AN EVENTFUL MONDAY.
AND now to return to Walter Conrad, whom we left looking forward to
commencing school as Mr. Barclay’s successor, on Monday morning. It was
certainly a difficult and responsible task for one who was in age but a
schoolboy, especially as Walter had reason to believe that there were
some who had resolved in advance to dispute his authority. Had he been
of a nervous or timid character, he would have been led to back out at
the eleventh hour, but Walter was resolute and plucky. He had a modest
self-reliance, which his brief experience as a book agent had confirmed.
The spirit in which he approached his new vocation may be inferred from
his own remark to Allen Barclay, at the end of the tenth chapter: “At
any rate, the die is cast; I have agreed to take the school, and I shall
do what I can to succeed.
“‘_In battle I’ll fall, or in death be laid low,
With my face to the field, and my feet to the foe._’”
Monday morning came at length. So far as the weather was concerned, it
opened auspiciously. The excitement of having a new teacher, more
especially one who, as was generally supposed, even among the more
orderly scholars, would fail in discipline, caused the pupils to
assemble earlier than usual on the green plot in front of the
schoolhouse.
Among these was Peter Groot, already described as more likely than any
other to prove troublesome. It had always been found necessary by past
teachers to appeal to force in this case. When he found that the teacher
could “whip” him, he subsided into a sullen submission. Allen Barclay
had been compelled to flog him on the second day, and he did it so
effectually that Peter never needed a second lesson. But as, both in
appearance and reality, Peter was a little older than the new teacher,
and, as he himself supposed, considerably stronger, he looked forward
with confidence to “licking” Walter, if the latter should endeavor to
enforce the commands which he intended to disobey.
“How are you, Peter?” said John Wall, on arriving at the schoolhouse,
twenty minutes early. “How do you like having a new teacher?”
“I like it,” said Peter, significantly.
“I suppose you’re going to be a good boy, and mind all he says,” said
John, desirous of making trouble for Walter.
“Not much,” said Peter.
“You ain’t going to rebel, are you?” inquired John, smiling
encouragingly.
“That depends on how the teacher behaves. He ain’t going to order me
round, and he’d better not try it,” said Peter, emphatically. “He’ll
find he has waked up the wrong customer.”
“He don’t look as if he could manage you,” said John, glancing at
Peter’s sturdy form. “I guess you’re as strong as he is.”
“Manage me!” repeated Peter, contemptuously. “I can lick him with one
hand.”
“He may be stronger than he looks,” said John, artfully, bent on
stirring up Peter to open rebellion.
“He don’t weigh as much as me, and I’ve got twice his muscle,” said
Peter. “Why, I could keep school better than he.”
“I don’t think I should like to come to school to you, Peter,” said
Alfred Clinton, laughing. “I’m afraid you’d break down on teaching
fractions.”
Alfred referred to an occurrence of the previous week, where Peter, who
was by no means as strong mentally as physically, showed the most
lamentable ignorance. He did not relish the allusion.
“You’d better not be impudent, Alfred Clinton,” he said, coloring, “or I
may lick you.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Alfred, indifferently. “You’d better save
your strength, for you may need it.”
“Do you mean that I’ll need it to lick the master?”
“I hope you won’t make any trouble for him,” said Alfred.
“On his account?”
“No; I looked at him carefully the other day, and I made up my mind
about him.”
“Did you?” said Peter, sneeringly. “Will you oblige me by telling me
what you think about him?”
“I think that you’ll find him a tougher customer to deal with than you
think.”
Peter burst into derisive laughter.
“What do you think of that, John?” demanded Peter.
John Wall, who was, in feeling, a young aristocrat, did not in general
affect the society of Peter, nor care to be considered intimate with
him, but a common hatred often makes strange yoke-fellows; so now he was
disposed to co-operate with Peter, and be gracious to him, in the hope
that he would make trouble for Walter, whose independent spirit had
occasioned his cordial dislike. When, therefore, Peter addressed him
familiarly, he overlooked what, under other circumstances, would have
been disagreeable to him, and replied: “I’ll bet on you, Peter.”
