’t help but feel a little proud of myself at making both my parents speechless.

Papa finally recovered his voice. “Son,” he said to Tom, “to ruin a man’s good name is about as low and mean a thing as one person can do to another. If you can save Mr. Standish’s reputation and refuse to speak, your mother and I will never forgive you.”

“I swore I’d never tell,” Tom said. Then he gave me a dirty look. “And so did J.D.”

“There comes a time in every man’s life,” Papa said, “when he must break his word to help somebody.”

“But you always said that a man’s word was his bond,” Tom argued.

Papa looked helplessly at Mamma who was fully recovered now.

“We will have no more of this nonsense, Tom Dennis,” Mamma said sternly. “A man’s entire future is at stake. You will tell your father and me exactly what happened right from the beginning.”

Tom hesitated for a moment, then said, “All right, I’ll tell.”

I watched the expression on Papa’s face change from interest to surprise and then to astonishment and finally to complete unadulterated awe as Tom confessed.

“I told Mr. Standish he would be sorry for paddling me,” Tom said in conclusion. “He was a fool to think he could go up against my great brain and win.”

“I have never laid a hand on you,” Papa said, breathing heavily, “but right at this moment if I had that paddle, I’m afraid I would give you a paddling that would make the one you got from Mr. Standish seem like patty-cakes.”

Then Papa stood up and got very dramatic as he looked at Mamma. “So help me, Tena,” he said, “if the stars stop shining some night and the sun fails to come up some morning, I will know who to blame. Calvin Whitlow is going to have to call another schoolboard meeting tonight at his home.” Then he pointed at Tom. “And you are going to be the star witness,” Papa said emphatically.

“Can I be a witness too?” I asked, not wanting to be left out of things.

“I think,” Papa said, “that admitting one Fitzgerald was the ring leader in all of this is about all I can stand for one evening.”

Mamma let me stay up that night until Papa and Tom returned from the schoolboard meeting. Tom told me about the meeting as we got undressed for bed. He said he had confessed everything except one thing.

“I didn’t tattle on any of the kids who were in on it,” he told me. “They knew Jimmie Peterson must have been in on it but I didn’t say so.”

It was strange but I never thought about the oath I’d taken on the skull of the dead Indian chief until I tried to go to sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes I would see the ghost of the dead Indian chief sneaking into the room with a knife to cut my tongue out. I began to cry.

“What’s eating you, J.D.?” Tom asked, sitting up in bed.

I told him. He began to laugh.

“It isn’t funny,” I said.

“Shucks, J.D.,” Tom said. “There is no such thing as a ghost.”

“But you told all the kids—”

“That was just to throw a scare into them,” Tom interrupted me. “Now if there were such things as ghosts, don’t you think my great brain would know it?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Well, my great brain knows there is no such thing as a ghost,” Tom said, “so go to sleep and forget about it.”

I was almost asleep when Tom said, “I’m sorry in a way there are no ghosts. If there were I’d put my great brain to work on how to communicate with them.”

The next morning Mr. Standish rapped his ruler on his desk to bring the students to order. I figured his first business of the day would be to give Tom at least twenty whacks with the paddle. I was dead wrong.

“I have something to say to one boy in this room,” Mr. Standish said. “I didn’t have an opportunity to thank that boy last night. Regardless of what that boy did to me, he more than made up for it with his courage and kindness in coming to my defense. That particular boy has made it possible for me to go on doing the thing I love the most — teaching. To show my appreciation, we will revert to the system Miss Thatcher used. When any student breaks the rules, that student will be given a note to take home. The punishment for the infraction of rules will be left to the parents.”

Well, it was like Papa said to Mamma when they imposed a whole week of the silent treatment as punishment for me and Tom.

“T.D. will probably come out of this a hero to every kid in school,” Papa said, and that is just how it turned out.