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A CREDIT TO THE SCHOOL
Dikken Zwilgmeyer
Translated from the Norwegian by Emilie Poulsson
Johnny Blossom was walking home from
school. He carried his head high; his tumed-
up, freckled nose was held proudly in the air;
his cap hung on the back of his head. Both
hands were in his pockets, and his loud whist-
ling waked the echoes as he strode through
Jensen Alley. Perfectly splendid monthly re-
port ! Of course he knew it, word for word, and
he said over to himself again, as he had many
times:
“John has lately been more industrious.
With his excellent ability he is now a credit
to the school.” This was signed with nothing less than the Principars name.
Not just a teacher’s — ^no, thank you! A credit to the school.
The whistling grew louder and more piercing. A credit to the
school. He was going straight to Father with this report, and
would lay it right under Father’s nose.
Well, he had been industrious. He had gone over every
lesson five times, and he could rattle off all the exceptions in his
German grammar and all the mountains in Asia, even those
with the awfully hard names.
Really, it was rather pleasant to know your lessons well and
rank with the good scholars. Now he could be able to crow over
Asta. She often had to sit the whole afternoon with her fingers
in her ears, mumbling and studying, and even then couldn’t
get her lessons sometimes, and would cry; but, of course, she
was only a girl.
He would take this report to Uncle Isaac of Kingthorpe, too.
Uncle Isaac was always questioning and probing to find out
how he got on at school. Now he should see! Sharp whistling
again pierced the air.
Another wonderfully interesting thing was that “Goodwill
of Luckton** had arrived. He had seen it at Frosberg’s wharf
when he was going to school. At this thought Johnny Blossom
broke into a run. Darting through the little gate to their own
back yard, he burst into the entry and, in the same headlong
fashion, into the dining room. The family was already at the table.
“Here is my monthly report and ‘Goodwill of Luckton’ has
come,” exclaimed Johnny.
Father and mother looked at the report. “Very good, John,”
said Father; and Johnny felt Mother’s gentle hand stroking
his hair.
“But what is it that has come?”
“‘Goodwill of Luckton’, of course.”
Johnny was gulping his soup with great haste.
“Express yourself clearly and eat properly.”
Everything had to be so proper to suit Father.
“The apple boat, the one Mr. Lind and Mrs. Lind own, you
know — that comes every autumn.”
Yes, the apple boat. It was painted green as it had been
last year; the sails were patched; the poorest apples lay in heaps
on the deck, the medium sort were in bags, and the best apples
were in baskets. In the midst of this tempting abundance Mrs.
Lind, who was uncommonly stout, usually sat knitting. When
her husband was up in town delivering apples Mrs. Lind took
care of the boat, the apples, and Nils and everything. Nils,
their son, was more to look after than all the rest put together
for he was the worst scalawag to be found along the whole coast.
John kept on eating and talking. “Nils is a bad boy. Mother.
When he talks to his mother, he keeps the side of his face toward
her perfectly sober; but he makes faces with the side toward us.
It is awfully funny and we laugh; and Mrs. Lind thinks we are
laughing at her, and then she scolds, and oh! her scolding is so
funny!”
Shortly after dinner Johnny Blossom was out in the wood-
shed whittling a boat. How delightful and how queer that he
should be **a credit to the school!” He would be awfully indus-
trious now every single day; go over every lesson six times, at
least.
This boat that he was making was going to be a fine one —
Johnny Blossom held it out and peered sharply at it, first length-
wise, then sidewise — the finest boat any one had ever whittled.
Every one who saw it would say, ‘*Who made that beautiful,
graceful boat?” Well, here was the boy who could do it!
One of these days he must carve a big ship about half a yard
long and make it an exact copy of a real ship.
Johnny Blossom lost himself in wondering whether, when
it was finished, he shouldn’t take the ship to school to show to
the Principal! If he did, the Principal would of course praise
him very much, for it would be an extraordinarily well-shaped,
handsome ship.
Yes, Johnny Blossom decided that he would take it to school
for the Principal to see. It should be painted and have real
sails. Oh, dear! Then he would have to ask Asta to hem the
sails! Horrid tease as she was, she sewed remarkably well.
Girls weren’t good for much else.
How would it be to make a sloop next — one exactly like the
“Goodwill of Luckton”?
At this he threw down the boat which was to be so wonder-
fully graceful and rushed off toward the wharf. How stupid
of him to stay at home whittUng when the ‘^Goodwill of Luck-
ton” had come!
Of course there were several boys hanging around there —
Aaron, Stephen, and Carl. Otherwise not even a cat was to be
seen. Streets and wharf were deserted in the quiet noon hour.
Mrs. Lind sat nodding upon the deck. Nils lounged on some bags
at the front of the boat, amusing himself making faces. Mr.
Lind was probably up in the town doing errands.
“Give us an apple,” whispered Stephen to Nils. Nils did
not answer, but gave Stephen a sly look and then made a hideous
face.
