So Mary Wing's name flared in newspaper headlines once again.
In matters of school politics, the editorial writers of the city were
habitually gun-shy, but it was noted next morning that the reporters had
treated Mary with marked consideration. "Of all the changes and new
appointments ordered by the Board in its three-hour session," wrote the
kindly youth on the "Post," "none created such amazement as the demotion
of Miss Wing, she having for long been conceded to be possibly the most
valued teacher in the city school system. Members of the Board, however,
refused to explain their totally unlooked-for action, Chairman Garcin
merely claiming that 'All changes were for the good of the schools.'
Charges of politics were freely heard in the lobby, and one well-known
citizen, who prefers not to be quoted at just this juncture, said," etc.
Reporters, as everybody knows, must severely repress their personal
opinions and stick like mucilage to the bare facts. But which facts are
the bare ones? Judicious selection is a wonderful thing.
However, one of Miss Wing's admirers read the "Post's" amiable sentences
with no abatement of his burning indignation. Print made the thing
immensely concrete, and that was all. In Charles's mind, every hard or
critical thought of Mary had fallen instantly in the face of her
astonishing disaster; "I told you so" was not in him. That his old
friend's struggle upward had collapsed in sudden disgrace: this was bare
fact enough to possess him completely throughout the tutorial day. Here
fell a Modern principle from which he had never wavered, the great
principle that a woman should have a fair field to work, and fair
judgment, without prejudice of sex. All Mary Wing's success had been
entwined with that principle; since she was in her teens, she had
fought for it, in sunshine and in thunder; and in that town at least the
way was smoother for all women henceforward, because of what she had
done. And now to break her, after all these years, only because she, a
woman, had refused to throw a stone at a mistaken sister ... By Heavens,
this could not be endured.
Thus Charles communed with himself, crisply teaching the Elements,
French and Sociology. And he snapped his watch at Miss Grace Chorister
five minutes ahead of time and, writing forgotten, went rushing to the
support of his "demoted" friend.
But he did not rush by way of the frequented promenade. As he had gone
to lunch by street-car to-day, so his journey to the High School was
conducted in the same discreet manner. Through all this unimagined
disturbance about Mary, the young man had not lost sight of his last
night's resolve, formed in the Green Park, as to Mary's so different
cousin. Cad he might be; understand it she might not (in view of the
kiss); but Charles was clear that it was for the best that he and Miss
Angela should meet upon Washington Street no more.
The "Post's" story had made one thing certain at least: Mary did not
mean to tear up her teacher's certificate and pitch it, with her
resignation, in the faces of the School Board. In the still watches,
Charles had thought she might be capable of just such reckless repartee;
now he divined that she was reserving her resignation, to discharge it,
like a bomb, upon her expected election as Secretary of the Education
Reform League. That prospect in the Career blurred the situation
considerably, without doubt. Still, the secretaryship was three months
away, at the worst. And meanwhile the immediate problem thundered for
attention, namely, how to get Mary back into the High School at the
earliest possible moment? Charles, who as a man considered this problem
his own no less than Mary's, arrived at the School with three promising
plans in his head.
It was Friday, commonly a late day for Mary, but you could count on
nothing on such a day as this. However, when he had dashed into the
great building and up the two tall stairways, there sat the late
assistant principal in her little office, hard at work before a regular
man's desk. She was discovered deep in the sorting of papers, and swung
around at his step with a start and a smile.
"Good-afternoon!--and excuse the mess, please! The notice to move caught
me a little unawares, you see.--Don't look so solemn, please!"
Whatever emotions she might have wrestled with last night, when her
light shone so bright over the park, it was clear that Mary Wing had put
them all down to front the world to-day. Neither did she seem
embarrassed by any memories of recent conversations on these topics, of
hints dropped and too firmly repulsed. Her manner, her sensitive fine
face, were as composed as ever.
It may be that this, at the outset, was slightly upsetting to Charles,
who was himself not composed at all.
He scooped a pile of "The New School" from a chair and sat with an elbow
upon the writing-leaf of her masculine desk. Dumping papers from
pigeon-holes, Mary calmly explained how complete was her overthrow.
