“Very well. I think we can agree. Take your places—boys on the left, girls on the right, as usual.”
There were three rows of forms on each side, for the scholars, with a broad open space between; there was a platform at the farther end, for recitations; the teacher’s desk faced this, on a corresponding platform at the left of the door, and behind his desk was a blackboard affixed to the wall. The room was lighted by three windows on each side, and one at the farther end.
The scholars quickly took their places, and Mr. Drinkwater’s substitute seated himself at the desk, opened the record book, and commenced calling the names of the scholars of the last term in alphabetical order. He was among the D’s, had reached the name of Hosea Davis, when the door was thrown open, and Captain Thompson stalked into the room, followed by Becky and Teddy.
“Here Drinkwater, here’s a couple of eels that want training.”
The substitute raised his head quickly.
“Harry Thompson!”
“Yes, sir, Harry Thompson,” said the stranger, rising. “I hope I see you well, sir.”
The captain did not look well. He turned pale, and stared at his son as though he could not believe his eyes.
“Wh-wh-what does this mean? Why are you here? Where’s Drinkwater?”
“Mr. Drinkwater is ill, sir; taken suddenly last Friday. I have been stopping with him for a few days, and he requested me to open his school to-day.”