# Imaginotions/Chapter 13
### Little Plunkett's "Cousin"

IF it is better to be "first in a village than last in Rome," Ralph McGregor should have been content. For there was no doubt that he was the first among the village boys in all those pursuits which they most valued. Not only was he thus preeminent, but he was blessed with competitors some of whom were able to threaten his possession of the title of champion.
Ralph, therefore, never failed to realize the sweetness of power—continual attempts to displace him having thus far only resulted in lengthening the list of his victories.
One Saturday afternoon the boys started for their swimming-beach, which was on a lake not far from the village where they lived. With and without permission, the little group had come, in twos and threes, along the hot and dusty road which led past the village store, between fields and meadows, over the rises and hollows, to the lake shore.
On the way down there had been a race; and, after an exciting ​struggle, Ralph had won it. He was in high spirits over the victory, and this made him a little boisterous.
When they entered the water, Ralph had "ducked" one of the smaller boys, who had made little resistance or remonstrance at the moment, but bided his time and retaliated, as Ralph discovered when he left the water and began to dress.
Ralph examined his shirt just long enough to discover that knots had been tied in the sleeves and then, hastily drawing on his trousers and throwing his jacket around his shoulders, he started to run along the road after the retreating figure of the sly small boy, who had left the water some little time before.
In spite of the long start secured, Ralph overtook his fleeing prey and grasped him firmly by the nape of the neck. Then, without checking his speed, Ralph turned a long curve, driving his unhappy captive before him, and the two were soon at the swimming-beach again.
"Now," said Ralph, "you can just untie those knots, youngster, and be quick, too!"
"What for?" asked the younger boy, whose name was Plunkett, feigning a bland innocence which was really absurd under the circumstances.
Disdaining other answer, Ralph tightened his grasp upon Plunkett's neck in a most convincing way. Plunkett seemed satisfied with this proof of his crime, and began a reluctant struggle with the knots, regretting perhaps that he had so firmly constructed them.
A few of the older boys had meanwhile come to the conclusion that there was something to be said on the other side of this case which Ralph was deciding so summarily.
"See here, Ralph," said Tom Cromwell, one of the most ambitious of the champion's rivals, "just suppose you let Plunkett go. He's all right. You ducked him first!"
​"What's that to you, anyway?" asked Ralph, never relaxing his grip upon the stooping Plunkett.
"Oh, nothing much," said Tom; "only you ought to be fair."
"So I am fair," Ralph replied. "I only ducked him for a joke."
"And I only tied your clothes for a joke," responded the smaller boy, with some spirit.
"Well, it's a different thing," said Ralph, "and you know it."
This last clause he added as a clincher, for he was conscious that the distinction between the two acts was far from clear to himself, and was unwilling to argue.
No further remonstrance was made by Cromwell, and little Plunkett soon finished the task imposed upon him, so the subject was dropped, and the boys loitered homeward.
Some flung stones at trees or posts which offered themselves as fair tests of marksmanship, while others plodded along in the rear-guard, making constant efforts to thoroughly dry their hair,—a matter to. which they seemed to attach much importance.
In throwing stones, as in other boyish accomplishments, Ralph easily proved his supremacy, and was foolish enough even to taunt his companions with their lack of skill.
"You can't throw any better than a lot of girls!" he said, contemptuously. "Look, here is the way you throw!" and he gave a wildly farcical fling of the arm.
The boys laughed, for it was comical, but they did not take any pleasure in being reminded of their inferiority, nor did their chagrin fail to bear fruit.
When they came to Main Street,—which, of course, was the street made by the church, the village store, and the town hall,—Ralph's path diverged from the course of the rest, and he turned away, saying jauntily, "So long, boys!" and went whistling homeward.
​The others walked on for a few paces in silence. All felt somewhat ashamed of their subservience to the village bully, and each was too proud to say so, or to become bolder immediately upon his departure. Indeed, they would not have called Ralph a "bully," for to them the word meant only one who fought and thrashed smaller boys, and Ralph was neither quarrelsome nor pugilistic. Yet he was a bully, for he took for himself liberties which he denied to others, and did so by force. He did not fight, it is true: but that was merely because the boys were of a higher grade than those whose fists are their sole arbiters of right and wrong.
