Sugar Creek Gang Set Books 7-12

by Paul Hutchens

  Up where Circus was, and where we all were in less than several jiffies, was a larger crack in the woodshed wall, and right away we all were looking through it to see what Circus saw. I could hardly believe my half-swollen eyes, but it was happening just the same. Our new teacher was cutting switches from the drooping branches of the beech tree that grew in the corner of the schoolyard. All of the Sugar Creek Gang and a lot of other people had carved their initials on the bark of that old tree-beech trees are the kind of trees on whose bark you can do that.

  Well, in my mind’s eye I could see myself getting a switching—maybe right in this woodshed, which was about the same size and kind that my dad used at our house when I was smaller and didn’t know better than to do things that made Dad have to give me a licking. I didn’t mind my dad switching me once in a while, but I certainly didn’t want any new teacher to try it.

  Besides, I thought, our nice other teacher shouldn’t have gotten married like that while we were all away on our Christmas vacation, without even saying anything about it to any of us or asking us if she could.

  In almost no time at all, Mr. Black had two long, wicked-looking switches cut and trimmed and was on his way back.

  “Quick,” Big Jim ordered. “Everybody down against the door. He’ll have to break the door down to get in.”

  We all braced ourselves against the door, none of us making much noise. Almost right away we heard heavy steps in the snow, and they stopped right outside the woodshed.

  My heart was beating faster than ever, and I could almost feel my red hair trying to stand on end under my fur cap, which was beginning to feel too hot. Then I remembered that it wasn’t on but was probably out in the snow somewhere.

  Our teacher’s gruff voice called to somebody, saying, “Will you go and ring the bell, please? It’s already past time for school to take up.”

  I heard somebody answer from somewhere near the school and say, “All right,” and it was Shorty Long’s voice. Then I heard the bell ring in the belfry of the schoolhouse. And then, in my mind’s eye I could see Shorty Long waddling to his seat near the fireplace, and I could see a bunch of girls, including Circus’s ordinary sister and different ones, go swishing to the door, making a lot of girlish noise getting to their seats.

  Next I heard Mr. Black’s voice and at the same time heard a key in the lock. “You may come out now, boys, and get into your seats quick. It’s already ten minutes past time for recess to be over. You may all come out—except William Collins.”

  Big Jim let the door swing open, letting in some blinding sunlight, but none of us moved. Big Jim just stood there with his fists doubled up. Circus stood beside him with his battered old cap on one side of his head, looking very fierce. Red-haired Tom Till stood still, right beside Circus. Little Jim was standing close to Big Jim, and Poetry was in front of me. I was behind all of us. I wasn’t hiding, but the whole gang was sort of making me stay back.

  “Well?” It was Mr. Black’s big gruff voice. His shaggy black eyebrows were almost as long as my dad’s reddish-black ones, I thought, and when his face was set like that it looked fierce. I had my eye on the two long angry-looking beech switches that he had in his hand.

  Big Jim spoke up then, and I was certainly surprised at the politeness in his voice. He said courteously, “Mr. Black, none of us feel that Bill has done anything seriously wrong.”

  What? I thought so loud it seemed as if I had spoken the word.

  And then the teacher’s gruff voice came again, and it said firmly, “You may all pass into the schoolhouse, except William Collins. You may pass in now!”

  My muscles were tense. Not a one of us moved, not even Little Jim.

  Well, I don’t know what I would have done if I had been a man teacher with a gang of boys defying me like that. But I saw the muscles of his square jaw tighten, and I saw his arms move so that one hand was against his hip. He glared at us all and especially at me, I thought. Then he said, “All right, then, it’s a switching for every one of you!”

  And then I got the surprise of my life. Somebody moved, and the next thing I knew, that same somebody was squeezing through all of us to the front, and it was Little Jim.

  He piped up to Mr. Black, “Maybe if you’ll give me a licking instead of Bill, maybe you’ll let all the rest of us go free!”

