“They didn’t—that was jest the difficulty. I learned fast enough. And I got enough. I was willin’ to doff the spangles and retire to private life after one term, I tell you!”
“What happened to you?”
“A-plenty! But it’s your case we’re discussin’. Now, if I hain’t forgot all I ever knew about youngsters, there wouldn’t naterally ’a’ been all this stir and circus over a feller takin’ a book where he hadn’t oughter ’a’ took it—and there wouldn’t ’a’ been, either, all this fuss about your givin’ him away and turnin’ state’s evidence, and——”
“But I didn’t,” Sam interrupted.
“I know that well enough. So would the fellers in your class know it, if they stopped to think over the kind o’ goods you’re made of. But they ain’t stoppin’ to think, because the somebody who’s raisin’ all the Cain is keepin’ ’em goin’. It’s a heap like drivin’ cattle. So long’s they’re kept on the move, they’ll tramp along, raisin’ enough dust to keep ’em from seein’ anything in particular. Same way with humans! The driver at your school is takin’ care not to let the herd stop and the dust settle. Pooty good manager, he is!”
Sam nodded. “Yes—if you call it managing.”
Lon was silent for a moment. Then said he, gravely:
“I’ve been talkin’ to you about politics. Now, there’s good politics, and there’s bad politics; but I’m mortal sure it’s bad politics you’re facin’. My tip jest backs up yours. I guess we can bank that between ’em we’re on the right track as to who’s doin’ things, even if we don’t know why he’s doin’ ’em. But, after all, that ain’t the main p’int—which is, what are you goin’ to do about it?”
“Why—why, I’ve tried to tell you.”
“You’ve told more about what you’ve done than about what you’re goin’ to do. So far, you’re all right, Sam. But what’s the comin’ program?”