“Yes, Mauney, splendid,” she replied, lifting her hat carefully from her head, and tossing it on the grass. “Why don’t you do it?”
“Just one reason. Dover, when I put it up to him, didn’t think it could be done. I talked it over with him in his office, Friday night. He’s a good fellow and capable and has got a line on Lockwood that I wish you’d heard. He impressed on me that his words were confidential, but I’m going to tell you. He approved of the round-table idea immediately, but said it had once been tried out, and failed. They had to be held after regular classes, you see, and a lot of the wealthy people objected to their children being kept in. They sent doctor’s certificates and raised the devil. Of course, once robbed of its spontaneity, the seminaries proved a failure.”
“Enthusiasm,” said Freda, “is one word that dear old Lockwood will never learn. They hate enthusiasm.”
“You should have seen Dover,” laughed Mauney. “When he grows warm under the collar he always gets on those two feet of his and hikes all over the room, like a madman looking for a hole by which to escape from his cell.”
“He was just the same when I went,” she nodded.
“I had touched a tender spot when I mentioned seminaries,” Mauney continued. “It got him off on a general criticism of Lockwood. After he had paced the floor for a moment or two he stopped and said in his slow, nasal, sarcastic way: ‘Mr. Bard, I’ve lived here for twenty-five years. That’s exactly a quarter of a century, and I’m going to tell you that it’s been exactly a quarter of a century too long. I don’t know what’s wrong with Lockwood, because I’ve been much too busy to try to find out.’”
“That sounds just like him!” laughed Freda.
“‘But, there’s something wrong, I can assure you. A teacher who teaches in this town, is just a paid servant of the community. He has no social status, whatever. His wife has none either. His planetary orbit reaches as far as school at nine in the morning, and as far as bed at nine in the evening. If he tries to do more than he’s paid for he becomes unpopular. They want uniformity, here in Lockwood and, by George, they’re going to get it. That’s why seminaries won’t work, Mister Bard.’”
“Oh, well,” Freda said, “you mustn’t be discouraged, boy.”