[Sidenote: Failure to Utilise Leadership]
When Carl Lindstrom went to Bentley township to teach for a year and so
earn money with which to pursue his law course, he had no fear of
meeting resistance, for this community was one of culture and good
tradition, in which the children expected to do well in school and later
to go to college. Carl himself was always popular at college, and he had
no idea of being anything else in any community that he might grace with
his presence.
Before the first week was up, he had lost this happy confidence. Charles
Moxler was the cause of the new distrust of himself which Carl felt; and
Charles was regarded as a model of boyhood in the whole countryside. He
was fifteen years old, large and handsome, with charming manners and
marked ability. He learned his lessons seemingly without much effort,
and was a good violinist and a daring horseman. His attitude toward Carl
irritated the teacher from the first, for he was not used to the easy,
condescending tolerance with which Charles regarded him. Charles never
refused to comply with any direct request; he obeyed the letter of the
law without quibble. Nevertheless, Carl disliked him.
Charles seemed to have more influence with the students than the teacher
had, and this influence seemed to the sensitive teacher to be exerted in
a way to belittle his own authority. He resolved that when a chance came
he would show everyone who was master in that school. The easy air of
superiority of Charles nettled him so that one day he made an issue,
resolved to reduce the insolent boy to his proper place. Charles, who
had a loud and resonant voice, was telling a group of pupils of a
football game he had seen the Saturday before.
“Charles,” said Carl Lindstrom, “do try to talk more quietly. You can be
heard clear to the corner.”
“All right, sir!” sang out Charles, with easy good-nature. The other
pupils, especially the girls, with whom he was a great hero, giggled,
and Charles continued his story in a low monotone. But it was an
exciting story, and soon he was talking as loudly as before, while the
rest joined in his hearty laughter at the incident he was relating.
Carl, sitting outside the circle of fun and fellowship, felt his
authority seriously threatened, as indeed it was.
“Charles Moxler, take your seat!” he called out, suddenly, surprised
himself at the irritation in his voice. “If once asking isn’t enough, I
shall have to take other means. There is no sense in your talking so
loud, and when I ask you to do a thing, I mean it! The rest of you may
either take your seats or go out-of-doors.”
The pupils scattered, rather sullenly. School began a few moments later,
and Charles studied with unusual application. When the algebra class was
called, he came forward with the rest to recite. When his turn came to
demonstrate at the board, he stepped forward, placed his problem on the
board, and then began to explain in a voice so low that no one could
hear without straining.
Carl had a mind to correct him, but, remembering his pupil’s popularity
and having some caution in his make up, he refrained. Charles continued
during that day, and throughout the week, to address his teacher in
softly modified tones, so patently artificial that they aroused the
amusement of all the young people who heard them. His manner was
punctiliously respectful; Carl could find no point of attack. He felt
helpless and imposed upon, and he was very conscious of the amused
smiles of his pupils and of their scarcely concealed pity and contempt
for him. Had he been able to laugh it off as a good joke, all would have
been well, but Carl’s sense of humor did not extend to his own affairs.
This condition of things lasted for some time. At last, Charles, either
repenting his revenge or tiring of the effort involved, resumed his
natural voice and manner, and acted in a more manly way toward his
teacher. But Carl’s year had been badly spoiled. He knew he had made a
mistake, but knew not just where to look for it. How could one deal with
a pupil who seemed to have more leadership than one’s self? How could he
have avoided that humiliation and helplessness? What had he failed to
do? Whose fault was it?