“Of course you will; you’d be a fool not to,” said Peter.
John did not quite like the way in which he expressed it, but, for the
reason before mentioned, did not show it.
“He must be crazy,” continued John, “or he would know better than to try
keeping school here. I don’t believe he knows much.”
“I guess he knows enough to teach you,” said Alfred Clinton, who had
taken a fancy to the new teacher, and felt like defending him.
“Speak for yourself, Alfred Clinton,” said John, superciliously. “I’m
reading Cæsar.”
He drew himself up, as he spoke, in a way intended to impress the boys
that one who was reading Cæsar must be a very advanced Latin scholar.
“I know it,” said Alfred, “but I shouldn’t think you understood it very
well, the way you recite.”
“You’re not qualified to judge,” said John, in a lofty tone. “You’re
only a beginner in Latin. You don’t know enough to criticise one who
studies Cæsar.”
“Maybe not,” said Alfred, “but I know that _habeo_ isn’t of the first
conjugation, as you called it in your last recitation.”
“It was only a slip of the tongue. I knew well enough it was the third,”
returned John, not quite liking the turn the conversation had taken.
“Indeed, that’s news,” said Alfred, quietly. “I always supposed it was
the second.”
“That’s what I meant,” said John, coloring. “But I don’t care to
continue the conversation. I feel sure that the new teacher don’t know
much.”
“I think he will know enough to teach either of us,” said Alfred.
John pursed up his mouth, and was silent. He regarded Alfred, who was
the son of a poor widow, as far below him in social position, and did
not often condescend to exchange as many words with him as at present.
Indeed, John looked upon himself as superior in social rank to any of
his schoolmates, but was condescending enough to associate with the sons
of the leading men on terms of equality.
Just then up came Phineas Morton, who has already been referred to as a
young man of twenty, and standing six feet in his stockings. He was
several inches taller, and necessarily much stronger, than Walter, but,
fortunately, he was very good-natured, and of a very different
disposition from Peter Groot.
“Good-morning, boys,” he said, pleasantly; “hasn’t the master come yet?”
“Not yet,” said Peter. “I guess he don’t feel in any hurry.”
“Why not?”
“I guess he thinks he’s undertaken a big job.”
“Yes; it isn’t easy to teach school. I shouldn’t like it myself.”
“You could do it better than he.”
“Why could I?”
“You could lick any of us, easy.”
“A teacher needs more than that. He’s got to know something. I don’t
know enough to teach this school,” said Phineas, modestly.
“The master’s a boy compared with you,” said Peter, who would have liked
to receive the co-operation of Phineas.
“I know it,” said Phineas, quietly, “but he looks as if he might know
something. If he knows enough to help me along in my studies, I would
just as lief have him teacher as Mr. Barclay.”
“Then I wouldn’t,” said Peter.
“Nor I,” said John, who, though he rather disliked Allen Barclay,
disliked Walter considerably more.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to be ordered round by a boy. I don’t believe he is as old
as I am.”
“I don’t believe you would learn much under any teacher, Peter,” said
Phineas, laughing.
“Why not?” asked Peter, scowling.
“Why, learning isn’t your strong point, you know.”
“That’s my strong point,” said Peter, tapping the muscle of his right
arm, significantly.
“You’re about right,” said Phineas; “you’re stronger there than you are
in the head.”
Peter did not like this remark, but he knew that it would be of no use
to show his anger. He was a bully in the case of younger boys, but he
very well knew that Phineas could manage him with one hand, as he
boasted he could manage the new teacher.
Phineas went into the schoolhouse after his last remark, and a minute
later one of the younger boys called out: “The master’s coming!”
All eyes were turned upon Walter, who was ascending the hill, with
several books under his arm. As he approached, Peter, with derisive
politeness, took off his hat and bowed low.
Walter quietly raised his hat slightly in return, and said:
“Good-morning, boys.”
He entered the schoolhouse, and the scholars followed him.
“He’ll be sick of his bargain before the week’s out,” said Peter, aside,
to John; “you’ll see if he don’t.”
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