THINK OF IT
Ames was an inspiration. Jim Irwin received from the great agricultural
college more real education in this one trip than many students get from a
four years' course in its halls; for he had spent ten years in getting
ready for the experience. The great farm of hundreds of acres, all under
the management of experts, the beautiful campus, the commodious classrooms
and laboratories, and especially the barns, the greenhouses, gardens,
herds and flocks filled him with a sort of apostolic joy.
"Every school," said he to Professor Withers, "ought to be doing a good
deal of the work you have to do here."
"I'll admit," said the professor, "that much of our work in agriculture is
pretty elementary."
"It's intermediate school work," said Jim. "It's a wrong to force boys and
girls to leave their homes and live in a college to get so much of what
they should have before they're ten years old."
"There's something in what you say," said the professor, "but some
experiment station men seem to think that agriculture in the common
schools will take from the young men and women the felt need, and
therefore the desire to come to the college."
"If you can't give them anything better than high-school work," said Jim,
"that will be so; but if the science and art of agriculture is what I
think it is, it would make them hungry for the advanced work that really
can't be done at home. To make the children wait until they're twenty is
to deny them more than half what the college ought to give them--and make
them pay for what they don't get."
"I think you're right," said the professor.
"Give us the kind of schools I ask for," cried Jim, "and I'll fill a
college like this in every congressional district in Iowa, or I'll force
you to tear this down and build larger."
The professor laughed at his enthusiasm.
More nearly happy, and rather shorter of money than he had recently been,
Jim journeyed home among the companions from his own neighborhood, in a
frenzy of plans for the future. Mr. Hofmyer had dropped from his mind,
until Con Bonner, his old enemy, drew him aside in the vestibule of the
train and spoke to him in the mysterious manner peculiar to politicians.
"What kind of a proposition did that man Hofmeister make you?" he
inquired. "He asked me about you, and I told him you're a crackerjack."
"I'm much obliged," replied Jim.
"No use in back-cappin' a fellow that's tryin' to make somethin' of
himself," said Bonner. "That ain't good politics, nor good sense. Anything
to him?"
"He offered me a salary of seventy-five dollars a month to take charge of
his school," said Jim.
"Well," said Con, "we'll be sorry to lose yeh, but you can't turn down
anything like that."
"I don't know," said Jim. "I haven't decided."
Bonner scrutinized his face sharply, as if to find out what sort of game
he was playing.
"Well," said he, at last, "I hope you can stay with us, o' course. I'm
licked, and I never squeal. If the rist of the district can stand your
kind of thricks, I can. And say, Jim"--here he grew still more
mysterious--"if you do stay, some of us would like to have you be
enough of a Dimmycrat to go into the next con'vintion f'r county
superintendent."
"Why," replied Jim, "I never thought of such a thing!"
"Well, think of it," said Con. "The county's close, and wid a pop'lar
young educator--an' a farmer, too, it might be done. Think of it."
It must be confessed that Jim was almost dazed at the number of
"propositions" of which he was now required to "think"--and that Bonner's
did not at first impress him as having anything back of it but blarney. He
was to find out later, however, that the wily Con had made up his mind
that the ambition of Jim to serve the rural schools in a larger sphere
might be used for the purpose of bringing to earth what he regarded as the
soaring political ambitions of the Woodruff family.
To defeat the colonel in the defeat of his daughter when running for her
traditionally-granted second term; to get Jim Irwin out of the Woodruff
District by kicking him up-stairs into a county office; to split the
forces which had defeated Mr. Bonner in his own school district; and to do
these things with the very instrument used by the colonel on that sad but
glorious day of the last school election--these, to Mr. Bonner, would be
diabolically fine things to do--things worthy of those Tammany politicians
who from afar off had won his admiration.
Jim had scarcely taken his seat in the car, facing Jennie Woodruff and
Bettina Hansen in the Pullman, when Columbus Brown, pathmaster of the road
district and only across the way from residence in the school district,
came down the aisle and called Jim to the smoking-room.
