‘This is a school.’
‘Where young folks learns wot’s right?’ said Riderhood, gravely nodding. ‘Beg your pardon, governor! By your leave! But who teaches this school?’
‘I do.’
‘You’re the master, are you, learned governor?’
‘Yes. I am the master.’
‘And a lovely thing it must be,’ said Riderhood, ‘fur to learn young folks wot’s right, and fur to know wot they know wot you do it. Beg your pardon, learned governor! By your leave!—That there black board; wot’s it for?’
‘It is for drawing on, or writing on.’
‘Is it though!’ said Riderhood. ‘Who’d have thought it, from the looks on it! would you be so kind as write your name upon it, learned governor?’ (In a wheedling tone.)
Bradley hesitated for a moment; but placed his usual signature, enlarged, upon the board.
‘I ain’t a learned character myself,’ said Riderhood, surveying the class, ‘but I do admire learning in others. I should dearly like to hear these here young folks read that there name off, from the writing.’