“Boland, do you see that boy standing up? Well, that is George Peters. Peters is one of our stupidest boys, Boland. I think I might say our stupidest without risking exaggeration. That is so, Peters?”
“Y-yes, sir,” replied Peters cheerfully.
“Thank you. Now, Boland, you take the seat at the left of Peters’. You look like a smart fellow and I am hoping that perchance that propinquity may result in contagion for Peters.”
Cal walked down the aisle to the indicated seat.
“You may sit down, Peters,” continued Mr. James. “And, Peters, if you experience a queer sensation don’t be unduly alarmed. It will probably be only the germ of industry finding lodgment in you. Should you experience a strange impulse to glance now and then into your books don’t combat it; let it grow. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Peters with a grin.
“Thank you again, Peters. You are very amiable. Am I right in thinking that you have your book upside-down? I can’t be certain at this distance.”
Peters glanced at the book and switched it quickly around.
“I was right? I thought so. Try it that way for awhile, Peters; reading upside-down must be difficult to even a normal intellect, and I don’t think you ought to attempt it with yours.”
Mr. James allowed his gaze to wander around the class room with the result that some fourteen smiles vanished abruptly from as many faces and an equal number of heads bent over books. Cal looked about him. Most of the boys appeared to be of his own age, although the unfortunate Peters was plainly a year older. Presently he descried Ned over in a corner, and, yes, that was Spud Halladay in the next seat but one. He didn’t feel so lonesome after that. Presently Mr. James came down with an armful of books.