“Throw some ashore,” suggested Johnny Blossom.
“Just one apiece,” whispered Carl.
“Well, don’t then, you miser!” said Aaron.
Suddenly Nils, with a slyer look than usual on his sly face,
went down into the cabin. A minute after he came stamping
up again.
“Mother, Mother! The coffee is boiling over. Hurry!”
Mrs. Lind waddled hastily across the deck and squeezed
herself down the narrow stairway.
“Come now!” called Nils guardedly to the boys on shore.
“Come now! Hurry up and take some apples.”
The boys on the wharf did not wait to be called again but
jumped upon the deck and rushed at the bags of fruit.
“Mother, Mother!” roared Nils. “Hurry! There are thieves
at the apples ! Oh, hurry !”
In an incredibly short time Mrs. Lind had come upstairs,
and there stood Mr. Lind also, exactly as if he had shot up out
of the ground.
Nils declared loudly: “Before I knew a thing about it, these
boys rushed on board and began grabbing some of the best
apples.”
Oh, how Mr. Lind and his wife scolded as they seized the
astounded boys! Mr. Lind held two of them and Mrs. Lind
two — she had a remarkably strong grip — while Nils flew after
a policeman. The frightened boys cried and begged to be set
free. A crowd gathered on the wharf in no time.
Soon the policeman came. “You will have to go with me to
the police station,” said he to the boys. They tried to explain
that Nils had invited them on board, but it availed nothing.
“You go with me to the police station,” was the only reply the
policeman made to anything they said.
Oh, but it was horrid, having to go along the streets with him!
Nils should have his pay for getting them into this trouble! At
the police station their names were recorded and then the boys
were allowed to go. Johnny Blossom, shamefaced and troubled,
ran straight home.
In the afternoon the policeman called to talk with Father.
Father was very serious and Mother looked frightfully worried.
Sister Asta stared with open mouth. John had a bitter time of
it while the matter was being settled, and afterward Asta’s teas-
ing voice followed him everywhere as she kept calling out:
“Credit to the scho-ol! Great credit! Wonderful credit! Credit
to the scho-ol!”
Oh, how horrid, how horrid everything was! Well, he
wouldn’t go out any more to-day, that he wouldn’t; he would
stay in his room with the door locked. He had been so delighted
with his report, and now even that gave him no pleasure. Of
course he couldn’t go to Uncle Isaac with it after this disgrace.
A sudden thought struck him. He would not keep the report
any longer. To have “A credit to the school” upon it was too
embarrassing after what had happened.
He had not stolen apples, he really had not; but he had been
taken to the police station and his name, John Blossom, was
written on the police records. Though he had not stolen apples,
he had known very well that Mr. Lind and his wife would be
angry if boys went on board and helped themselves to apples,
even if Nils had said they might.
Pshaw! Everything was horrid. The boys at school
would soon know all about it and then they would tease just as
Asta did. No, he would not keep the report; he would give it
back to the Principal; that was just what he would do. So
Johnny Blossom, saying nothing at home of his intention, went
with determined step to the Principal’s house. His cap, instead
of being set jauntily far back on his head, was jammed well down
over his eyes.
“Is the Principal at home?”
“Yes, come in.”
The Principal was a large man with a thick, blond beard and
sharp, blue eyes.
“Good day, Johnny! What did you want to see me about?”
“It is horrid, but” — great searching first in one pocket of
his trousers, then in the other — “but if you will please take this
report back” —
“Take it back? What do you mean, John?”
“Why, because it says here he is a credit to the school, and
he isn’t that — not now.”
“What is that you say? Speak out, my boy.”
The boy looked very little as he stood with his knees shaking
before the big Principal.
“Because — ^because his name has been written in the police
records today, and the policeman took him there, and so it was
horrid that this report should say he was a credit” —
“Come, John, tell me about it from the beginning.”
“Why, Nils of the ‘Goodwill of Luckton* got his mother to
go down-stairs and then he called us boys to come aboard and get
some apples; and when we went he told his mother there were
thieves on board; and he called the policeman.”
“Nils asked you to come on board?”
“Oh, yes; but for all that I knew Mr. and Mrs. Lind would be
angry. I knew that perfectly well. But I went, and then I wasn’t
a credit to the school; so if you will please take this report back” —
There was a short silence.
“I think you may keep the report,” said the Principal at last.
“For you will surely not do anything of the kind again, Johnny
Blossom.”
“No. I shan’t have to be taken up by a policeman ever any
more.” Johnny shook his head energetically. “And Fm going
to study hard. Thank you.”
At the door he repeated his ‘thank you” as he bowed himself
out.
When he was in the street he put the precious report into his
pocket, whistling joyously a beautiful tune that his mother often
played. Who cared for any one’s teasing now? Even the boys
might try it if they liked, for he was ready for them. The Princi-
pal knew all there was to know. Awfully kind man, that Principal !