  Before any of us could realize what he was doing, Little Jim was out the door and standing in front of Mr. Black. He had that innocent look on his face that he often gets, sort of like one of the lambs in a Bible storybook that my parents bought for me, where a little lamb is cuddled up in the arms of the Good Shepherd and looking very kind and innocent and not afraid.

  Things were tense for a minute. I was waiting for Big Jim to do something or say something, but he didn’t. He just stood there. We all just stood there, like a graveyard full of different-sized tombstones. I was even feeling like a cemetery myself.

  8

  The expression on Little Jim’s face made me have the queerest feeling inside. He stood looking up at Mr. Black, both of his little hands at his side, and his blue eyes, which were even bluer than the sky was right that minute, looking so innocent. As I told you before, Little Jim was always saying and thinking things that were printed in the Bible and was always trying to act like a gentleman.

  When I saw that lamblike look on his face, all of a sudden I remembered the Bible story about Somebody who had come into the world from heaven, who had never done anything wrong in all His life, and who was accused of having done a lot of wrong things, but hadn’t. He’d gone on trial in the middle of the night, and then in the morning had had to carry a big cross out through the wicked city of Jerusalem. And all that time He didn’t say anything or complain, and also all the time He was as innocent as a lamb.

  The Bible says that “like a sheep that is silent before its shearers”—meaning quiet, not even bleating—“so He did not open His mouth.” He didn’t say anything but let people nail Him to that cross and hang Him up between heaven and earth. The Bible says that He died there and was the “Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”

  Sylvia’s father, our new minister, says that when He died on the cross He died for every one of us so that every one of us can go free and not have to be punished for our sins.

  Knowing Little Jim as well as I did, and knowing that his parents were Christians and studied the Bible a lot, the way parents should—and knowing that Little Jim himself understood how everybody could be saved from their sins just by believing that Jesus died in their place and by trusting in Him—I knew that Little Jim was probably thinking that very same thing. While he was standing there, looking so lamblike at Mr. Black, he was probably thinking about that Bible story.

  For a minute, I thought that the Lord Jesus had given Himself to die on the cross for even Shorty Long. The Bible says that He died for sinners, and Shorty Long was certainly a pretty bad one. In fact, Bill Collins himself was also.

  Anyway, it didn’t take me long to think that thought. It went through my mind like a little whirlwind swishes through our backyard, picking up all kinds of leaves and things and then dropping them again as it goes across the road and through the woods toward Sugar Creek. So I dropped all those thoughts almost right away.

  But I knew I wasn’t going to let Little Jim take any licking for me or for any of us.

  Mr. Black stood there looking down at Little Jim as if he couldn’t believe his eyes and certainly not his ears. Then he looked at all of us, and his gray eyes seemed not to see any of us, as if he was thinking of something else. First he looked back at Little Jim, then he looked at the long beech switches he had in his right hand. He looked as if he was thinking and trying to make up his mind to take Little Jim up on the proposition and lick him for all of us.

  I don’t know whether what Little Jim said made him remember the story in the Bible or not, but he got a half-kind look in his eyes and on his face for a minute, as though he couldn’t do anything wrong if he was thinkin
g about that story, which maybe nobody could.

  Suddenly he looked away toward the maple tree at something lying there in the snow. My eyes followed his to see what he was looking at.

  But before I could even tell what it was, he turned and walked over toward it and stooped to pick up something. It was the brown envelope that belonged to Shorty and that had in it those pictures of us, and filthy things about some of the girls in the Sugar Creek School, and some other pictures that only dirty-minded boys would like to see and talk about.

  Well sir, the very minute Mr. Black stooped to pick up that brown envelope, I realized that we didn’t want him to see it. What kind of boys would he think we were if he saw what was on the inside of that envelope? So without even thinking again, I yelled out, “Hey! That’s our personal property! You can’t have that!”

  I dashed across the snow toward Mr. Black and made a dive for the envelope.

