What Rough Beast?
By JEFFERSON HIGHE
Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction July 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
When you are a teacher, you expect kids to play pranks. But with tigers—and worse?
Standing braced—or, as it seemed to him, crucified—against the length of the blackboard, John Ward tried to calculate his chances of heading off the impending riot. It didn't seem likely that anything he could do would stop it.
"Say something," he told himself. "Continue the lecture, talk!" But against the background of hysterical voices from the school yard, against the brass fear in his mouth, he was dumb. He looked at the bank of boys' faces in front of him. They seemed to him now as identical as metal stampings, each one completely deadpan, each pair of jaws moving in a single rhythm, like a mechanical herd. He could feel the tension in them, and he knew that, in a moment, they would begin to move. He felt shame and humiliation that he had failed.