They mounted a narrow, steep staircase to the second floor, and, when arrived there, found themselves without any necessity for tapping at the door, in the middle of the school as it were. The door of the room, which was not a large one, stood open, on account of the heat; the windows likewise; and scholars and teacher sat, mostly in their shirt sleeves, in the cool draught which streamed through the house.
"Helldorf!" exclaimed the schoolmaster, a handsome young man, with dark curly hair, jumping up, surprised, from the two chairs on which, half extended, he had made himself up a very comfortable seat. "Helldorf! where the deuce do you drop from?"
"Do we disturb you?" asked the other.
"How can you think of such a thing!" was the laughing answer. "Well, the holidays commence next Friday, and to-day is Monday, and then the vexed soul will rest!"
"And where shall you go to?"
"Up the river, of course!"
"Why, that's just the thing—we shall travel together, at all events, a part of the journey. But stay, I must first of all introduce my friend Werner to you—a German, just arrived, who thinks of settling in the West. I trust that you'll be good friends."
The two young men shook hands; and the scholars—a mixed company of French, Creole, German, and English—nudged each other, and tittered at the German, or "Dutch" as they termed it, that was spoken.
There were boys and girls of all ages, and of the strangest appearance, thrown together. But one of the queerest specimens stood right before the little reading-desk, and in front of a large black board, which was hanging on the wall, and half covered with the alphabet in Roman and German characters.
"Look ye, Helldorf," said young Schwarz, smiling, as he laid his hand on the shoulder of the hopeful young citizen of the world, who, with his knees somewhat turned inwards, and his hands in his pockets, stood in by no means a picturesque attitude before them, and exhibited his projecting profile staring from beneath a matted head of hair. "Here I have a prize specimen of my scholars—a juvenile Benjamin Franklin, only undeveloped; a diamond, only rather rough! He is one of those rare individuals for whose genius this low sphere is too narrow, and who may be found by dozens, armed with spoons and bits of stick, at the sugar and syrup casks on the Levee! Come, Benjamin, now mind what you're about!"—turning towards the youth, who was about twelve years of age—"don't disgrace me, but show what you have learnt. Do you know any of the letters that are written on here—eh?"