“All right, Bud, you may have the seat by the back window on the right side.”
For a moment the boy stared at her in silence. A seat by a back window is at once a much coveted place and a spot quite advantageous for mischief making. Bud knew this; yet this girl teacher gave him this place. Just what his conclusions were regarding this move Florence could not even guess.
Every hour of that day seemed the hour before a thunder storm. Every child in the room knew why Bud was there; and while as a whole they were friendly to their teachers, they were at the same time normal children. And where is the child who does not long for excitement.
The day passed as others had. The slow drone of bees outside, the murmur of voices reciting lessons, loud shouts of play at noon and recess, then the glad burst of joy as the sixty children went racing home.
“Bud was just like the rest,” Florence said to Ransom Turner that evening. “Perhaps there’s nothing wrong after all.”
“Just you wait!” Ransom said with a shake of his head. “Old Black Blevens ain’t sendin’ that boy to school fer book larnin’. Hit’s time for layin’ by of the corn. Took him right outen’ the field, he did. Don’t make sense, that ar don’t, unless he hopes Bud’ll make trouble.”
Florence went to bed with a headache. Doubtless Ransom was right. She was tempted to wish that they had never started the fight, that they had left Black Blevens and Al Finley to collect their ill gotten school money.
“And the children without an education!” she whispered fiercely. “No! Never! Never! We’ll fight, and by all that’s good, we’ll win!”
A whole week passed and nothing unusual happened. If Bud Wax and Black Blevens meant any harm they were taking a long time to tamp powder and lay fuse. All Ransom would say was:
“Jest you mind what I say. That Black Blevens is a plumb quare worker, but he’s always at hit.”