Miss Cathby sighed. As soon as she proved to her own satisfaction that these backwoods boys were not morons, they proved her wrong. Anyone able correctly to deduce two thirds of thirty should be able to subtract twenty from thirty. A firm adherent of the idea that sugar entices flies where vinegar will not, Miss Cathby applied the sugar.
"Come, Harold," she coaxed. "If you have thirty potatoes and give twenty away, how many will you have left?"
"Ten," Harky said promptly. "But we was talking about tons of hay, not potatoes, and that ain't what crosses me up."
"What is it that you do not understand?" Miss Cathby pursued.
"What kind of critter a remainder is and how much hay does it eat?"
The fifth, seventh, and eighth grades, as represented by the sisters Garson, filled the room with giggles. Miss Cathby rapped for order and evolved a cunning plan to win Harky's interest and favor by discussing something he did know.
"Do you have a good raccoon hound for the coming season, Harold?"
Miss Cathby composed herself to listen while Harky launched an enthusiastic, and minutely detailed, description of the misadventures of Precious Sue and the wiles of Old Joe. He needed eighteen minutes to reach the thrilling climax, the discovery of Duckfoot and,
"His Pa's a duck," he said seriously.
"A duck!" Miss Cathby gasped.