Rev. Fr. Francis J. Finn - Tom Playfair: Or Making a Start (with Supplemental Reading: Confession: Its Fruitful Practice)

And are you really and truly a fool? .

Copyright 1891 by Benziger Brothers, New York. Reprinted from the Twelfth Edition by TAN Books and Publishers, Inc. in 2000.

ISBN: 978-0-89555-670-7

Library of Congress Control No.: 00-131556

Cover illustrations by Margaret Ethier; reproduced courtesy of the Headmaster of St. Marys Academy and College, St. Marys, Kansas, publisher of the former Crusade Magazine, in which the illustrations first appeared.

Cover design by Peter Massari.

THE TOM PLAYFAIR SERIES

Father Finns Famous Three

Tom Playfairor Making a Start: ISBN 978-0-89555-670-7

Percy Wynnor Making a Boy of Him: ISBN 978-0-89555-671-4

Harry Deeor Working It Out: ISBN 978-0-89555-672-1

The Set of 3: ISBN 978-0-89555-687-5

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

TAN Books

Charlotte, North Carolina

2000

PREFACE

T HE vicissitudes of the Tom Playfair manuscript would alone make a story. How it was written over seven years ago, for the sake of a college class, and with no ulterior thought of publication; how portions of it gradually found their way into print; how the writer hesitated for years whether to consign the remaining parts to the book publisher or to the wastebasket; how the cordial reception of Percy Wynn, and the kind words concerning Tom Playfair from critics and from readers inspirited him to take the venerable manuscriptdone at all manner of odd times, in lead pencil and ink, upon all sorts and conditions of paperfrom his trunk, and subsequently devote no small part of his vacation days (July, August, 1891) to its revisal; how the valued advice and kind words of literary friends served him in the revisionare not all these things indelibly impressed upon the authors memory?

And now he ventures to offer this story to the boys and girls of the land, in the hope that it may afford them healthful pleasure.

Advancing the figure learnedly styled hysteron-proteron from sentences to volumes, he has published Percy Wynn first, although Percys adventures are subsequent to Toms. The reason for this procedure may be gathered from what has been said of the Tom Playfair manuscript.

St. Maures is a pseudonym for a certain college in the West. Besides inventing incidents, the author, to suit his purpose, has on occasion taken liberties with the local surroundings; but in the main he has adhered to the prototype.

It is almost needless to say that the real college never suffered from the effects of a thunderbolt; in fact, the cupola, upon which turns a catastrophe recorded in these pages, was erected, not by an architect, but by a few strokes of the pen.

Near this Western college there is a villagea thriving, happy community. This village the author has eliminated from these stories. The village of St. Maures, which takes its place, is a fiction.

In drawing, with certain necessary reserves, upon his three years experience at this Western college, the author has, perhaps, made too little of one striking featurethe manly piety of the students. In all his experiences there he could count upon his fingers those who, while in attendance, had evidently changed for the worse; and they were marked exceptions.

It is hard upon seven years since the writer last saw St. Maures. Then it was just on this side of its pioneer days. Now it is a college with a history of which it may well be proud. The old church building, the little boys dormitory and washroom, the long, low frame structure used as an infirmary, are gone; new and nobler piles have arisen in their place so that the college of today, as Peggotty remarked, I believe, of her nephew, Ham, has growed out of knowledge; and yet the sweet spirit of faith and prayer has abided unchanged amid all changes.

The author has not seen these changes he is blessed in believing. Nor can he doubt, aside from all testimony, that the same spirit pervades them all. The Dial , a college paper conducted by the students, reaches him every month; and he can read in the lines and between the lines that the college of today and the college of seven years ago are one in that closest and most sacred of moral unionsa true, devout, Catholic spirit.

F RANCIS J. F INN , S.J.

October 19, 1891

CONTENTS

Chapter I

T OMMY!

No answer.

Tommydo you hear me? Get up this moment, sir. Do you think this house is a hotel? Everyones at breakfast except yourself.

Miss Meadow, Tom Playfairs maternal aunt, stood without the door of Master Playfairs sleeping apartment. She paused for a moment, partly to gain her breath (having come up three pairs of stairs to arouse Tom) and partly to await some reply from our sleeping hero.

The silence, however, was simply emphasized by the ticking of the great clock in the hall.

Tommy! she resumed at length, in a higher key, do you hear me?

Her strained ears caught the dull sound as of someone turning lazily in his bed. Now youre awake, sir, jump right up, and dress for your breakfast.

Sho! scat! came a yawning voice from the room.

Dear me! cried poor Miss Meadow, the boy doesnt mind me in the least.

Whats the trouble, Jane? queried Mr. Playfair, who just then issued from his room.

I cant get that Tommy out of bed. Hes growing worse every day, George. Last week he was late for school five times.

Ill fix that, Jane, said Mr. Playfair. And he took one step toward Toms sleeping-room, when the door of that apartment opened a few inches, discovering a young face peering anxiously from beneath a mass of tangled hair.

Pa, said the apparition, Im dressing just as fast as I know how. I heard you, auntie, and Im coming right away.

Then the door closed. Tom, it must be explained, had been composing himself for another nap, when the whispered dialogue between his aunt and his father had brought him out of bed with most unwonted celerity. The wily lad deemed it best not to wait for an order from his father. Hence the apparition.

If you are not at the breakfast table in two minutes, sir, you shall hear from me, and with these sternly delivered words Mr. Playfair conducted Miss Meadow to breakfast.

Little more than a minute later, a stout, healthy, dark-complexioned lad of ten emerged from his room ready and eager for the labor and heat of the day. His rosy face and jet-black hair gave token of a hasty toilet. His shoes were partially buttoned, his sturdy legs were encased in a pair of bright red stockings and rather tight knickerbockers, and his chubby cheeks wore an air of serenity, which coupled with his naturally handsome features made him a pleasing sight to all lovers of the genuine American boy.

Hastily descending the stairs (which he did by taking from three to four steps at a bound), Tom very quickly presented himself in the dining room, and ignoring the presence of the cat, in the teasing of which he spent a considerable portion of his valuable time, he seated himself at table, and fell to with great good will. But trouble was brewing.

Besides Mr. Playfair and Miss Meadow, there was at table a young man, brother to Toms aunt, and the bane of our heros life. Mr. Charles Meadow was not a bad young man, but he had, despite this negative good quality, a large and constantly increasing stock of small faults, one of which was an inordinate delight in teasing and browbeating Tom. It is fair to say, however, that in the indulgence of this fault Mr. Meadow did not always come off with flying colors. Tom contrived to gain a victory now and then, and thus added a zest to the domestic war, which would otherwise have been too one-sided to be interesting. Strangely enough, Mr. Playfair held himself, in general, strictly neutral; and it was only when the campaign gave signs of unusual bitterness that he felt himself called upon to interfere.