Chapter XIX: Negotiations End

Much against his will, and very much opposed to the mild method proposed by Doctor Meredith, Professor Skeel wrote and posted the following bulletin:

“Members of the Freshman Latin Class will assemble in the
gymnasium at once, at the request of Doctor Meredith, to
receive a personal communication from him.

“BURTON SKEEL.”

It did not take long for it to be discovered, for some student or other was always on the alert for notices, athletic or otherwise, posted on the common bulletin board.

Bert Wilson was the first Freshman to know of it, and he darted off, post-haste, to tell Tom, who was in his room with Jack.

“I say, Tom!” exclaimed Bert. “Come on! Something doing in the strike!”

“How?”

Bert told of the notice, and soon the board was surrounded by a curious throng of students. From his window, where he was still in communication with Professor Skeel, Doctor Meredith saw the throng.

“There, you see!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “They are interested at once. They will listen to reason, surely. I wish you would come in person, and tell them that if they will recite to you the double lesson, you will impose no more.”

“But I refuse to make any such agreement as that. And I don’t believe they will listen to reason. Moreover, I shall have something to say to you after the meeting,” snapped Professor Skeel.

“Very well. See, they are filing off to the gymnasium now. I will soon go there to speak to them.”

Tom and his chums were indeed hurrying to the athletic building, and tongues were freely wagging on the way.

“What do you suppose is up?” asked George Abbot.

“Don’t know,” replied Jack shortly.

“Doctor Meredith is going to take a hand,” commented Luke Fosdick.

“And he’ll listen to reason,” spoke Tom. “But, even if he requests it we’re not going to knuckle down to Skeel; are we?”

“Surely not,” came in a chorus.

“The strike ends when he stops imposing double lessons on us for no reason at all, but because he is ugly,” went on Tom. “How about that?”

“We’re with you!”

“And if he doesn’t give in,” proceeded our hero, “we’ll----”

“Burn Skeel in effigy, after we hang him!” came the cry from some one.

“That’s it,” assented Tom, glad to see that his chums were with him.

They filed into the gymnasium, and the buzz of talk continued until some one announced that Doctor Meredith and Professor Skeel were approaching.

“Ah, young gentlemen, good afternoon!” greeted the head master, as he walked in and took his stand on the platform, where the secretaries and officers of the various athletic committees presided, when there was a class or school session. Professor Skeel, with a grim look in his face, followed, and sat down.

“I am informed that you are on a strike,” began Doctor Meredith. “Very interesting, I’m sure--I mean of course it is altogether wrong,” he added hastily. “You should have tried arbitration first. However, since you have decided to strike, I am glad to be able to speak to you--to reason with you.

“I understand that you object to having to do a double lesson as a punishment. Now I dislike to have a strike in the school, and, though I do not, for one minute, admit that you are in the right, I wish to know, if Professor Skeel agrees to give out no more double lessons, will you return to your class?”

“I will make no such agreement!” shouted the irate instructor.

“Then the strike is still on!” exclaimed Tom, springing to his feet.

“Silence!” stormed Professor Skeel.

Doctor Meredith held up his hand. The commotion that had started, at once ceased.

“I will hear what Fairfield has to say,” spoke the head master, quietly.

“We have stood all we can,” went on Tom. “We do not think Professor Skeel treats us fairly. We protested once, and----”

“By an anonymous letter!” broke in the Latin teacher.

“Yes, that was hardly right,” commented the doctor, gently.

“It was the best way we could think of,” spoke Tom. “We wanted better treatment. We want it yet, and we are going to get it, or we will continue to refuse to recite to Professor Skeel. We will continue to strike.”

“Strong words,” said the head master. “But may I ask how you came to hit on--er this--er--rather novel form of rebellion? I am anxious to know,” and he prepared to make some notes in a book. Professor Skeel fairly snorted with rage.

“It began from the very first,” explained Tom, and he went over the different steps in their trouble with the unpopular professor. “Now we can stand it no longer. We will leave school, if necessary, to gain our rights.”

Doctor Meredith looked surprised at this. The loss of the Freshman Latin class would mean a serious blow to the finances of the institution of learning. Still he would have done his duty in the face of this if he saw it clearly. But he was not at all in sympathy with the methods of Professor Skeel, and the boys probably realized this.

“And so we struck,” ended Tom, concluding the history of the rebellion.

“And it is my duty to end this strike,” declared the head master. “I ask you to return to your recitation in Professor Skeel’s room, and I--er--I have no doubt but what matters will adjust themselves.”

“We will not--we feel that we cannot--return and end the strike, unless we receive some assurance that we will be treated like gentlemen, and not imposed upon in the matter of lessons,” declared Tom.

“That’s right!” chorused the others.

“Silence!” commanded the professor, but he was not in command now, and the lads realized it. “Then you will remain on strike?” asked Doctor Meredith, as if surprised that his request had not been complied with.

“We must, sir,” replied Tom respectfully.

“Then--er--then this ends the negotiations, I presume, young gentlemen,” spoke the doctor, rather sorrowfully. “I shall have to consider what further will be done.”

“We’re ahead--so far,” commented Tom to his chums as they filed out.

“I knew it would end this way,” spoke Professor Skeel to Doctor Meredith. “You will have to be firmer. You must take the most stringent measures possible.”

“What would you suggest?” asked the head master, evidently at a loss. In fact he was thinking more of writing the paper on the strike than he was of ending it.

“I will tell you my plan,” spoke Professor Skeel, as he followed the doctor into his study.