The exercises were progressing nicely. Some one thumped out a solo on the piano. There were essays on subjects which a sage would have hesitated to handle. The High School Daily was presented. Harvey Lackard, the red-headed, freckle-faced boy, was editor-in-chief and read the edition. There were editorials and poems. Beth sat up to listen. This was something new and really worth while. She forgot for a time the sweet-faced woman sitting before her. She laughed aloud when Harvey read, “What They Remind Me Of.” There followed a list of the pupils with some characteristic appended.
Tilly Jones—An Animated Price List.
Carrie Laire—The Living Question Mark.
Sally Monroe—A Lubricating Oil Can.
Beth Wells—The Verbal Pugilist.
Beth laughed as heartily as any at the gibe at herself. It was a little odd. Only twice in her life had she spoken sharply. Harvey had been present. He knew nothing of the thousand times she had maintained a discreet, though painful, silence.
She laughed, but nevertheless she was sorry that Harvey had received such an unpleasant impression of her.
Tilly Jones was to recite. When her name was called, there was a little flutter of excitement about her desk, she straightened her sash and turned her bracelet about so that the sets might show. She did this while she walked up the aisle. All the while she watched the visitors to see how her elegance was impressing them. They smiled. She accepted this as a sign of admiration, and, self-confident, took her stand in the middle of the platform. There was a moment’s silence. She twisted her bracelet, put her hand back of her and coughed. This was followed by a longer silence. She raised her eyes imploringly toward Miss Ward. The teacher knew the symptoms.
“The Assyrian came down like a wolf,” repeated Miss Ward.
“The Assyrian came down like a wolf,” cried Tilly confidently. Then she paused, coughed, and brought her hands to the front.
“The Assyrian came down like a wolf,” she said again. After this, she straightened herself, changed her weight to her left foot, and caught the ends of her sash. She bent her head as though trying to recall the elusive next line. She pressed her lips and fixed her eyes vacantly upon a picture at the farthest end of the room.
“The Assyrian came down like a wolf—like a wolf—”
“Take your seat,” said Miss Ward.