CHAPTER XXIV.
READING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
On reaching home, Fletcher looked over his "Speaker," and selectedthree poems which he thought he could read with best effect. Theselection made, he sat down to his desk, and wrote a reply to theinvitation, as follows:--
"MISS PAULINE CLINTON: I hasten to acknowledge your polite invitationto occupy twenty minutes in reading choice selections at yourapproaching Fair. I have paid much attention to reading, and hope tobe able to give pleasure to the large numbers who will doubtlesshonor the occasion with their presence. I have selected threepoems,--Poe's Raven, the Battle of Ivry, by Macaulay, and MarcoBozarris, by Halleck. I shall be much pleased if my humble effortsadd _eclat_ to the occasion.
"Yours, very respectfully, "FITZGERALD FLETCHER."
"There," said Fletcher, reading his letter through with satisfaction."I think that will do. It is high-toned and dignified, and showsthat I am highly cultured and refined. I will copy it off, and mailit."
Fletcher saw his letter deposited in the post-office, and returned tohis room.
"I ought to practise reading these poems, so as to do it uphandsomely," he said. "I suppose I shall get a good notice in the'Gazette.' If I do, I will buy a dozen papers, and send to myfriends. They will see that I am a person of consequence inCentreville, even if I didn't get elected to any office in the highand mighty Clionian Society."
I am sorry that I cannot reproduce the withering sarcasm whichFletcher put into his tone in the last sentence.
When Demosthenes was practising oratory, he sought the sea-shore; butFitzgerald repaired instead to a piece of woods about half a miledistant. It was rather an unfortunate selection, as will appear.
It so happened that Tom Carver and Hiram Huntley were strolling aboutthe woods, when they espied Fletcher approaching with an open book inhis hand.
"Hiram," said Tom, "there's fun coming. There's Fitz Fletcher withhis 'Speaker' in his hand. He's going to practise reading in thewoods. Let us hide, and hear the fun."
"I'm in for it," said Hiram, "but where will be the best place tohide?"
"Here in this hollow tree. He'll be very apt to halt here."
"All right! Go ahead, I'll follow."
They quickly concealed themselves in the tree, unobserved byFletcher, whose eyes were on his book.
About ten feet from the tree he paused.
"I guess this'll be a good place," he said aloud. "There's no one todisturb me here. Now, which shall I begin with? I think I'll tryThe Raven. But first it may be well to practise an appropriatelittle speech. Something like this:"--
Fletcher made a low bow to the assembled trees, cleared his throat,and commenced,--
"Ladies and Gentlemen: It gives me great pleasure to appear beforeyou this evening, in compliance with the request of the committee,who have thought that my humble efforts would give _eclat_ to thefair. I am not a professional reader, but I have ever found pleasurein reciting the noble productions of our best authors, and I hope togive you pleasure."
"That'll do, I think," said Fletcher, complacently. "Now I'll tryThe Raven."
In a deep, sepulchral tone, Fletcher read the first verse, which isquoted below:--
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door-- Only this and nothing more.'"
Was it fancy, or did Fletcher really hear a slow, measured tappingnear him--upon one of the trees, as it seemed? He started, andlooked nervously; but the noise stopped, and he decided that he hadbeen deceived, since no one was visible.
The boys within the tree made no other demonstration till Fletcherhad read the following verse:--
"Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. 'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery explore-- Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore; 'Tis the wind, and nothing more.'"
Here an indescribable, unearthly noise was heard from the interior ofthe tree, like the wailing of some discontented ghost.
"Good heavens! what's that?" ejaculated Fletcher, turning pale, andlooking nervously around him.
It was growing late, and the branches above him, partially strippedof their leaves, rustled in the wind. Fletcher was somewhat nervous,and the weird character of the poem probably increased this feeling,and made him very uncomfortable. He summoned up courage enough,however, to go on, though his voice shook a little. He was permittedto go on without interruption to the end. Those who are familiarwith the poem, know that it becomes more and more wild and weird asit draws to the conclusion. This, with his gloomy surroundings, hadits effect upon the mind of Fletcher. Scarcely had he uttered thelast words, when a burst of wild and sepulchral laughter was heardwithin a few feet of him. A cry of fear proceeded from Fletcher,and, clutching his book, he ran at wild speed from the enchantedspot, not daring to look behind him. Indeed, he never stoppedrunning till he passed out of the shadow of the woods, and was wellon his way homeward.
Tom Carver and Hiram crept out from their place of concealment. Theythrew themselves on the ground, and roared with laughter.
"I never had such fun in my life," said Tom.
"Nor I."
"I wonder what Fitz thought."
"That the wood was enchanted, probably; he left in a hurry."
"Yes; he stood not on the order of his going, but went at once."
"I wish I could have seen him. We must have made a fearful noise."
"I was almost frightened myself. He must be almost home by thistime."
"When do you think he'll find out about the trick?"
"About the invitation? Not till he gets a letter from Miss Clinton,telling him it is all a mistake. He will be terribly mortified."
Meanwhile Fletcher reached home, tired and out of breath. Histemporary fear was over, but he was quite at sea as to the cause ofthe noises he had heard. He could not suspect any of hisschool-fellows, for no one was visible, nor had he any idea that anywere in the wood at the time.
"I wonder if it was an animal," he reflected. "It was a fearfulnoise. I must find some other place to practise reading in. Iwouldn't go to that wood again for fifty dollars."
But Fletcher's readings were not destined to be long continued. Whenhe got home from school the next day, he found the following note,which had been left for him during the forenoon:--
"MR. FITZGERALD FLETCHER,--Dear Sir: I beg to thank you for your kindproposal to read at our Fair; but I think there must be some mistakein the matter, as we have never contemplated having any readings, norhave I written to you on the subject, as you intimate. I fear thatwe shall not have time to spare for such a feature, though, underother circumstances, it might be attractive. In behalf of thecommittee, I beg to tender thanks for your kind proposal.
"Yours respectfully, "PAULINE CLINTON."
Fletcher read this letter with feelings which can better be imaginedthan described. He had already written home in the most boastfulmanner about the invitation he had received, and he knew that beforehe could contradict it, it would have been generally reported by hisgratified parents to his city friends. And now he would be compelledto explain that he had been duped, besides enduring the jeers ofthose who had planned the trick.
This was more than he could endure. He formed a sudden resolution.He would feign illness, and go home the next day. He could let it beinferred that it was sickness alone which had compelled him to giveup the idea of appearing as a public reader.
Fitz immediately acted upon his decision, and the next day found himon the way to Boston. He never returned to the Prescott Academy as astudent.
Risen from the Ranks; Or, Harry Walton's Success Page 24