  Imagine my saying and doing a thing like that! But I was doing nearly everything wrong all that day, which is what might happen to any boy who gets his day started wrong at home before going to school. That’s why parents ought always to try to help a boy start off to school cheerfully in the morning, if they can, which my parents sometimes can’t on account of its being partly my fault.

  Well, Mr. Black already had the envelope in his hand. Just as I made a dive for it, he turned, and I landed ker-wham against his side. I also landed a second later ker-crumplety-fluff in a snowdrift right beside him and in front of all the Sugar Creek Gang.

  Before I could roll over and sit up and start to stand up again, I heard a lot of swishing footsteps and saw something that looked like a flying boy, only it didn’t have wings. It also looked like a boy on a football field, making what is called a flying tackle.

  Sure enough, that’s what it was, except that this wasn’t any football game. The next thing I knew there were seven of us piled in that same big snowdrift, on top of and underneath each other, just as if we were in a football game. It was Circus who had made the flying leap at Mr. Black’s ankles and bowled him over, and there were fourteen legs and fourteen arms and all of us mixed up in probably the biggest snowdrift in the whole schoolyard.

  All of us were tangled up and trying to untangle ourselves at the same time, and I tell you it was a very cold and also a very hot time we were having. There was the sound of grunting and groaning, and Mr. Black was half yelling, “Let me up, you little whippersnap-pers! Get off my chest! Let go of my leg! Oh—let me loose. O-o-o-oh!”

  There was more grunting and groaning, grunting and groaning, from all of us, the grunting coming from the Sugar Creek Gang and both grunting and groaning coming from Mr. Black. I had hold of one of his arms, the one that had the brown envelope in its hand. Poetry was lying across Mr. Black’s chest in the snowdrift. Only one of us wasn’t in on the wrestling match, and that was Dragonfly, whom I saw standing there looking on with a very puzzled expression on his face.

  I don’t think boys in a school ought ever to do anything like what we were doing. There wasn’t one of us that had planned on doing it, and there wasn’t one of us that would have done it if we had thought first. There wasn’t one of us that would have been so disrespectful even to a teacher we didn’t like. But it was already too late and already being done, and there we were, holding him down and afraid to let him go. We didn’t know what to do. We’d probably all get a licking, although the way I felt right that minute, I wasn’t going to let anybody give me a licking if I could help it.

  I don’t know what would have happened if something else hadn’t happened, but it did. I heard the sound of a car horn. As quick as I could, I looked to see who it was, and it was my dad’s long green automobile out by the front gate.

  Then I heard Dad’s great big voice calling across the snowy schoolyard, “Hello, everybody!”

  Right away “everybody,” which was us—and especially me, Bill Collins—wondered what was going to happen next, and what if it did.

  There we were, all of us in a fierce wrestling match with our schoolteacher in a big snowdrift, with our reputation at stake—meaning what if Mr. Black got that envelope of filthy pictures and words in it and thought it was ours and thought we were that kind of tough boys, which we weren’t! We just didn’t dare let him have it. We had to get it away from him, and all of a sudden we did.

  Almost before Dad’s big voice had finished yelling, “Hello, everybody!” Poetry whispered to me, “Bill, let him go! I’ve got the envelope!”

  I looked as quick as I could and saw Poetry shoving something inside his coat pocket. And right away the fight or whatever it was we were having was over.

  Soon we were all untangled from each other, and Mr. Black was shaking out his fur cap, which had come off in the scuffle, and was brushing off his coat and saying in a very pleasant voice to my dad, “Mr. Collins! You caught us right in the midst of an old-fashioned snow fight.”

  My dad was looking at different ones of us—and especially at me and probably at my one not-so-good eye—and listening to all of us panting.

  “I suppose you’ve come to visit school, Mr. Collins?” Mr. Black said. “That’s fine. Just come right on in—it’s a bit past time for recess to be over, and some of the pupils are already in their seats.”

  “No, I can’t stop now, Mr. Black,” Dad said. “Mrs. Collins and I will both come and visit one of these days, though. I just stopped to remind Bill to hurry home right after school.”

