I am chuckling at myself to-night. A day or two ago I lectured about the policeman's action in salting the slide, and I certainly did not think of the farmer's position. To-day I wore a new pair of very light spats ... and Lizzie Adam has a horrid habit of shaking her pen after dipping.
"Look what you've done!" I cried in vexation, "can't you stop that silly habit of chucking ink all over the school?" Then I laughed.
"Lizzie," I said sadly, "you won't understand, but I am the farmer who wants the slide salted. The farmer does not want to have his horse ruined, and I do object to having my new spats ruined."
The truth is that the interests of the young and of the old are directly antagonistical. I can argue with delightful sophistry that I am better than the farmer. I can say that throwing ink is a silly habit, with no benefit to Lizzie, while sliding brings joy to a schoolful of bairns; hence the joy of these bairns is of greater importance than the loss of a horse. But I know what I should think if it were my horse, yes, I know.
I find it the most difficult thing in the world to be a theorist ... and an honest man at the same time.
IV.
A Junior Inspector called to-day. His subject was handwriting, and he had theories on the subject. So have I. We had an interesting talk.
His view is that handwriting is a practical science; hence we must teach a child to write in such a way as to carry off the job he applies for when he is fourteen.