The school was in great need of teachers. The headmaster did not seem to mind whether the teachers could teach—if only a specious appearance of teaching was sustained in his dozen classrooms. Edward was engaged at a small salary to live in the school and teach a class of fifty boys in “all ordinary English subjects.” There was one professional teacher in the school—a woman. The other teachers’ desks were occupied by one or two unemployed merchant seamen, some bright young women stenographers, a stray woman journalist teaching “as a stunt,” and two or three sullen Chinese whose classes were always in an uproar.
Edward nearly fainted as the headmaster took him into the classroom on the first day and introduced him to the boys. “I am sure you will do your best ... Mr. Williams who lives in England and has spent much time in America ... giving his time to help Class C in their study of English.... Now, boys, we must all do our best ... make Mr. Williams welcome....”
While the headmaster’s shy voice wavered on, Edward studied the faces in front of him. Half the class was Eurasian; the other half Chinese. There were one or two thin, glowing Indian faces among the broad Chinese masks. Three Portuguese-Chinese boys in staring striped suits with small waists sat in the front row, trying successfully to frighten Edward by means of an exaggerated look of awe. With these exceptions the two front rows were occupied by little boys who were physically too weak to challenge the determination of the big boys to sit behind unseen. Edward looked hopefully at two little boys in the front row trying to look superlatively good. Their lips were moving; they were making a show of repeating the headmaster’s words to themselves in order to make a good impression. Over their heads Edward could see a dazzle of insolent faces, laughing at him and at the futile gentle enthusiasm of the headmaster. The big boys were quite frankly talking. Sometimes even Edward could hear their twanging voices. The headmaster looked wistfully down the room at the disturbers but made no comment. Edward felt his face fixed in an expression that a martyr might wear. His face was frozen. He could not change his expression. He looked in sickly appeal at the headmaster, who was now leaving the room. He looked in sickly appeal at the boys.
There was a fearful silence, broken by one of the big Eurasians at the back suddenly breaking into song.
“Eh—tya—tya....”
“Now you must be quiet, please,” said Edward huskily.
“Shall not I sing?” enquired the musician. “Am not I having sing lesson every evening when school finish?”
Edward ignored him. “I see by the timetable that we should begin with a Scripture lesson——”
“Oh, no sah—nevah Scriptchah. Monday mornings we was having hygiene—no, we was having dictations—nevah Scriptchah.”