  He turned to me then to finish what he wanted to say. “I’m taking your mother to Brown City. Your cousin Wally has a new baby sister, so Mother’s going to help look after the house.”

  “Will she take Charlotte Ann with her?” I asked, thinking of my pink-cheeked baby sister, the greatest baby sister anybody’d ever had. I was thinking also of my red-haired cousin Wally, and wondering if his new baby sister would have red hair, which mine didn’t.

  “Sure, she’ll take Charlotte Ann,” Dad said.

  Before Dad had finished what he was saying, he was striding back to the car, half talking over his shoulder as he said one more sentence. “No loitering on the way, now, Bill,” which was the same as saying that I sometimes did.

  Mr. Black said, “I can release him right now, Mr. Collins, if you need him.”

  For some reason that sounded to me as if he would be glad to get rid of me, as I was probably causing too much trouble, which was probably the truth. In fact, it looked like I’d been the cause of nearly all the trouble our gang had had all day, and it was all on account of Shorty Long.

  I looked at Big Jim’s fuzzy-mustached face to see what he thought and also at Little Jim’s lamblike face, and neither one of them was telling me not to go with my dad. I really wanted to go, because I wanted to see Mom and Charlotte Ann before he drove them to the city.

  Besides, if I stayed, I felt sure I’d get a switching from Mr. Black. As soon as Dad was gone, our teacher would probably get over being polite, and trouble would start all over again. So if I left, most of the trouble would be gone. Besides, I certainly didn’t want any licking all by myself in that woodshed.

  But thinking that reminded me that there was also a woodshed at home. If I decided to stay at school, then when I did get home later, my dad would be gone and would probably not get back till away after dark, and by that time it’d be too late to go out to a woodshed, maybe.

  And I knew Poetry had the brown envelope safe in his pocket.

  Just then Poetry called to Dad and asked, “Can Bill come over to stay at my house tonight?”

  My dad stood stock-still, turned around, and said, “That depends—I’ll see what your mother says,” he finished, talking to me.

  Mr. Black took out his watch and looked at it and said, “You might just as well ride along with your father, William. In fact, I think we’ll dismiss early today, this being the first day after vacation and hard to get back into the swing of school anyway.”

  “All right, then, Bill,” Dad called. “Get your lun
ch box and come on! Your mother’s waiting!”

  I leaped into action and made a dive for the schoolhouse door. My lunch box was on the long shelf that runs along the back wall of the schoolroom.

  Well, when I stepped into that school-house, I could hardly believe what I saw. I looked right down the row of seats past the Poetry-shaped stove, to where my desk was. Most of the books were out of my desk and were piled on the top of it. In fact, somebody was pulling books out of my desk right that very minute, and it was Shorty Long himself, taking the books out one at a time and looking inside each one.

  9

  I don’t suppose I was ever so tangled up in my mind as I was right that minute. After everything that had happened and was still happening and which was yet to happen before that day would be finished, I could hardly blame myself for what I did right then. I yelled to Shorty Long in Openglopish and said, “Shoportopy Lopong! Gopet opout opof mopy dopesk!” which means in English, “Shorty Long! Get out of my desk!”

  He jumped as if he had been shot somewhere with a boy’s sling, so that maybe without intending to he brushed against the stack of books on my desk. They all went ker-whamety-flop-bang on the floor, getting there just before Shorty Long himself did, who stumbled over them trying to get away from my desk, on account of I’d made a quick dive for my desk myself.

  Shorty Long got to the floor just before I did, and both of us got into a rough-and-tumble scramble. I hadn’t really intended to have another fight with Shorty Long. I’d had all the fights that day that I wanted, but of course what we were doing looked like one.

  And then I heard a girl’s saucy voice from across the schoolroom somewhere saying, “Bill Collins! Can’t you live even one minute without getting into a fight?” And I knew it was the voice of Circus’s ordinary-looking sister, and for some reason I began to feel even worse than I had already felt for some time anyway.