“Very,” said Gil.
“You bet,” said Jim.
Poke growled something inarticulate.
Mr. Hanks glanced around in surprise and embarrassment.
“Why—er—that’s very good of you all, very kind of you, I’m sure,” he murmured. “I—I regret the necessity of leaving, myself. I was getting very fond of the school, quite attached. And this place—” he looked about the room—“suits me very well. The light is excellent, you see, and owing to the fact that my eyes are not what they used to be I have to be very particular about—er—about light.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jeffrey. “Mr. Hanks, maybe we’re sort of intruding on your affairs, sir, but when we heard about your leaving we got to talking it over and we decided that we’d come up here and ask you to—to reconsider.” Mr. Hanks opened his mouth to speak, but Jeffrey hurried on. “We may be wrong, sir, but our idea is that you’re leaving because some of us haven’t been acting very well in class.”
“I think I have no complaint to make about any of you young gentlemen,” replied Mr. Hanks, looking from one to the other and allowing his eyes to rest on Poke, for what the youth thought was an unnecessary length of time. “But I won’t attempt to deny that your—your assumption is correct, Latham. The fact is that I am, I find, quite unsuited to the work here. The position I have tried to fill requires a man with more experience than I have had.”
“May we talk right out plain, Mr. Hanks?” asked Jeffrey.
“Why, I think so,” replied the instructor, a trifle bewildered.