“Who is to be the teacher this winter?” asked Mrs. Taylor, at the breakfast table, turning to her husband.
“It is a nephew of Deacon Slocum. I believe his name is Slocum.”
“Do you know anything of him?”
“No; I only know that the Deacon actively interested himself to get him the appointment. Most of the parents would have preferred Dexter Fairbanks. He has experience, and is known to be an excellent teacher.”
“How came the deacon to carry his point?”
“By asking his nephew’s appointment as a special favor. I only hope he will prove a good teacher.”
Julius listened to this conversation with attention. He felt that he was personally interested in the matter. He hoped the new teacher would be a good one, for he really wished to learn. If I should say, however, that this was all that our hero had in view, I should convey a false idea. He expected to have a good time, and meant to get what enjoyment he could as well as profit. By this time he was pretty well acquainted with the boys who, like himself, were to attend the school, and no longer felt like a stranger.
One thing I must add. When we first made acquaintance with Julius, in the streets of New York, he was meager and rather undersized. Want and privation had checked his growth, as was natural. But since he had found a home in the West, he had lived generously, enjoyed pure air, and a sufficiency of out-of-door exercise, and these combined had wrought a surprising change in his appearance. He had grown three inches in height; his form had expanded; the pale, unhealthy hue of his cheek had given place to a healthy bloom, and his strength had considerably increased. This change was very gratifying to Julius. Like most boys of his age he wanted to be tall and strong; in the city he had been rather ashamed of his puny appearance; but this had disappeared, and he now felt able to cope with most boys of his age.
Some minutes before nine a group of boys assembled in front of the schoolhouse.
“Have you seen the new teacher?” asked Julius, addressing John Sandford.
“No; they say he only came to Brookville late last evening.”
“Where is he going to board?”
“At Deacon Slocum’s, so father says. The deacon is his uncle.”
“I hope he isn’t like his uncle, then,” said Henry Frye. “The deacon always looks as stiff as a fence rail.”
“I wish we were going to have Mr. Fairbanks here again this winter. He’s a regular, tiptop teacher.”
“So he is,” said Henry.
“Mr. Taylor says it’s the deacon’s doing, getting his nephew appointed.”
“Of course it was. Mr. Fairbanks was willing to teach. I wish we could have had him. He used to go out at recess, and play ball with us sometimes.”
“Could he play well?” asked Julius.
“I bet he could. Do you see that tree over there?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he knocked a ball as far as that one day.”
“He must have been pretty strong in the arms,” said Julius, measuring the distance with his eye.
“He was that.”
“Did he ever lick the boys?”
“No; he didn’t need to. We all liked him, and didn’t give him any cause.”
“Maybe this teacher will be a good one.”
“I hope so; but I know he isn’t as good as Mr. Fairbanks.”
“Isn’t that he, coming up the hill?” asked Teddy Bates.
“It must be,” said John Sandford. “He bends backward just like the deacon. Tall, too; looks like a May pole.”
Forty pairs of eyes scanned with interest the advancing figure of the schoolmaster. He was very tall, very thin, with a pimply face, and bright red hair, and a cast in his right eye. He would hardly have been selected, either by a sculptor or an artist, as a model of manly beauty; and this was the impression made upon the youthful observers.
“Ain’t he a beauty?” said Henry Frye, in a low voice.
“Beats the deacon all hollow,” said John Sandford; “and that’s saying a good deal.”
“He’s got the family backbone,” said Julius, who had been long enough in the town to become well acquainted with the appearance of most of the inhabitants.
“That’s so, Julius.”
By this time the teacher had come within a few feet of his future scholars.
“Boys,” said he, majestically, “I am Mr. Slocum, your teacher.”
The boys looked at him, and two of the younger ones said, “Good-morning.”
“You will at once enter the schoolhouse,” said the new teacher, with dignity.
“Isn’t the bell going to ring?” asked Henry Frye.
“Yes. On the whole, you may wait for the bell.”
He entered the schoolhouse, and a minute later reappeared at the door ringing the bell violently.
Probably few persons are the objects of more critical attention than a new teacher, for the pupils who are to be under his charge. It is to many an embarrassment to be subjected to such close scrutiny, but Mr. Theophilus Slocum rather liked it. He had an exceedingly high opinion of himself, and fancied that others admired him as much as he admired himself. Of his superior qualifications as a teacher he entertained not the slightest doubt, and expected to “come, see and conquer.” He had taught small schools twice before, and, although his success was far from remarkable, he managed to keep the schools through to the end of the term.
Such was the teacher who had undertaken to keep the winter term of the principal school in Brookville.
Mr. Slocum took his place at the teacher’s desk, solemnly drew out a large red handkerchief, and blew a sonorous blast upon his nose, and then began to speak.
“Boys and girls,” he commenced, in a nasal voice, “I have agreed to teach this school through the winter. They wanted me in two or three other places, but I preferred to come here, in order to be near my venerable relative, Deacon Slocum. I expect you to make great improvement, considering how great will be your advantages. When I was a boy I used to take right holt of my studies, and that’s the way I have rose to be a teacher.” (Significant looks were exchanged between different scholars, who were quick to detect the weakness of the speaker.) “I was not raised in this State. I come from Maine, where I graduated from one of the best academies in the State. I come out here, hoping to advance the cause of education in the West. I don’t think all the best teachers ought to stay in the East. They ought to come to the great West, like I have, to teach the young idea how to shoot. Now, boys and girls, that’s all I’ve got to say, except that I mean to be master. You needn’t try to cut up any of your pranks here, for I won’t allow it. I will form the classes, and we will begin.”
For an hour and a half the new teacher was engaged in classifying the scholars. Then came recess, and on the play ground, as may well be supposed, not a few remarks were made upon the new teacher, and his speech.
“He’s a conceited jackass,” said John Sandford. “You’d think, to hear him talk, that we had no good teachers in the West till he came.”
“He’d better have stayed where he came from,” said Henry Frye. “I don’t believe they wanted him in two or three other places.”
“I wish he had gone to one of them, for my part. I wouldn’t cry much. How much better Mr. Fairbanks was!”
“I should say he was,” said Tom Allen. “You wouldn’t catch him making a jackass of himself by making such a speech.”
“I hope he knows something,” said Julius, “for I want to learn.”
“I don’t believe he does,” said John. “When a man talks so much about what he knows, I think he’s a humbug. Did you hear what he said about taking right ‘holt’? It seems to me a teacher from one of the best academies in Maine ought to know better.”
“He puts on airs enough,” said Tom Allen. “If he expects he’s going to tread us under foot, he’ll find himself mistaken.”
Tom Allen was the largest boy in school—large-framed and muscular, through working on a farm. He was tractable if treated justly, but apt to resist if he felt that any attempt was being made to impose upon him. He was a little dull, but tried to improve. He was a scholar whom it was the interest of the teacher to secure as a friend, for he could render very efficient assistance in case of trouble. He was not particularly pleased with the tone of the new teacher’s opening speech, regarding it as unnecessarily aggressive, as well as betraying not a little self-conceit. He had been a trusted supporter of Mr. Fairbanks, who had patiently endeavored to clear up difficulties in his lessons, and, not being naturally quick, he encountered them often. It would have been well if Mr. Slocum had understood the wisdom of conciliating him; but the new teacher was very deficient in good judgment and practical wisdom, and was by no means as well versed as he pretended to be in the studies which he had undertaken to teach. It was a proof of his want of tact that he had begun his career by threatening the school, and parading his authority very unnecessarily.