Dead Poets Society

rehearsal tomorrow and tell them you are quitting.”
    “Father, I have one of the main parts,” Neil explained. “The performance is tomorrow night. Father, please...”
    Mr. Perry’s face was white with rage. He moved toward Neil, pointing his finger. “I don’t care if the world is coming to an end tomorrow night, you are through with that play! Is that clear? IS THAT CLEAR?“
    “Yes, sir.” It was all Neil could force himself to say.
    Mr. Perry stopped. He stared long and hard at his son. “I’ve made great sacrifices to get you here, Neil. You will not let me down.”
    Mr. Perry turned and stalked out. Neil stood still for a long time, then, walking to his desk, he started pounding on it, harder and harder until his fists went numb and tears began rolling down his cheeks.

    Later that evening, all of the society pledges sat together in the Welton dining hall, except Neil, who said he had a headache. They appeared to be having difficulty eating, and old Dr. Hager approached their table, eyeing the boys suspiciously.
    “Mr. Dalton, what is wrong, son?” he asked. “Are you having trouble with your meal?”
    “No, sir,” Charlie replied.
    Hager watched the boys. “Misters Meeks and Overstreet and Anderson, are you normally left-handed?” Hager asked after a moment.
    “No, sir.”
    “Then why are you eating with your left hands?”
    The boys looked at each other. Knox spoke for the group. “We thought it would be good to break old habits, sir,” he explained.
    “What is wrong with old habits, Mr. Overstreet?”
    “They perpetuate mechanical living, sir,” Knox maintained. “They limit your mind. “
    “Mr. Overstreet, I suggest you worry less about breaking old habits and more about developing good study habits. Do you understand?” he said firmly.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “That goes for all of you,” Hager said, looking at the table of boys. “Now eat with your correct hands.”
    The boys obeyed. But once he moved away, Charlie switched hands and began eating with his left hand again. One by one, the others followed.
    Finally Neil came to the dining room and walked over to their table. He looked solemn and upset. “You okay?” Charlie asked.
    “Visit from my father,” Neil said.
    “Do you have to quit the play?” Todd asked.
    “I don’t know,” Neil said.
    “Why don’t you talk to Mr. Keating about it, Charlie suggested.
    “What good will that do?” Neil asked glumly.
    Charlie shrugged. “Maybe he’ll have some advice. Maybe he’ll even talk to your father.”
    “Are you kidding?” Neil laughed shortly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    In spite of Neil’s objections, the boys insisted that Mr. Keating might be able to help Neil solve his problems. After dinner they walked to the teacher’s quarters on the second floor of the dorm-Todd, Pitts, and Neil stood outside Keating’s door. Charlie knocked.
    “This is stupid,” Neil protested.
    “It’s better than doing nothing,” Charlie said. He knocked again, but no one came to the door.
    “He’s not here. Let’s go,” Neil begged.
    Charlie tried the door knob, and the door clicked open. “Let’s wait for him,” Charlie said as he walked into Keating’s room.
    “Charlie! Nuwanda!” the others called from the hall. “Get out of there!” But Charlie refused to come out, and after a few minutes of talking and pleading the others gave into their curiosity and entered Keating’s room.
    The small space was empty and lonely looking. The boys stood around uncomfortably, shifting on their feet. “Nuwanda,” Pitts whispered. “We shouldn’t be in here!”
    Charlie ignored him and got up to look around the room. A small blue suitcase stood on the floor by the door. A few books, some pretty tattered looking, lay on the bed. Charlie walked to the desk and picked up a framed picture of a beautiful girl who looked to be in her twenties. “Whoa, look at her!” he whistled. Lying next to the picture was a half-written letter. Charlie picked up the paper and read: “‘My darling Jessica: It’s so lonely at times without you... bla bla bla. All I can do to put myself at ease is study your beautiful picture or close my eyes and imagine your radiant smile—but my poor imagination is a dim substitute for you. Oh, how I miss you and wish—’”
    Charlie kept reading as the other boys heard the door creak open. They backed away from Charlie, who suddenly stopped reading when he saw Keating standing in the