B PLUS AND D MINUS
At half-past ten the next morning Mr. Daley hurried into the class-room
where French IV was already assembled, stumbled over the edge of the
platform--the boys would have gasped with amazement had he neglected to
do that--and took his seat. On one corner of the table in front of him
was a pile of blue-books. He drew it toward him and ran a hand along the
edges of the books.
"Has everyone handed in his composition?" he asked.
There was no reply and he seemed surprised. "I--er--I am to understand,
then, that you have all turned your books in?"
Still no dissenting voice. Mr. Daley's gaze travelled over the class
until it encountered Steve at the rear of the room. He opened his mouth,
hesitated, closed it again, cleared his throat and finally pushed the
pile of books aside.
"Very well," he said. "I shall mark these this evening. You
will--er--kindly get them to-morrow. Now then, 'Le Siege de Paris'; we
left off where, Upton?"
At a few minutes past twelve Steve knocked at Mr. Daley's door, and,
obeying the invitation, entered. The instructor was seated at his desk,
a litter of blue-books in front of him and a pipe in his mouth. The
latter he laid aside as the boy appeared.
"You said you wanted to see me, sir," said Steve.
"Er--yes, Edwards. Sit down, please." The instructor took up his pipe
again, hurriedly put it aside, seized a pencil and jotted nervously on
the back of a book. Finally,
"I--er--find your composition here," he said. "When did you write it?"
"Between half-past ten last night and two o'clock this morning."
"Hm!" Mr. Daley swung around in his chair, viewed the oblong of
landscape framed by the window for a moment and swung back again. There
was a faint smile about his eyes. "Edwards, you--er--are a bit
disconcerting. I presume you know that the rules require you to be in
bed with lights out at ten-thirty?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hm! And you--er--deliberately transgressed that rule?"
"I didn't see anything else to do, Mr. Daley. You said I must turn that
in by noon and there wouldn't have been time this morning to do it."
"Logically reasoned, my boy, but----" The instructor shook his head.
"You mustn't expect me to compliment you on your performance, Edwards.
To perform one duty by neglecting another is hardly--er--commendable. If
it were not that you had transgressed a rule of the school, Edwards, I
might compliment you quite highly. Your composition--I--er--I've been
glancing through it--is really very good. I don't mean that you have not
made mistakes of grammar, for you have, lots of them, but--er--you have
written a well-constructed and--er--well-expressed narrative. What
I--er--especially like about it is the subject. You have written of
something you know about, something close at home, so to say. I--er--I
am not much of a swimmer myself, but I presume that the instructions you
have laid down here are--er--quite correct. In fact, Edwards, I'll even
go so far as to say that I fancy one might take this composition of
yours and--er--really learn something about swimming. And--er--if you
have ever tried to learn anything of the sort--golf, rowing,
tennis--from a hand-book you will realise that that is high praise."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"I had decided to mark your composition with a B, Edwards. Perhaps the
many mistakes in grammar would ordinarily indicate a C, perhaps even a C
minus, but the--er--other merits of the exercise are so pronounced that,
on the whole, I think it deserves a B."
"Thank you, sir."
"Er--just a moment." The instructor held up a hand. "I said that I had
decided to give you a B, Edwards. That, however, was before I had
learned when this was written. I shall now give it a D minus.
You--er--you understand why, Edwards?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm sorry, but I--er--must take into consideration the facts in the
case. And those facts are that you neglected your work until the last
moment and then disobeyed one of the well-known rules of the school in
order to perform it. There is one other thing I might do. I might credit
you with a B on your exercise and report you to the Office for
disobeying the rules. But--er--I think, on the whole, that the first
method is the more satisfactory. You understand, of course, that
anything under a C in this test is equivalent to failure?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hm; exactly. Therefore, Edwards, you will be required to make up nearly
a month's work in French. I shall have to ask you to prove to me that
you are in line with the rest of the class. But you will have a full
week to do this and I--er--I suspect that you will not find it very
difficult." Mr. Daley took up a blue pencil and marked a large "D-" on
the corner of the blue-book. "You might as well take this now, Edwards.
Bring me another composition not later than a week from to-day, please."
The instructor fluttered the leaves of a memorandum-pad and made a note
opposite a future date. "I have not corrected it, but, as you have it to
do over, that is not necessary."
Mr. Daley leaned back in his chair and gazed for a minute at the table.
Then,
"There is one other thing, Edwards," he said hesitantly. "About last
night, you know; the--er--the misappropriation of Upton's blue-book.
Have you--er--thought that over?"
"I suppose so, sir."
"Hm! I should like to ask you one question and receive an absolutely
truthful reply, Edwards."
"Yes, sir."
