“Who’s your school-teacher?” asked the telephone man.
The county superintendent pricked up her ears—being quite properly interested in matters educational.
“Feller name of Irwin,” said Pete.
“Not much of a looker,” said the trouble shooter.
“Nater of the sile,” said Pete. “He an’ I both worked in it together till it roughened up our complexions.”
“Farmer, eh?” said the lineman interrogatively. “Well, he’s the first farmer I ever saw in my life that recognized there’s education in the telephone business. I’m goin’ to teach a class in telephony at the schoolhouse to-morrow.”
“Don’t get swelled up,” said Pete. “He has everybody tell them young ones about everything—blacksmith, cabinet-maker, pie-founder, cookie-cooper, dressmaker—even down to telephones. He’ll have them scholars figurin’ on telephones, and writin’ compositions on ’em, and learnin’ ’lectricity from ’em an’ things like that”
“He must be some feller,” said the lineman. “And who’s his star pupil?”
“Didn’t know he had one,” said Pete. “Why?”
“Girl,” said the trouble-shooter. “Goes to school from the farm where the Western Union brace is used at the road.”