...
He was as timid as a girl....
The common dormitory was no place for him ... I am sorry to confess
that, for a while, I helped to make his life miserable for him ... each
night the beak-nosed pugilist-lad and I raised a merry roughhouse in the
place.... Pfeiler was our chief butt. We put things in his bed ... threw
objects about so they would wake him up. One night I found him crying
silently ... but somehow not ignobly ... this made me shift about in my
actions toward him, and see how miserable my conduct had been....
So the next time "Beak-horn," as I called my plug-ugly friend, started
to tease the old man, I asked him to stop ... that we had tormented
Pfeiler long enough. "Beak-horn" replied with a surprised, savage stare
... and the next moment he was on me, half in jest, half in earnest. I
boxed with him as hard and swift as I was able ... but a flock of fists
drove in over me ... and I was thrown prone across the form of the old
man ... who stuttered with fright and impotent rage, swearing it was all
a put-up game between us to torment him further, when I protested that I
had not tried to do it.
* * * * *
The next morning Spalton sent for me.
"Look here, Razorre, if _you_ were not the biggest freak of them all, I
could understand," he remarked severely....
I tried to explain how sorry I was for the way I had joined in Pfeiler's
persecution .
Pages:
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308