“Good-night, sir,” they echoed. Dan went to the door with the instructor and held it open.
“I’ll report to the Office to-morrow, sir,” he said.
“Eh? Well, well, I wouldn’t do that,” said Kilts slowly. There was a twinkle in his eye. “Wait ’till you hear, Vinton, wait ’till you hear.” He lowered his voice. “Fact is, my boy, I’m getting along and my memory isn’t what it used to be. I might forget; there’s no telling. Yes, I might forget.”
And Kilts went off down the corridor. Dan thought that he heard a chuckle.
[CHAPTER XI]
HOCKEY AT BROADWOOD
Kilts must have forgot. For although Dan waited, the summons from the Office didn’t come; and what might have resulted in a very serious piece of business for both Dan and Gerald brought no disagreeable consequences. More than that, the episode actually benefited Gerald, and in more ways than one. It brought him and Dan closer together, increasing their companionship; it cleared the air, Gerald wisely deciding to wipe out old scores and start again with a clean slate; it worked an immediate change in the boy’s attitude toward Mr. McIntyre in particular and school authority in general; and it brought about a more sympathetic relationship between Gerald and mathematics.
I don’t mean to imply that Gerald at once became the star student in his algebra class. He never reached any such pinnacle of success. He never succeeded in viewing algebra with Mr. McIntyre’s enthusiastic eyes. But he put his mind on it with good results and soon found that it was not the dreadful bogy he had fancied. Perhaps the fact that he had discovered his instructor to be human and likable and sympathetic had a good deal to do with his success, and lots of times when he would have gladly thrown aside his algebra in despair he pegged away at it from the mere desire to please Kilts and show him that he was not ungrateful. And the instructor showed that he understood and was pleased. If the truth were known, Kilts gave more credit to the boy who worked hard for his D than to the boy who, with a natural aptitude for mathematics, secured his B with scant labor. But Kilts showed Gerald no favors when it came to marks. No one who knew Kilts would have expected it. Nor did Gerald. Gerald knew that his D’s—and very occasional C’s—were his deserts, neither more nor less. But with algebra no longer haunting him like a nightmare, his other studies came easier, and Gerald began to think that perhaps, after all, there was a place for him in the school life.
Dan had, you may be certain, given an account of Gerald’s attempted escape from his troubles to Alf and Tom. The comment of each was typical. Alf, with his impatience for all things weak and futile, immediately dubbed Gerald “a silly ass.” Tom, big-hearted and sympathetic, declared that he had showed grit if not judgment.