McAllister pulled out a chair next to Keating at the teachers' dining table and sat down. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, as he plopped his huge frame into the seat and signaled to a waiter for service.
"My pleasure," Keating smiled. He looked out at the room filled with blazerclad boys eating lunch.
"Quite an interesting class you had today, Mr. Keating," McAllister said sarcastically. Keating looked up.
"Sorry if I shocked you."
"No need to apologize," McAllister said as he shook his head, his mouth already filled with the mystery meat of the day. "It was quite fascinating, misguided though it was." Keating raised his eyebrows.
"You think so?" McAllister nodded.
"Undeniably. You take a big risk encouraging them to be artists, John. When they realize that they're not Rembrandts or Shakespeares or Mozarts, they'll hate you for it."
"Not artists, George," Keating said. "You missed the point. Free thinkers."
"Ah," McAllister laughed, "free thinkers at seventeen!"
"I hardly pegged you as a cynic," Keating said, sipping a cup of tea.
"Not a cynic, my boy," McAllister said knowingly. "A realist! Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams, and I'll show you a happy man!" He chewed a bite. "But I will enjoy listening to your lectures, John," McAllister added.
"I'll bet I will." Keating grinned with amusement. "I hope you're not the only one who feels that way," he said, glancing at several of the boys from the junior class who were seated nearby. The boys all turned as Neil Perry walked quickly into the dining room and sat down with them.
"You guys won't believe this!" he said, puffing breathlessly. "I found his senior annual in the library." Neil looked toward Keating, who was engaged in animated conversation with Mr. McAllister at the teacher's table.
He opened the annual and read: "'Captain of the soccer team, editor of the annual, Cambridgebound, Man most likely to do anything, Thigh man, Dead Poets Society.'" The others tried to grab the old annual.
"Thigh man?" Charlie laughed, "Mr. K. was a hell-raiser. Good for him!"
"What is the Dead Poets Society?" Knox asked, as he leafed through the book of old photos of Keating's Welton class.
"Any group pictures in the annual?" Meeks asked.
"Not of that," Neil said, as he studied the captions. "No other mention of it." Neil looked through the annual as Charlie nudged his leg. "Nolan," he hissed. As the dean approached, Neil passed the book under the table to Cameron, who immediately handed it over to Todd, who looked at him questioningly, then took it.
"Enjoying your classes, Mr. Perry?" Nolan asked as he paused at the boys' table.
"Yes, sir, very much," Neil said.
"And our Mr. Keating? Finding him interesting, boys?"
"Yes, sir," Charlie said. "We were just talking about that, sir."
"Good," Nolan said approvingly. "We're very excited about him. He was a Rhodes scholar, you know." The boys smiled and nodded. Nolan walked to another table. Todd pulled out the annual from under the table and leafed through it on his lap as he finished lunch
"I'll take the annual back," Neil said to Todd, as they got up to leave the dining room.
"What are you going to do with it?" Todd asked hesitantly.
"A little research," Neil said, smiling smugly.
~
After classes, Neil, Charlie, Meeks, Pitts, Cameron, and Todd headed back to the dorm together. They spotted Mr. Keating, wearing his sport coat and a scarf, walking across the lawn with an arm full of books.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Poets Society By N.H. Kleinbaum
青少年小說This was written after Dead Poets Society came out as another adaptation of the amazing story.
