"Next."
"Caoutchouc, is it, teacher?"
"Yes, sir."
"C-o-u-t-c-h-o-u-c."
"Next."
"C-o-u-t-c-h-a-o-u-c."
"Next," and every kind of a way was given to spell that word. It passed on down the class to Charlie. He was waiting, not a little anxiously for it.
"C-a-o-u-t-c-h-o-u-c caoutchouc," and he marched up head with a smile that showed gladness for himself, and love for those in the class at the head of which he now stood.
Some words more and the lesson was recited.
"Charlie," said Earl Rinehart after the bell rang, and they were passing out of the door, "I was glad you got that word right."