"We must do it! You and I must get Uncle Moses Jones elected constable. Now, while he's sick, for a surprise. Won't that be grand?"
"Grand!" assented Montgomery, with such eagerness that he forgot to trip in his speech. Then doubt and stammering returned together. "W-w-we c-c-c-couldn't."
"Yes, we could, if we had any s-s-sp-spunk!" retorted Katharine, heartlessly. "Folks have to be little politicians before they are big ones, I suppose, just like children before they are grown-ups. Well, you're a little politician now, a teeny tiny one, and it will be just splendid practice for you to get a village constable elected. I believe that although Uncle Moses and even Aunt Eunice speak so proudly of that office, that it isn't as great as some others. I don't know, and I wouldn't care at all except for him. But we must do it. I've heard him talking with Widow Sprigg how that now the 'law was changed,' 'town meeting' was no 'great shakes' any more, for the Presidents and constables all got mixed in together till a 'body couldn't tell t'other from which.' For his part he'd 'ruther be 'lected in the spring when crops was growin' an' tramps a-trampin', though if he was forced into it, better one time than never,' and a lot more funny grumble. She told him not to worry, that he'd never be 'forced,' much as he'd like it. I've decided that he must be elected, and without any 'forcing,' and I've the splendidest plan you ever heard. First, I'll give you a lesson. Then I'll tell you, else you'll believe I'm forgetting my promise. I'm not. I'm only considering the best way to begin. Well, Montgomery Sturtevant, that bad habit of yours comes from laziness and nervousness. Pure laziness, pure nervousness," she added, with emphasis.
"D-d-don't neither!" denied the stammerer, indignantly. "Ain't got no nerves. G-gr-gramma says so, and she knows. She's older 'n you, an' she's got 'em worst kind. Always gets 'em when I play the f-f-fiddle."
"Maybe there are two kinds of nerves. She doesn't stammer. Besides the Cyclopedia said so, and it tells the truth. Here. Put this pebble in your mouth. It's a nice smooth round one. I picked it up in the garden and washed it clean. You put it in and then say just—as—slow—as—slow: 'Betsy Bobbins baked a batch of biscuit.' After you learn to say it slow, without once stammering, then you begin to say it faster. Either that or any other jingle that's difficult without tripping. 'She sells sea-shells,' or, 'Peter Piper.' Why don't you put the pebble in?"
"I don't want t-to. You're mocking me!"
"There! I knew you needn't if you really wouldn't. When you are a little angry or in real earnest you can talk well. Listen to me and think if I'm not in earnest myself, since I took the trouble to copy all this for you."
Thereupon, from the little pocket of her blouse, which had held the pebble, the teacher took a folded paper, closely covered with her neatest script, and read therefrom paragraphs which alternately plunged her pupil into despair or exalted him to extravagant delight. And the fortunate result of this first lesson was that when it was ended Montgomery had repeated an entire sentence with reasonable smoothness. But he had accomplished this without the pebble and with almost interminable pauses between words.
"Yet you did it, you did it!" cried Katharine, exultantly; "and now for a reward you shall hear the most glorious plan I ever thought out. Listen to me, Mr. President-that-is-to-be!"
So Montgomery listened in astonishment, doubt, and delight, after his habit of mind; yet also, because of her zeal in his cure, with unquestioning allegiance. In any case, it was a scheme that would have appealed to him irresistibly and was one full worthy of the brain of "Kitty Quixote," so that he was fast outstripping even her ingenuity in the matter of detail, when the sudden call of Widow Sprigg fell like a dash of cold water upon their glowing spirits: