In a minute he stopped and says, “When does school start?”
“Five weeks,” says I.
“I’ll have to hustle,” says he. “What grade are you in?”
“Eighth,” says I.
“I got to go to school. Folks hain’t respectable if their children don’t go to school,” says Catty. “But I hain’t got much education. I’d have to start almost at the beginnin’ with the little kids. Don’t kind of like the idee much.”
“You must know somethin’,” says I.
“I do,” says he, “but you can’t pass examinations in grammar with it. If it was how birds live and about rabbits and about growin’ things, I could git along, but I don’t know no rules to speak of.”
“But you know arithmetic.”
“Quite a sight of it. Dad he taught me some, because a feller has to know some arithmetic. But I hain’t up on hist’ry nor language nor such. Be they hard to learn?”
“Hist’ry,” says I, “is jest like readin’ a book that you like. We hain’t had much but United States hist’ry yet.”