“We can’t pay much,” said Mr. Hofmyer. “You have charge of the dis-cip-line in the whole school, and teach in Number Two room. Seventy-five dollars a month. Does it appeal to ye?”
Appeal to him! Why, eighteen months ago it would have been worth crawling across the state after, and now to have it offered to him—it was stupendous. And yet, how about the Simmses, Colonel Woodruff, the Hansens and Newton Bronson, now just getting a firm start on the upward path to usefulness and real happiness? How could he leave the little, crude, puny structure on which he had been working—on which he had been merely practising—for a year, and remove to the new field? Jim was in exactly the same situation in which every able young minister of the gospel finds himself sooner or later. The Lord was calling to a broader field—but how could he be sure it was the Lord?
“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Jim Irwin, “but——”
“If you’re only ’fraid you can’t,” said Mr. Hofmyer, “think it over. I’ve got your post-office address on this program, and we’ll write you a formal offer. We may spring them figures a little. Think it over.”
“You mustn’t think,” said Jim, “that we’ve done all the things I mentioned in my talk, or that I haven’t made any mistakes or failures.”
“Your county superintendent didn’t mention any failures,” said Mr. Hofmyer.
“Did you talk with her about my work?” inquired Jim, suddenly very curious.
“M’h’m.”
“Then I don’t see why you want me,” Jim went on.
“Why?” asked Mr. Hofmyer.