Senff, who was known as Mysinger's "personal representative" on the
Board, had preferred the charges, she said, recommending her outright
dismissal from the schools. The train had been carefully laid; it
appeared that Mary had received an official warning from the
Superintendent--an obliging man, elderly and weak, whom Mysinger meant
to succeed before long--all of two weeks ago. Beyond influence and
politication, much weight was attached to the simple fact that Mysinger,
as Mary's immediate associate and superior, felt this persistent
antipathy toward her. All the same, the Board had debated the case a
full hour.
"Dangerous ideas," she summarized. "I'm not a suitable person to have
authority over the education of--young women and men."
"What they said about Socrates, too--"
"Yes, but I don't want a monument after I'm dead!"
She laughed, without self-consciousness, and said: "Oh, if I'd tried, of
course, I couldn't have put a better club into Mr. Mysinger's hands.
Ideas!--I'm really amazed I wasn't electrocuted on the spot. Of course
it isn't as if I were a man, you see, with a right to have ideas. That's
my real fault, from the beginning--at least with Mysinger. I'm a woman,
and so should never have been suffered 'to teach, nor to usurp authority
over the man, but to be in silence.' Dear St. Paul!"
It was rare to find bitterness in Mary. Charles asked hastily if there
had been much talk about the building to-day. She said that the School
had been buzzing with it.
"It's almost been worth having it happen, to see how many friends I've
got. And the children are the best, of course. All afternoon my boys and
girls have been streaming in here, in threes and fours--just to say
they're sorry I'm going...."
A shadow fell on her oddly fragile-looking face, and the author struck
the writing-leaf with a large fist.
"By George, you shan't go!"
"By George, I've got to," said Mary.
"Well, by George, you'll come right back. Listen to me."
Leaning forward over her desk, he eagerly unfolded his leading plan,
elaborated by him in the night season. This plan involved an immediate
appeal to the State Board of Education, which body had the power of
overriding all acts of local school boards. Chalmers Brown, the young
Attorney-General of the State and Charles's good friend, was an
_ex-officio_ member of this august body. Brown would arrange to have a
meeting called at once, ostensibly on other business, if necessary. Mary
Wing would find herself triumphantly back in this office within two
weeks from to-day. And as for--
But at the first mention of the State Board, Mary had begun to shake her
head, and before Charles had got his plan fairly set out she interrupted
him, rather (it seemed to him) as an older brother interrupts.
"No, I've thought that over very carefully. Mysinger's pull has me
beaten there before I begin. I'd only be playing into his hand, don't
you see--giving the State Board a public opportunity to indorse and
approve my punishment."
"But, great heavens! Mysinger's not the whole show here. You overrate--"
"He is, and he isn't. Some good men, like Creamer, are against me now,
it's true. And yet, if Mysinger let either Board know that he wanted me
back here, I'd come back to-morrow. He's that much of the show, Mr.
Garrott."
Charles argued warmly. He was chagrined at the ease and decision with
which the sure young woman brushed his arguments aside. Nor did the
consciousness that she was probably sound in her positions soothe his
masculine sense of the fitness of things at all. With a subtle loss of
enthusiasm, he broached his second plan; and it too was summarily thrown
out of court. That plan had called for an investigation of the "due
cause" by the City Council--an intention attributed by the generous
"Post" reporter to the well-known citizen, unnamed. Finding his
supporting shoulder thus rejected, Charles demanded what was _her_
plan, then. And it seemed that Mary's plan was merely to wait until May,
when the terms of three members of the local Board expired (all of them
Mysinger men), and then to see to it that these places were filled with
men friendly to her.
The plan seemed to the young man so feeble and remote, so
uncharacteristic and tame, as to indicate a certain indifference in her.
He sat eyeing her a moment with intent speculation, and then said
deliberately:--
"That's good enough for publication purposes, I suppose. But--you're
thinking of something very different, aren't you?"
"Am I?--what do you suspect?" said Mary, continuing her labors of
paper-sorting.
"It's occurred to me that you have rather a brilliant revenge up your
sleeve all the time. What'll you care for little pigs like Mysinger,
when you go off as General Secretary of the League?"
The self-contained young woman surprised him by throwing both arms above
her head and saying, passionately. "If I only could! Oh, oh! If I only
could!"