Gerald wasn’t getting on very well with his studies. With English and Latin he was having little trouble, but French was a stumbling block, while as to mathematics—well, Gerald and algebra weren’t friends. And the worst of it was that Kilts, as Mr. McIntyre was called by the students, had got it into his head that Gerald wasn’t really trying to get along. This, at first, wasn’t true. But by the middle of February it must be acknowledged that Gerald had taken such a dislike to algebra, and Kilts, too, for that matter, that the latter had good reason for his suspicion. Kilts was a severe disciplinarian, and had small sympathy for boys who were not willing to work. He could forgive dullness, was often patience itself with a student who tried to learn and couldn’t, but he could make life very unpleasant for any member of his classes who didn’t try. And by the middle of February affairs were at an acute stage between Kilts and Gerald.
“Tell me, Mr. Pennimore,” he asked one morning[79] with his best sarcasm, “is there any subject I could substitute for algebra that would interest you?” As Gerald made no reply—having learned by this time the wisdom of declining McIntyre’s challenges to debate—but merely sat with red cheeks, listening to the suppressed giggles of the fellows around him, Kilts construed the boy’s silence to please himself.
“Ah, there is, then! Now, tell me what it is, sir, and I’ll bring the matter up in Faculty Meeting, and perhaps we can make the change. Would it be embroidery—or jack-straws—or puss-in-the-corner? Would it be any of those, Mr. Pennimore?”
Gerald sat silent with burning cheeks.
“Come, come, Mr. Pennimore! Let us hear it, pray. Don’t be afraid to speak up. What would it be, now?”
“Manners!” blurted Gerald, trembling with anger. Mr. McIntyre’s little Scotch eyes blazed and the class sobered instantly. But the instructor’s voice was surprisingly gentle as he replied:
“Ah, an excellent choice, sir, an excellent choice. I ken ye know your own requirements, and I’ll see what we can do for ye. (Mr. McIntyre was liable to fall back into Scotch brogue on occasions, occasions which the boys who knew him well were[80] prone to dread.) Ay, ay, manners are what ye need, doubtless.”
Mr. McIntyre smiled gently and took up his book again. Some one ventured to laugh nervously, but the look which he received killed his mirth instantly. Proceedings were resumed, and for the rest of the half-hour Kilts took no notice of Gerald. When class was over Gerald hurried out of the room and over to Clarke with blazing eyes, half beside himself with anger. Dan happened to be in the room, and to him Gerald poured forth his tale. But if he expected sympathy or indignation, he was doomed to disappointment. Dan heard the story calmly.
“Well, I guess it’s you for the Office, Gerald,” he said with a frown. “What made you be such an ass as to say that to Kilts? Don’t you know he’s got a temper like a ginger-jar?”
Gerald stared in amazement.
“But—but see what he said to me!” he gasped. “Do you think I’m going to sit quiet and take that, Dan? I guess not! What right had he to insult me before the whole class? He—he’s nothing but a Scotch beggar, anyway!”
“He’s one of the best mathematicians in the country,” replied Dan quietly, “and no matter what else he is, he’s your teacher and you ought to treat him politely. If he was impolite to you,[81] that’s no reason for you to answer back, Gerald.”
“Well, I did it!” cried Gerald hotly. “And I’ll do it again if he ever says things like that to me.”
“Maybe you won’t have a chance,” replied Dan dryly. “You’d better wait until you’ve seen Collins. You’ve got yourself into a nasty hole, Gerald, and you might as well realize it. Fellows have been suspended here for less than what you’ve done.”
“Let them suspend me, then,” said Gerald hotly. “I don’t care what they do! I’m sick and tired of this place, anyway. Every one’s down on me, the teachers and every one else! And you don’t care, either. You’re just like Loring and Dyer and those fellows. I hope they send me home! I’d rather be there than here!”
“And how about your father?” asked Dan gently. “Think he’d be pleased, Gerald? Now, look here!” Dan laid a hand kindly on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t make any more of a mess of it, Gerald. You were wrong in answering back, and you must see that. Why, it’s sort of as though you were in the army, Gerald. Kilts is your superior officer, you see, and it’s your place to take what he says and keep your mouth closed. And you know as well as I do that you haven’t been pegging at algebra lately the way you ought to.[82] You’ve got it into your head that you can’t do it, and now you don’t try. And Kilts sees that and doesn’t like it. He’s got a sharp tongue, has Kilts, and I dare say he said things he shouldn’t have said, but that’s not for you to bother about. What you want to do is to knuckle down and see that he doesn’t have a chance to get after you again. I’ll say one thing for Kilts, and that is, if he sees a fellow is trying to get along he will help him all he can. I’ve seen that myself, lots of times.”
“He’s a brute,” muttered Gerald rebelliously.
“No, he really isn’t. He’s awfully human, and he’s got a temper. Look at the way he acted last Fall when Jones painted up the front of Dudley that time! When Toby came along Kilts was out there with soap and water trying to wash out the paint so the fellow who did it wouldn’t get into trouble. He’s hard to get along with, but he’s pretty fair in the long run. Now, you listen to what Collins has to say, and tell him you were angry and excited and didn’t mean to insult Kilts. Then you take your medicine and buckle down and make up your mind to show Kilts that you are just as smart as any other fellow in your class. Maybe Collins will let you down easily this time. But you don’t want to talk to him the way you’ve talked to me, Gerald. That won’t do at a............