Now, Ralph went home entirely unconscious of the impression his conduct had made upon his comrades, and no doubt would have said that they had enjoyed the afternoon quite as much as he had. But not long after his swaying figure was concealed by a turn in the road, young Plunkett said to the rest:
"Fellows, why did n't you stand by me? I had just as much right to fix his shirt as he had to cluck me, had n't I?"
"Well, I said so," replied Tom Cromwell, but in a half-hearted way.
"Oh, yes! You said so," answered little Plunkett, "but a lot of good that did me! I had to untie the knots, all the same."
"Well, what do you want me to do?" asked Tom, a little sulkily, for he was far from being thoroughly pleased with his own conduct. "Do you want me to pound him over the head, and then to get licked by him? You know he can do it, and there's no use saying he can't. What good would it do you for me to get rolled in the mud? I 'll do it, if you say it's the correct style," added Tom, dryly; "but first I'd like to see the good of it all."
Young Plunkett was one of those big-headed boys who are born to make plans. It was not the first time he had considered the problem of Ralph McGregor, and he had a general idea of what ​ought to be done; but he was not entirely satisfied with the details of his project. He was glad of this opportunity to foment a conspiracy, and promptly took advantage of it.
"It's no fun having you rolled around in the mud, Tom," he answered, smiling; "and, as you say, it's precious little use. But I 've got a notion—" Here the boys all chuckled, for Plunkett's "notions" were a staple joke among them. But he merely paused long enough for the laughter to ebb away, and then continued undisturbed: "I 've a notion how we can fix this up all straight." They were just then passing the school-house yard, so he said: "Come in here and sit down for a while, and I 'll explain it to you."
The old gate swung open, the boys filed in, it slammed together again; and for an hour or so a group of gleeful conspirators concentered around the intellect of Plunkett, the boy with "a notion how to fix it."
They parted at dusk in the best of humor, each distributing giggles along his homeward path.
During the next week, only a very keen observer would have remarked the fact that the thoughtful brow of Ethan Plunkett was upon two special afternoons missed from its accustomed place in the school-room. The schoolmaster noted the circumstance in his little book, but attached no importance to the absences beyond a mental recognition of the warm interest some of the other scholars seemed to take in this lad, who was one of the younger boys. Indeed, the master thought he observed that looks of inquiry were directed toward the youngster upon his second return to the school, and even that the boy nodded an assent to the questions thus mutely expressed. Still, as a small boy was at that moment endeavoring to convince the teacher, by a positive manner and reiterated assertions, that Kamtchatka was an empire in South America, the master's mind was diverted, and never recurred to the subject.
​A week having passed, it easily follows that another Saturday afternoon was entitled to arrive. The season beino- summer, it also follows that the boys were early on the road to the swimming-beach. In fact, there seemed some concert in their meeting, for quite a squad of the boys—the same who had met at the school-house—came along together. There was also a stranger with them. He was a quiet lad, dressed in a shabby suit and a little derby hat which seemed rather old for him, and he held his head down as he walked. Close beside him walked Ethan Plunkett, and it was noticeable that the stranger was treated with much consideration by Ethan, and indeed by all the boys.
This squad walked quietly to the swimming-beach, and, strangely enough, plunged into the river without delay, as if they had come only for a bath, instead of for a frolic as usual. They seemed to be expectant, for they watched the stranger keenly.
The look of relief which was plainly visible when Ralph McGregor appeared upon the shore would indicate that his presence was at least one of the factors necessary to gratify their expectations.
"Hello, fellows," said Ralph, as he threw off his coat, "why did n't you wait for me?"
"Oh, we knew you'd be along; and Plunkett wanted to take his visitor down to show him the beach," answered Tom Cromwell, who with careless ease was treading water not far from shore.
"That's all right," said Ralph, good-naturedly.
"Well, I'm glad you 're not displeased with us," said Plunkett, in rather a mocking tone. Ralph, however, was not thin-skinned, and repeated, "Oh, no; it's all right!" Then, taking a short run, he plunged into the water, diving under and coming up, with a snort and shake of the head, not far from the new boy.
"You 're Ralph McGregor?" asked the new-comer.
"Yes," replied Ralph, rather shortly, for he was not entirely ​pleased to be addressed with so much assurance by a "new" boy. "What's your name?" he asked, in turn.
