I mumbled something disparaging to the universe.
'Richard!' said Mr. Miles suddenly and strongly, 'I know what ails you. It ain’t the weather, it’s your teaching. You’re discouraged because you can’t make 'em sense things. But it ain’t time yet for you to get discouraged. I hate to see it, for it ain’t necessary.'
This made me feel a little ashamed of myself.
'Did you ever teach, Mr. Miles?' I asked, for the sake of seeming civil.
'Yes, I did. So I know there’s a secret to teachin' you prob’ly ain’t got yet. I dunno as I could help you to it. It ain’t likely. An’ yet—'
Unlikely indeed! I thought. Aloud, I said politely, 'I’d be glad to hear your views.'
'I know what you feel!' he said with extraordinary energy. 'My Lord! Don’t I know what you feel? You want to make 'em sense things as you sense 'em. You want to make 'em work as you can work. You won’t be satisfied until you’ve given 'em the thirst to know and the means of knowing. Yes, I know what you feel!'
I stared at him, dumbfounded. I knew what I felt, too, but it wasn’t much like this.
'There are pictures in your brain that you must show 'em. There’s a universe to cram inside their heads. God has been workin' for a billion years at doing things—and just one little life to learn about 'em in! To feel you’re on His trail, a-following fast, and got to pass the feeling on—I guess there’s no wine on earth so heady, is there, boy?'
I couldn’t pretend I didn’t understand him. I have had it too—that wonderful sensation we pack away into two dry words and label 'intellectual stimulus.' But it hadn’t come to me that I could, or should, pass it on. I thought it was an emotion designed for my private encouragement and delight. And what was old Seth Miles doing with intellectual stimulus? I would as soon expect to unearth a case of champagne in his cellar. But, however he got it, undeniably it was the real thing.