"When you took that book to your room did you intend to--er--make a
wrong use of it?"
"No, sir. I saw the book on your table, Mr. Daley, and--and it did occur
to me that it would be easy to copy it out in my own writing and--and
turn it in as my work, sir. I read a little of it and put it back on the
table. But I don't at all remember seeing it again after that, sir, and
that's the truth. I haven't the slightest recollection of having it in
my hand when I left this room or of putting it on the table upstairs.
And--and I'd like you to believe me, sir."
"I want to, Edwards, I want to," replied Mr. Daley eagerly.
"And--er--to-day your story sounds much more plausible. I can imagine
that, with the thought of your own composition in mind and doubtless
worrying you, you might easily have--er--absentmindedly picked that book
from the table here when you went out and taken it to your room without
being conscious of the act. I believe that to be quite possible,
Edwards, and I am going to think it happened just that way. I have never
observed any signs of--er--dishonesty in you, my boy, and I don't think
you are a liar. We will consider that matter closed and we will both
forget all about it."
"Thank you, sir," replied Steve gratefully.
"But, Edwards, this seems to me a good time to tell you that--er--that
your attitude toward--er--your work and toward those in authority has
not been satisfactory. You have--er--impressed me as a boy with, to use
a vulgar expression, a grouch. Now, get that out of your system,
Edwards. No one is trying to impose on you. Your work is no harder than
the next fellow's. What you lack is, I presume, application. I--er--I
don't deny that possibly you are pressed for time when it comes to
studying, but that is your fault. Your football work is exacting, for
one thing, although there are plenty of fellows--I could name twenty or
thirty with whom I come in contact--who manage to play football and
maintain an excellent class standing at the same time. So, Edwards, the
fault lies somewhere with you, _in_ you, doubtless. Now, what do you
think it is?"
"I don't know, Mr. Daley." Steve shook his head hopelessly. "I want to
do what's right, sir, but--but somehow I can't seem to."
"When you study do you put your mind on it, or do you find yourself
thinking of other things, football, for instance?"
"I guess I think of other things a good deal," replied Steve.
"Football?"
"I guess so; football and--and swimming and--lots of things, sir."
"There's a time for football and a time for study, Edwards. You will
have to first of all--er--leave football behind you when you come off
the field. Swimming, the same way. It won't work. I've seen it tried too
often, Edwards. You--er--you wouldn't want to have to give up football,
I suppose?"
"No, sir!" Steve looked up in alarm.
"But it might come to that, my boy. You're here to learn, you know, and
we would not be treating your parents fairly--or you either--if we
allowed you to waste your time. Football is an excellent sport; one of
the best, I think; but it's only a sport, not a--er--profession, you
know. All the knowledge of football in the world isn't going to help you
when you leave here and try to enter college. By the way, I presume you
intend to go to college, Edwards?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then keep that in mind. Remember that you're getting yourself ready for
it. Perhaps that will make your work seem better worth doing. How are
you getting on with your Latin?"
"Very well, sir, just now."
"Better see that 'just now' becomes 'all the time,' Edwards. Why, look
here! You can do the work set you and play football or baseball or
anything else if you'll make up your mind to it. You're a bright, normal
fellow, with the average amount of brains. Systematise, Edwards! Arrange
your day right. Mark down so many hours for recitations, so many hours
for study, so many hours for play, and stick to your schedule. You'll
find after awhile that it comes easy. You'll find that you--er--you'll
miss studying when anything keeps you from it. When you go out of here I
want you to do that very thing, my boy. I want you to go right up to
your room, take a sheet of paper and make out a daily schedule. And when
you've got it done put it somewhere where you'll see it. And stick to
it! Will you?"
"Yes, sir; that is, I--I'll do my best."
"Good!" Mr. Daley held out a hand, smiling. "Shake hands on it, Edwards.
You may not believe it, but half of--er--doing a thing consists of
making up your mind to it! Well, that's all, I think. Er--you'd better
look me up this evening and we'll settle about that French. Good-bye.
Hope I haven't made you late for dinner."
Steve drew a deep breath outside the door, puckered his lips and
whistled softly, but it was a thoughtful whistle; as thoughtful as it
was tuneless, and it lasted him all the way upstairs and into his room.
Tom had gone, evidently having wearied of waiting for his friend to
accompany him to dinner. Steve's own appetite was calling pretty loudly,
but, having slipped the blue-book out of sight under a pile on the
table, he dropped into his chair, drew a sheet of paper to him and began
on the schedule. It took him almost a half-hour to complete it, and he
spoiled several sheets in the process, but it was finally done, and,
heading it "Daley Schedule," with a brief smile at the pun, he placed it
on his chiffonier and hurried across to Wendell.