"Signor Alberto," replied the youngster as quietly as if he had said Thomas Brown.
"What?" said Ralph, in his surprise.
"Signor Alberto," replied the boy, in the same matter-of-fact tone.
"What are you? French?" asked Ralph.
"No. Are you Scotch?" inquired the other boy.
"No. Why?"
"Because your name is McGregor," and the boy turned and swam, somewhat awkwardly, away.
Ralph struck out in his wake, and soon overtook him; Ralph's curiosity was excited, and he wanted to ask a few more questions. But just as he came abreast of the other swimmer, the stranger dived, and came up several feet further away. Ralph again swam to him, and the diving was repeated. When he came up Ralph called:
"See here, Alberto, or whatever your name is, I want to talk to you."
"Well," replied the other, "what of it?"
"You keep swimming away," replied Ralph.
"Can't you swim?" asked Alberto, in a dry tone which made the other boys grin.
"Course I can, but I want to talk now."
"Well, talk,—and I 'll swim," replied the cool stranger. The boys chuckled, and Ralph's temper was a little ruffled.
"Come here!" said he, somewhat imperiously.
"I have n't time," replied Alberto; "and I'm afraid I shall wet my feet." The last part of the reply admitted of but one construction. This irreverant stranger was evidently poking fun at the proud McGregor.
"If you don't come, I 'll come there and duck you," said Ralph; at the same time pretending to laugh as if he were only joking.
​But Alberto seemed to have forgotten Ralph's existence, and was swimming, still with apparent awkwardness, near Ethan Plunkett, and conversing quietly with him. This entire ignoring of his threat provoked Ralph more than any reply could have done.
"Do you hear me?" he shouted angrily.
"I do," replied Alberto; "but your voice is powerful weak. You need a tonic." Ralph wasted no more words, but plunged into the water and swam with all his might toward this irritating fellow. At the same time the boy called Signor Alberto seemed to be making tremendous efforts to get away; but Ralph gained upon him and was soon so near that he could almost reach the boy's heels. Almost, but not quite. Ralph redoubled his efforts, making frantic plunges, and puffing out water like a Chinese laundryman, but, somehow, there was still just an inch or two between his hand and Alberto's heels.
The other boys roared with laughter, and it soon became clear, even to Ralph, that he was not going to catch the boy—much less duck him. It was humiliating, but Ralph's breath gave out, and he had to stop.
"You 're a pretty fair swimmer," he said, trying to put a good face on the matter. "Where did you learn to swim?"
"In the Desert of Sahara," replied Alberto, "with the Eskimos."
"Oh, see here, stop fooling!" said Ralph. "Who are you, anyway?"
"You can call me an Italian cousin of Ethan Plunkett's," replied the boy, and he swam further out.
Ralph made up his mind that there was not much to be made out of so odd a fish, and swam away. Soon after he waded ashore, and, dressing, waited for the rest to come out. Ralph was somewhat silent, and, indeed, was for the first time conscious that he had lost rank in the eyes of his companions. He knew no other way ​to recover what he had lost than by some feat of strength or skill. Since he had been beaten in swimming (for the new-comer had easily outdone Ralph's best efforts in the water), he thought that perhaps his strength might stand him in good stead where his skill had failed. So, when the others were dressed, Ralph proposed that they should stay a while by the lake and "have some fun." The other boys well knew what this meant, and little Plunkett, who had hitherto kept strangely in the background, said: "What 'll we do, Ralph?"
"Let's pull on a stick."
This was Ralph's favorite amusement; he even preferred it to "snap-the-whip," though that, too, was a favorite.
So they found a stout stick, and two of the boys sat on the ground, put the soles of their feet together, and, holding the stick near the middle, pulled until one or the other was drawn to his feet or pulled over. Several of the boys declined the game—among them Alberto. But after Cromwell had with much difficulty conquered all but Ralph, the latter sat down with a confident smile, and after a short struggle pulled Cromwell over. Indeed, it seemed to him he had never conquered Tom so easily.
As he sat upon the ground, beaming with pride, and with his good humor entirely restored, little Plunkett stepped up and said modestly: "My friend Alberto thinks he would like that game—and he's willing to try with you, if you 'll show him how."
"All right," replied Ralph, very graciously.
