“You look as if you had,” said Mr. Rowantree cordially. “Well, I always count it a pleasant day when I have a new idea. What have you thought of, Sikes?”
“Why, seeing Mrs. McIntosh take up with books, sir, and Mr. McIntosh set down to beat her out in learning, made me think of having a school for the grown folks. They need it just as much as us young-uns.”
“They certainly do, Sikes, and do you know, the same notion has been in my head ever since McIntosh joined us? Just look at him, will you? He’s sitting over there on the ground, studying like a good fellow. Can’t even stop to eat.”
“Maybe he ain’t got nothing to eat, seeing he didn’t count on staying when he come.” Sikes grinned at his instructor, and Mr. Rowantree returned the smile, accompanying it with a gentle wink of the left eye.
“Yes, his wife offered him half of her luncheon, though she didn’t have much.”
“Then I reckon he’s eating with one hand and studying with the other,” said Dibblee blithely. “But how about that school, Mr. Rowantree?”
“Well, I suppose it would be impossible for most of them to come in the daytime. They have to attend to their work, don’t they?” Mr. Rowantree asked the question rather vaguely. It was a subject about which he was not very well informed.
Dibblee nodded. “Sure they do,” he said in the language he had picked up from some “tourist” boys at Bee Tree.
“What we need here, then, is a night school. Everything could be made safe in the homes, the big children could be set to look after the little ones, and then the fathers and mothers could come here. What do you think of that, Sikes?”
“It would be a mighty good thing, Mr. Rowantree, but there’s one thing stands in the way.” Dibblee wore a “studyin’” look which sat oddly on his round, smiling face.