"Did an old fellow named Hoffman from Pottawatomie County ask you to leave
us and take his school?" he asked.
"Mr. Hofmyer," said Jim, "--yes, he did."
"Well," said Columbus, "I don't want to ask you to stand in your own
light, but I hope you won't let him toll you off there among strangers.
We're proud of you, Jim, and we don't want to lose you."
Proud of him! Sweet music to the underling's ears! Jim blushed and
stammered.
"The fact is," said Columbus, "I know that Woodruff District job hain't
big enough for you any more; but we can make it bigger. If you'll stay, I
believe we can pull off a deal to consolidate some of them districts, and
make you boss of the whole shooting match."
"I appreciate this, Clumb," said Jim, "but I don't believe you can do
it."
"Well, think of it," said Columbus. "And don't do anything till you talk
with me and a few of the rest of the boys."
"Think of it" again!
A fine home-coming it was for Jim, with the colonel waiting at the station
with a double sleigh, and the chance to ride into the snowy country in the
same seat with Jennie--a chance which was blighted by the colonel's
placing of Jennie, Bettina and Nils Hansen in the broad rear seat, and Jim
in front with himself. A fine ride, just the same, over fine roads, and
past fine farmsteads snuggled into their rectangular wrappages of trees
set out in the old pioneer days. The colonel would not allow him to get
out and walk when he could really have reached home more quickly by doing
so; no, he set the Hansens down at their door, took Jennie home, and then
drove the lightened sleigh merrily to the humble cabin of the rather
excited young schoolmaster.
"Did you make any deal with those people down in the western part of the
state?" asked the colonel. "Jennie wrote me that you've got an offer."
"No," said Jim, and he told the colonel about the proposal of Mr.
Hofmyer.
"Well," said the colonel, "in my capacity of wild-eyed reformer, I've made
up my mind that the first four miles in the trip is to make the rural
teacher's job a bigger job. It's got to be a man's size, woman's size job,
or we can't get real men and real women to stay in the work."
"I think that's a statesmanlike formulation of it," said Jim.
"Well," said the colonel, "don't turn down the Pottawatomie County job
until we have a chance to see what we can do. I'll get some kind of a
meeting together, and what I want you to do is to use this offer as a club
over this helpless school district. What we need is to be held up. Do the
Jesse James act, Jim!"
"I can't, Colonel!"
"Yes, you can, too. Will you try it?"
"I want to treat everybody fairly," said Jim, "including Mr. Hofmyer. I
don't know what to do, hardly."
"Well, I'll get the meeting together," said the colonel, "and in the
meantime, think of what I've said."
Another thing to think of! Jim rushed into the house and surprised his
mother, who had expected him to arrive after a slow walk from town through
the snow. Jim caught her in his arms, from which she was released a moment
later, quite flustered and blushing.
"Why, James," said she, "you seem excited. What's happened?"
"Nothing, mother," he replied, "except that I believe there's just a
possibility of my being a success in the world!"
"My boy, my boy!" said she, laying her hand on his arm, "if you were to
die to-night, you'd die the greatest success any boy ever was--if your
mother is any judge."
Jim kissed her, and went up to his attic to change his clothes. Inside the
waistcoat was a worn envelope, which he carefully opened, and took from it
a letter much creased from many foldings. It was the old letter from
Jennie, written when the comical mistake had been made of making him the
teacher of the Woodruff school. It still contained her rather fussy
cautions about being "too original," and the sage statement that "the
wheel runs easiest in the beaten track." It was written before the
vexation and trouble he had caused her; but he did not read the advice,
nor think of the coolness which had come between them--he read only the
sentence in which Jennie had told of her father's interest in Jim's
success, ending with the underscored words, "_I'm for you, too._"
"I wonder," said Jim, as he went out to do the evening's tasks, "I wonder
if she _is_ for me!"