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ninepenny creams this time。
On returning to the saloon； what was my horror at finding it empty！
There were the twelve cloudy glasses； standing in a circle on the sticky
marble slab； and not a boy to be seen。 A pair of hands letting go their hold
on the window…sill outside explained matters。 I had been made a victim。
I couldn't stay and face Pettingil； whose peppery temper was well
known among the boys。 I hadn't a cent in the world to appease him。 What
should I do？ I heard the clink of approaching glasses…the ninepenny
creams。 I rushed to the nearest window。 It was only five feet to the ground。
I threw myself out as if I had been an old hat。
Landing on my feet； I fled breathlessly down High Street； through
Willow； and was turning into Brierwood Place when the sound of several
voices； calling to me in distress； stopped my progress。
〃Look out； you fool！ The mine！ The mine！〃 yelled the warning voices。
Several men and boys were standing at the head of the street； making
insane gestures to me to avoid something。 But I saw no mine； only in the
middle of the road in front of me was a common flour…barrel； which； as I
gazed at it； suddenly rose into the air with a terrific explosion。 I felt myself
thrown violently off my feet。 I remember nothing else； excepting that； as I
went up； I caught a momentary glimpse of Ezra Wingate leering through is
shop window like an avenging spirit。
The mine that had wrought me woe was not properly a mine at all； but
merely a few ounces of powder placed under an empty keg or barrel and
fired with a slow…match。 Boys who didn't happen to have pistols or cannon
generally burnt their powder in this fashion。
For an account of what followed I am indebted to hearsay； for I was
insensible when the people picked me up and carried me home on a
shutter borrowed from the proprietor of Pettingil's saloon。 I was supposed
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The Story of a Bad Boy
to be killed； but happily （happily for me at least） I was merely stunned。 I
lay in a semi…unconscious state until eight o'clock that night； when I
attempted to speak。 Miss Abigail； who watched by the bedside； put her ear
down to my lips and was saluted with these remarkable words：
〃Strawberry and verneller mixed！〃
〃Mercy on us！ What is the boy saying？〃 cried Miss Abigail。
〃ROOTBEERSOLDHERE！〃
1 This inscription is copied from a triangular…shaped piece of slate；
still preserved in the garret of the Nutter House； together with the pistol
butt itself； which was subsequently dug up for a postmortem examination。
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The Story of a Bad Boy
CHAPTER Nine
I Become an R。 M。 C。
In the course of ten days I recovered sufficiently from my injuries to
attend school； where； for a little while； I was looked upon as a hero； on
account of having been blown up。 What don't we make a hero of？ The
distraction which prevailed in the classes the week preceding the Fourth
bad subsided； and nothing remained to indicate the recent festivities；
excepting a noticeable want of eyebrows on the part of Pepper Whitcomb
and myself。
In August we had two weeks' vacation。 It was about this time that I
became a member of the Rivermouth Centipedes； a secret society
composed of twelve of the Temple Grammar School boys。 This was an
honor to which I had long aspired； but； being a new boy； I was not
admitted to the fraternity until my character had fully developed itself。
It was a very select society； the object of which I never fathomed；
though I was an active member of the body during the remainder of my
residence at Rivermouth； and at one time held the onerous position of F。 C。；
First Centipede。 Each of the elect wore a copper cent （some occult
association being established between a cent apiece and a centipedes
suspended by a string round his neck。 The medals were worn next the skin；
and it was while bathing one day at Grave Point； with Jack Harris and
Fred Langdon； that I had my curiosity roused to the highest pitch by a
sight of these singular emblems。 As soon as I ascertained the existence of a
boys' club； of course I was ready to die to join it。 And eventually I was
allowed to join。
The initiation ceremony took place in Fred Langdon's barn； where I
was submitted to a series of trials not calculated to soothe the nerves of a
timorous boy。 Before being led to the Grotto of Enchantment…such was the
modest title given to the loft over my friend's wood…house…my hands were
securely pinioned； and my eyes covered with a thick silk handkerchief。 At
the head of the stairs I was told in an unrecognizable； husky voice； that it
was not yet too late to retreat if I felt myself physically too weak to
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undergo the necessary tortures。 I replied that I was not too weak； in a tone
which I intended to be resolute； but which； in spite of me； seemed to come
from the pit of my stomach。
〃It is well！〃 said the husky voice。
I did not feel so sure about that； but； having made up my mind to be a
Centipede； a Centipede I was bound to be。 Other boys had passed through
the ordeal and lived； why should not I？
A prolonged silence followed this preliminary examination and I was
wondering what would come next； when a pistol fired off close by my car
deafened me for a moment。 The unknown voice then directed me to take
ten steps forward and stop at the word halt。 I took ten steps； and halted。
〃Stricken mortal；〃 said a second husky voice； more husky； if possible；
than the first； 〃if you had advanced another inch； you would have
disappeared down an abyss three thousand feet deep！〃
I naturally shrunk back at this friendly piece of information。 A prick
from some two…pronged instrument； evidently a pitchfork； gently checked
my retreat。 I was then conducted to the brink of several other precipices；
and ordered to step over many dangerous chasms； where the result would
have been instant death if I had committed the least mistake。 I have
neglected to say that my mov