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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Eben Holden, a tale of the north country"

I had flung a man, heavily, and broke
away and was tackling another when I heard a hush in the tumult
and then the voice of the president. He stood on the high steps, his
grey head bare, his right hand lifted. It must have looked like
carnage from where he stood.
'Young gentlemen!' he called. 'Cease, I command you. If we
cannot get along without this thing we will shut up shop.'
Well, that was the end of it and came near being the end of our
careers in college. We looked at each other, torn and panting and
bloody, and at the girls, who stood by, pale with alarm. Then we
picked up the shapeless hats and went away for repairs. I had heard
that the path of learning was long and beset with peril but I hoped,
not without reason, the worst was over. As I went off the campus
the top of my hat was hanging over my left ear, my collar and
cravat were turned awry, my trousers gaped over one knee. I was
talking with a fellow sufferer and patching the skin on my
knuckles, when suddenly I met Uncle Eb.
'By the Lord Harry!' he said, looking me over from top to toe,
'teacher up there mus' be purty ha'sh.


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