Butler Ellis Parker
Red Head and Whistle Breeches

But it was when it came to fighting that Red Head had proved his right to the worship of the world. He could lick any two boys in the school. The Governor, who was plain Willie Gary then, could not fight at all. His early youth was one great fear of being whipped. The smallest boys in the school were accustomed to practice on him until they gained sufficient dexterity or courage to attack one another. He had a hundred opprobrious nicknames, which he accepted meekly. “Cry-baby” was the favorite. When he was attacked he hid his face in his arm and bawled, leaning his arm against any convenient fence or tree, while his tormentor drubbed his back at pleasure. He was happy when he could sneak home unmolested. The chiefest of his tormentors was Red Head, but there was no partiality. All the boys drubbed him.

One day Mrs. Gary made him a pair of breeches. They were good, stout breeches of dove colored corduroy, and his mother was proud of them. So was Willie. As he walked to school he felt that every one saw and admired them He felt as conspicuous as when, in a dream, he went to school in his night dress, but he felt more comfortable.

He took his seat in the school room proudly, and when he was called to the blackboard to do a sum he walked with a strut. He felt that even the big boys – the wonderful youths who had money to jingle in their pockets – observed him, and he blushed as he imagined the eyes of the little women on the girls’ side of the room following him.

As he crossed the floor, the legs of his breeches rubbed against each other, giving forth the crisp corduroy sound of “Whist – whist – whist.” It could be heard in the farthest corner. All the scholars looked up from their slates or books. He caught Bessie Clayton’s eye upon him, and his cheek flamed. She had blue eyes and yellow curls, and snubbed him daily.

Even the teacher glanced at his new breeches. Willie paused in his sum and looked at them with satisfaction himself. Then he walked back to his bench, and the corduroy spoke again – “Whist – whist – whist.” It was as musical as the clumping of a new pair of red topped boots.

As he slid into his place on his bench, Red Head turned his face and made a mouth.

“Don’t you think you’re smart, Whistle Breeches?” he whispered.

“Whist – whist,” said the breeches in reply, as Willie moved, and every eye in the school seemed to gaze on him, not enviously as before, but sneeringly. Who’d want whistle breeches?

When the recess bell rang, Willie walked to the playground with short steps, but still the corduroy whistled. Two boys behind him laughed, and Willie burned with shame. They must be laughing at his new breeches. Bessie Clayton passed him, and he stood motionless, crowded against the wall, until she was out of hearing.

He paused in the doorway timidly. Red Head was standing just outside, one shoulder turned toward Freckles Redmond. It was the signal for a fight, and the small boys were crowded about them.

“Aw, you’re one yourself,” Red Head was saying, “an’ you dassan’t say it agin. I dare you to say it,” he cried, but he caught sight of Willie. “Huh!” he shouted. “Look here, fellers! Here’s Whistle Breeches. Let’s spit on ‘em!”

The boys crowded into the entry and spat on them. Red Head pulled Willie’s hair twice, drawing his head forward as he would pull a bell rope.

“Don’t he think he’s smart?” “Wouldn’t have ‘em!” “Whistle Breeches! Whistle Breeches!” they shouted in derision, and Willie whimpered and edged into a corner.

“Don’t you do that,” he said in a choking voice. “I’ll tell teacher, I will!”

Red Head stuck his freckled face close and shoved him with a warlike shoulder. His fists were doubled, and he jabbed Willie with his elbow.

“Aw, you tell him, then, why don’t you, Whistle Breeches?” he inquired. “Jist you tell him, an’ I’ll punch your face off.”