So Alberto sat down, and after a little teaching said he thought he understood it.
"Oh, it takes some practice," said Ralph, in a patronizing tone; "I 'll pull against you with one hand, at first." So he did; but, strange to say, Alberto pulled hard enough to make Ralph lose his hold upon the stick, and it slipped from his hand.
​"You'd better take two hands, perhaps," said Alberto, politely. "It pulls more evenly that way."
So Ralph took both hands, braced himself, smiled to think how the little foreigner would come flying through the air, exerted all his strength, and, to his intense surprise, arose gracefully, but most unwillingly, to his feet. He was beaten; and the little foreigner was actually chuckling at him.
THE TUG OF WAR.
"You 're too heavy to be very strong," remarked Alberto, critically.
"Well, I guess you'd find me all you'd want to tackle!" said Ralph, testily, for he was unused to this style of criticism, and found it too frank to be agreeable.
"How do you mean?" asked the other.
​"Wrestling."
"What kind?" asked Alberto.
"Any kind," said Ralph, recklessly. "Come on, and I 'll show you whether I'm too fat or not."
"It's all good-natured, you know?" said Alberto, in a questioning tone.
"Any way you like," said Ralph. Alberto threw off his coat and advanced toward Ralph. "Are you ready?" he asked. "Ready," said Ralph.
When Ralph got up he looked around him in a dazed way, and then asked curiously, "How did you do that?"
"That's what they call the Greco-Roman style," replied Alberto, who did not seem to have moved at all, so far as Ralph could remember.
"Are your other styles like that?"
"Something like that," replied his cool antagonist.
"Then I don't care to see any more," replied Ralph very frankly, and with much more good-nature than most boys would have shown after having been thrown to the ground like an empty sack. The boys around laughed, and Tom Cromwell said: "That's a smart cousin of yours, Plunkett!"
"Yes, he's pretty quick," replied Plunkett, very soberly, and with more modesty than was entirely natural under the circumstances.
"Are you Plunkett's cousin?" asked Ralph, suspiciously.
"I have always called myself so ever since I first knew him," replied Signor Alberto, turning away. Plunkett laughed; he could not help it.
Ralph was much chagrined, but even yet did not completely realize his downfall or have sense enough to stop where he was. ​He was restless, and proposed a race to the village store. Away they went; little Plunkett first, at the start, for he was great on short distances; Tom Cromwell was next; then Ralph, saving himself for the final spurt; after him, two or three other boys, and, strangely enough, Plunkett's "cousin" was running lightly, the last of all.
Cromwell soon took the lead, but only to lose it to Ralph, and Ralph was just beginning to congratulate himself that he would be the winner when something rolled by him. Ralph drew up short.
It was Plunkett's "cousin"—turning handsprings!
That was too much. Ralph turned and fled home. He went to his room, sat down in a big arm-chair, and thought it all over. He did not go to church next day. He said he did not feel just right. He reappeared next day, and things thereafter went just about as usual—but with a difference. It was a very different Ralph McGregor who came to school on Monday—and a much better fellow the new McGregor was.
Now and then some of Ralph's old traits would show themselves for a moment, but when this happened there was likely to be a sudden interest in Plunkett's "cousin" among the boys, and solicitous inquiries about his health, and Ralph never failed to quiet down. Plunkett was reticent; but freely admitted that he did not expect another visit from Signor Alberto for some time to come.
A month or two passed, and Ralph went to the circus, which was at the county-seat near his native village. Among the performers he was surprised to recognize Plunkett's visitor! After seeing Alberto perform some wonderful feats of bareback riding, tumbling, jumping, and conjuring, Ralph said wisely to himself:
"Well, a fellow ought to follow his bent. It is n't long since he was here. It shows the youngster was cut out for the business or he never could have learned all that in so short a time!"
​He told Plunkett so, when he returned home, and Plunkett said only: "Ho! ho! ho!"
But Ralph did n't see that there was anything to laugh at.
As to the conspirators, they held one more meeting than the two mentioned. It was just before the departure of Plunkett's "cousin," and resulted in the prompt collection of five dollars. This was handed to Plunkett's "cousin," and he thanked the boys and said as he turned away: "I don't like to take money from you, boys, but, after all, you made it a matter of business."
All the boys assured him that they were well satisfied.