BALKING
When I write my book on farm pedagogy I shall certainly make large
use of the horse in illustrating the fundamental principles, for he
is a noble animal and altogether worthy of the fullest recognition.
We often use the expression "horse-sense" somewhat flippantly, but I
have often seen a driver who would have been a more useful member of
society if he had had as much sense as the horses he was driving. If
I were making a catalogue of the "lower animals" I'd certainly
include the man who abuses a horse. Why, the celebrated German
trick-horse, Hans, had even the psychologists baffled for a long
time, but finally he taught them a big chapter in psychology. They
finally discovered that his marvellous tricks were accomplished
through the power of close observation. Facial expression, twitching
of a muscle, movements of the head, these were the things he watched
for as his cue in answering questions by indicating the right card.
There was a teacher in our school once who wore old-fashioned
spectacles. When he wanted us to answer a question in a certain way
he unconsciously looked over his spectacles; but when he wanted a
different answer he raised his spectacles to his forehead. So we
ranked high in our daily grades, but met our Waterloo when the
examination came around. That teacher, of course, had never heard of
the horse Hans, and so was not aware that in the process of watching
his movements we were merely proving that we had horse-sense. He
probably attributed our ready answers to the superiority of his
teaching, not realizing that our minds were concentrated upon the
subject of spectacles.
Of course, a horse balks now and then, and so does a boy. I did a
bit of balking myself as a boy, and I am not quite certain that I
have even yet become immune. Doctor James Wallace (whose edition of
"Anabasis" some of us have read, halting and stumbling along through
the parasangs) with three companions went out to Marathon one day
from Athens. The distance, as I recall it, is about twenty-two
miles, and they left early in the morning, so as to return the same
day. Their conveyance was an open wagon with two horses attached.
When they had gone a mile or two out of town one of the horses balked
and refused to proceed. Then and there each member of the party drew
upon his past experiences, seeking a panacea for the equine
delinquency. One suggested the plan of building a fire under the
recalcitrant horse, while another suggested pouring sand into his
ears. Doctor Wallace discouraged these remedies as being cruel and
finally told the others to take their places in the wagon and he
would try the merits of a plan he had in mind. Accordingly, when
they were seated, he clambered over the dash, walked along the
wagon-pole, and suddenly plumped himself down upon the horse's back.
Then away they went, John Gilpin like, Doctor Wallace's coat-tails
and hair streaming out behind.
There was no more balking in the course of the trip, and no one
(save, possibly, the horse) had any twinges of conscience to keep him
awake that night. The incident is brimful of pedagogy in that it
shows that, in order to cure a horse of an attack of balking, you
have but to distract his mind from his balking and get him to
thinking of something else. Before this occurrence taught me the
better way, I was quite prone, in dealing with a balking boy, to hold
his mind upon the subject of balking. I told him how unseemly it
was, how humiliated his father and mother would be, how he could not
grow up to be a useful citizen if he yielded to such tantrums; in
short, I ran the gamut of all the pedagogical bromides, and so kept
his mind centred upon balking. Now that I have learned better, I
strive to divert his mind to something eke, and may ask him to go
upon some pleasant errand that he may gain some new experiences.
When he returns he has forgotten that he was balking and recounts his
experiences most delightfully.
Ed was one of the balkiest boys I ever had in my school. His attacks
would often last for days, and the more attention you paid to him the
worse he balked. In the midst of one of these violent and prolonged
attacks a lady came to school who, in the kindness of her generous
nature, was proposing to give a boy Joe (now a city alderman) a
Christmas present of a new hat. She came to invoke my aid in trying
to discover the size of Joe's head. I readily undertook the task,
which loomed larger and larger as I came fully to realize that I was
the sole member of the committee of ways and means. In my dire
perplexity I saw Ed grouching along the hall. Calling him to one
side, I explained to the last detail the whole case, and confessed
that I did not know how to proceed. At once his face brightened, and
he readily agreed to make the discovery for me; and in half an hour I
had the information I needed and Ed's face was luminous. Yes, Joe
got the hat and Ed quit balking. If Doctor Wallace had not gone to
Marathon that day I can scarcely imagine what might have happened to
Ed; and Joe might not have received a new hat.
I have often wondered whether a horse has a sense of humor. I know a
boy has, and I very strongly suspect that the horse has. It was one
of my tasks in boyhood to take the horses down to the creek for
water. Among others we had a roan two-year-old colt that we called
Dick, and even yet I think of him as quite capable of laughter at
some of his own mischievous pranks. One day I took him to water,
dispensing with the formalities of a bridle, and riding him down
through the orchard with no other habiliments than a rope halter. In
the orchard were several trees of the bellflower variety, whose
branches sagged near to the ground. Dick was going along very
decorously and sedately, as if he were studying the golden text or
something equally absorbing, when, all at once, some spirit of
mischief seemed to possess him and away he bolted, willy-nilly, right
under the low-hanging branches of one of those trees. Of course, I
was raked fore and aft, and, while I did not imitate the example of
Absalom, I afforded a fairly good imitation, with the difference
that, through many trials and tribulations, I finally reached the
ground. Needless to say that I was a good deal of a wreck, with my
clothing much torn and my hands and face not only much torn but also
bleeding. After relieving himself of his burden, Dick meandered on
down to the creek in leisurely fashion, where I came upon him in due
time enjoying a lunch of grass.
Walking toward the creek, sore in body and spirit, I fully made up my
mind to have a talk with that colt that he would not soon forget. He
had put shame upon me, and I determined to tell him so. But when I
came upon him looking so lamblike in his innocence, and when I
imagined that I heard him chuckle at my plight, my resolution
evaporated, and I realized that in a trial of wits he had got the
better of me. Moreover, I conceded right there that he had a right
to laugh, and especially when he saw me so superlatively scrambled.
He had beaten me on my own ground and convicted me of knowing less
than a horse, so I could but yield the palm to him with what grace I
could command. Many a time since that day have I been unhorsed, and
by a mere boy who laughed at my discomfiture. But I learned my
lesson from Dick and have always tried, though grimly, to applaud the
victor in the tournament of wits. Only so could I hold the respect
of the boy, not to mention my own. If a boy sets a trap for me and I
walk into it, well, if he doesn't laugh at me he isn't much of a boy;
and if I can't laugh with him I am not much of a schoolmaster.