I
Great was the exasperation among the local school teachers when it became known that Nathan was not going on into high school in September.
Cora Hastings, Nathan’s last teacher and the good woman, by the way, who did more than all others to encourage his literary fluency and poetical promise, took it upon her sparse, capable shoulders to wait upon the boy’s father and “speak him a piece of her mind.”
“Don’t you know your boy has been the brightest English scholar in the whole eight grades?” she demanded scathingly.
“Well,” retorted Johnathan, “just what is it your business”
“I’ve been his teacher and I know what’s in him. Let alone to study and equip himself, Nathan will make his mark in the world. Take him from school now, and all you may have is a mere working man.”
“I’m not ashamed of having him a working man. His folks were all working people. Look at me! No airs to us!”
“Do you want your boy to turn out a fool?”
“Better a working fool than an educated fool. But I’m not afraid of his bein’ a fool. Work never made a fool out of nobody.”
“Don’t you want him to be a success?”