“That is possible, though I think, if your district had any prodigies, I would have heard of them; I am not afraid,” said the teacher, with a glow of pride, “to pit my school against any similar institution in city or country.”
“You are warranted in saying that; you deserve credit for the fine reputation you have given it.”
At this point Mr. Bryton announced that the hour devoted to the subject of history had expired, and he would collect the papers. He passed round the room and took the documents in turn from the young men, whom he told that the next hour would be devoted to grammar.
The questions on the subject of grammar had been written on the blackboard, but were hidden from sight until now. Drawing aside the large map which had concealed them, the teacher directed the boys to go to work. From his elevation on the platform, he could detect any attempt on the part of one to help another, and this was his principal occupation, except when talking with his friend at his elbow.
“Suppose you take a look through the papers,” suggested Mr. Willard.
“Would you like to examine several of them?” asked Mr. Bryton, but the congressman spoiled the compliment by exclaiming:
“Gracious! I couldn’t tell whether half the answers are right. What little I ever knew about history was forgotten long ago, and, as for grammar, I doubt whether I can tell a conjunction from a noun.”
“You do yourself injustice,” laughed the teacher, who selected James Decker’s papers from the collection. His experienced eye ran rapidly down the pages, making little jots in the way of memoranda, until he reached the end.
“How has he made out?” anxiously asked Mr. Willard.