“But they have no business with me,” said Jennie. “It’s mere curiosity.”
Whereupon Wilbur Smythe, who could see no particular point in restricted publicity, said, “Madame County Superintendent, this hearing certainly is public or quasi-public. Your office is a public one, and while the right to attend this hearing may not possibly be a universal one, it surely is one belonging to every citizen and taxpayer of the county, and if the taxpayer, qua taxpayer, then certainly a fortiori to the members of the Woodruff school and residents of that district.”
Jennie quailed. “All right, all right!” said she. “But, shall I have to sit on the bench!”
“You will find it by far the most convenient place,” said Deputy Bill.
Was this the life to which public office had brought her? Was it for this that she had bartered her independence—for this and the musty office, the stupid examination papers, and the interminable visiting of schools, knowing that such supervision as she could give was practically worthless? Jim had said to her that he had never heard of such a thing as a good county superintendent of schools, and she had thought him queer. And now, here was she, called upon to pass on the competency of the man who had always been her superior in everything that constitutes mental ability; and to make the thing more a matter for the laughter of the gods, she was perched on the judicial bench, which Deputy Bill had dusted off for her, tipping a wink to the assemblage while doing it. He expected to be a candidate for sheriff, one of these days, and was pleasing the crowd. And that crowd! To Jennie it was appalling. The school board under the lead of Wilbur Smythe took seats inside the railing which on court days divided the audience from the lawyers and litigants. Jim Irwin, who had never been in a court room before, herded with the crowd, obeying the attraction of sympathy, but to Jennie, seated on the bench, he, like other persons in the auditorium, was a mere blurry outline with a knob of a head on its top.
She couldn’t call the gathering to order. She had no idea as to the proper procedure. She sat there while the people gathered, stood about whispering and talking under their breaths, and finally became silent, all their eyes fixed on her, as she wished that the office of county superintendent had been abolished in the days of her parents’ infancy.
“May it please the court,” said Wilbur Smythe, standing before the bar. “Or, Madame County Superintendent, I should say ...”
A titter ran through the room, and a flush of temper tinted Jennie’s face. They were laughing at her! She wouldn’t be a spectacle any longer! So she rose, and handed down her first and last decision from the bench—a rather good one, I think.
“Mr. Smythe,” said she, “I feel very ill at ease up here, and I’m going to get down among the people. It’s the only way I have of getting the truth.”
She descended from the bench, shook hands with everybody near her, and sat down by the attorney’s table.