Jim had scarcely taken his seat in the car, facing Jennie Woodruff and Bettina Hansen in the Pullman, when Columbus Brown, pathmaster of the road district and only across the way from residence in the school district, came down the aisle and called Jim to the smoking-room.
“Did an old fellow named Hoffman from Pottawatomie County ask you to leave us and take his school?” he asked.
“Mr. Hofmyer,” said Jim, “—yes, he did.”
“Well,” said Columbus, “I don’t want to ask you to stand in your own light, but I hope you won’t let him toll you off there among strangers. We’re proud of you, Jim, and we don’t want to lose you.”
Proud of him! Sweet music to the underling’s ears! Jim blushed and stammered.
“The fact is,” said Columbus, “I know that Woodruff District job hain’t big enough for you any more; but we can make it bigger. If you’ll stay, I believe we can pull off a deal to consolidate some of them districts, and make you boss of the whole shooting match.”
“I appreciate this, Clumb,” said Jim, “but I don’t believe you can do it.”
“Well, think of it,” said Columbus. “And don’t do anything till you talk with me and a few of the rest of the boys.”
“Think of it” again!
A fine home-coming it was for Jim, with the colonel waiting at the station with a double sleigh, and the chance to ride into the snowy country in the same seat with Jennie—a chance which was blighted by the colonel’s placing of Jennie, Bettina and Nils Hansen in the broad rear seat, and Jim in front with himself. A fine ride, just the same, over fine roads, and past fine farmsteads snuggled into their rectangular wrappages of trees set out in the old pioneer days. The colonel would not allow him to get out and walk when he could really have reached home more quickly by doing so; no, he set the Hansens down at their door, took Jennie home, and then drove the lightened sleigh merrily to the humble cabin of the rather excited young schoolmaster.