Then, as if struck by a happy thought, he turned to the blackboard. He looked about for chalk. The Principal supplied him. Fashioned by his fat, white hand, these words sprawled themselves upon the blackboard:
The best speller in this room is to recieve this
medal.
There was silence. Then the Second Reader class moved. It breathed a long breath.
A whisper went around the room while Dear Teacher and the gentleman were conferring. Rumour said Kitty McKoeghany started it. Certainly Kitty, in her desk across the aisle from Hattie, in the sight of all, tossed her black head knowingly.
The whisper concerned the visiting gentleman. “He is running for Trustee,” said the whisper.
Emmy Lou wondered. Hattie seemed to understand. “He puts his name up on tree-boxes and fences,” she whispered to Emmy Lou, “and that’s running for Trustee.”
The rumour was succeeded by another.
“He’s running against the Trustee that’s not here to-day.”
No wonder Kitty McKoeghany was head. The extent of Kitty’s knowledge was boundless.
The third confidence was freighted with strange import. It came straight from Kitty to Hattie, who told it to Emmy Lou.