“What is there so very hard to pronounce about them?” inquired his father, with affected simplicity.
“It isn’t the words that are hard,—it’s the sentiment,” replied Whistler. “Our teacher told us that some great man once said those were the three hardest words to pronounce in the English language. He told us, besides, of a great general who was defeated in battle, and who sat down and wrote to the senate: ‘I have just lost a great battle, and it was entirely my own fault.’ He said that confession displayed more greatness than a victory.”
“That is very true,” added Mr. Davenport. “But have you learned to pronounce the words yourself? If you have, you have learned something worth knowing.”
“I don’t know,” replied Whistler, with some hesitation.
“The item of knowledge you have picked up to-day,” continued his father, “will not be of much benefit to you, unless you make a practical use of it. Your teacher, I suppose, wished to teach you the duty of confessing your errors. That is one of the hardest things a man ever has to do. It takes a brave man to confess that he has done wrong, or has embraced wrong opinions.”
“I’ve learned another thing to-day,” continued Whistler; “I’ve learned how much meanness there is in the world.”
“Ah, you have made an important acquisition!” said his father. “I’ve lived in the world forty years, and I haven’t begun to find out all its meanness yet.”
“Well, if I haven’t found it all out, I’ve found enough,” resumed Whistler. “This was the way it happened. Two or three boys of our class came to me, this morning, and wanted me to sign a petition asking the teacher to give us shorter lessons. About a dozen boys had signed it, but they wanted me to put my name before theirs, at the head of the petition, because I was one of the oldest boys. As soon as I found what it was for, I told them I didn’t think our lessons were too long, and I shouldn’t sign it. Then they all set upon me, and coaxed and flattered as hard as they could. They said they were so sure that I would sign it that they had left a place for my name, and that I should have more influence with the master than they, &c., &c. And when they found that that wouldn’t work, then they tried to bully me into it. Nat Clapp said I needn’t pretend to be a better scholar than the rest of them, for I had as hard work to get my lessons as any body did. Jo Clark said I wouldn’t sign it because they didn’t consult me about it before they got it up. Bill Morehead said I didn’t dare to sign it. I told him I dared to refuse to sign it, and I thought that was more than some of them could say. But I can’t tell you half what they said. I got real provoked at last. I should like to know if I hadn’t as good a right not to sign that petition as any of them had to sign it? What business had they to say my motives were bad, because I didn’t please to do just as they wanted me to?”
“How much boys are like men!” quietly remarked his father.
“But you didn’t sign the petition after all, did you?” inquired Clinton.