“Glad to have her out of the way, aren’t you, Mother? Jane is too restless a girl to be idle,” laughed Marian.
Jane had spoken to her father about her plan for Sherm and he had heartily agreed. But Sherm was 278not to begin until the first of November when the most pressing of the farm work would be over.
Chicken Little promptly talked the matter over also with the new teacher, Mr. Clay, a young man of twenty-one, fresh from his junior year at college. He was wide awake and attractive, and while ignorant, as they, of many of the niceties of polite society, seemed a very elegant being to the majority of his new pupils. Mamie Jenkins had concluded to stay at home for the fall term instead of going to the Garland High School. For some reason it took an astonishing number of consultations with the teacher to arrange Mamie’s course satisfactorily, especially when she learned that Sherm would be coming soon. She quizzed Chicken Little carefully as to what studies Sherm would take.
“Geometry and Latin, I think. I asked Mr. Clay and he said he could. Maybe bookkeeping, too.”
“I was just thinking I ought to go on with my Latin. I had Beginning Latin last year, and I really ought to take Cæsar right away before I forget.”
Jane regarded her thoughtfully. She happened to know that Sherm was planning to study Cicero. How mad Mamie would be if she started Cæsar all alone! She had half a mind to let her go ahead. Mamie had spent the entire morning recess telling her how the boys bored her hanging round. Yes, it would do Mamie good to have to recite alone. 279Chicken Little shut her lips firmly for a second. When she opened them, she replied that she understood Cæsar was a very interesting study.
Mamie bridled and said condescendingly: “It’s a pity you haven’t had Latin so you could come into the class, too.”
“Oh, I see enough of Sherm at home!” returned Chicken Little maliciously. Mamie had the faculty of always rubbing her up the wrong way.
Mamie gave her shoulders a fling. “Of course, I always forget you are just a little girl, Jane. You’re so big and—” Mamie didn’t finish her sentence. She merely glanced expressively at Jane’s long legs. “I think I’ll go in and talk to Mr. Clay. He must be sick of having all those kids hanging round him.”
Mamie sailed off in state, leaving Jane feeling as if she had run her hand into a patch of nettles. She was standing there in the sunshine looking after Mamie resentfully when Grant Stowe came along.