“Of course,” said David, and then he exclaimed, “It’s fine that you’ll be able to keep on; it’s wonderful!”
“It’s generous of the rector to permit it,” said Mr. Dean. “I shan’t be of any use for disciplinary purposes any more; I shall be relieved of the side of teaching that I have always disliked, so my misfortune is not without its compensations.”
“I’m awfully glad you’re not going to leave us,” David said. “And you’ll find that all the fellows will want to help you.”
That afternoon when all the boys were assembled in the schoolroom for the first hour of study, Dr. Davenport entered and, mounting the platform, stood beside Mr. Randolph, the master in charge. The boys turned from their desks and looked up at him expectantly.
“As you have all been grieved to learn,” said Mr. Davenport, “of the affliction that has come upon the oldest and best loved of our masters, so, I am sure, you will be glad to hear that he is not to be lost to us, but will continue to do his work here, even under this heavy handicap. We have all of us always respected and admired his scholarship; we must do so even more now when it is equal to the task of conducting recitations without reference to the printed page. We have all of us always respected and admired his spirit of devotion; even more must we admire it now and the fortitude that accompanies it. I do not believe there is a boy here who would take advantage of an infirmity so bravely borne, and I hope that those of you who have classes with him will try to show by increased attention and considerateness your appreciation of his spirit.”
Dr. Davenport stepped down from the platform and walked out of the room, leaving it to its studious quiet.
At the end of the hour, in the five-minute intermission, David heard Monroe say to Wallace, “Pretty good little talk of the rector’s; right idea.”
“Oh, sure,” Wallace answered.