Frank's Campaign or Farm and Camp Part 24

"Thomas wisely said nothing, but displayed his five thousand dollars.

There was great joy in the little dwelling. Thomas Tubbs at once took a larger shop, and grew every year in wealth and public esteem. The only way in which he did not grow was in stature; but his six months'

experience as a giant had cured him of any wish of that sort. The last I heard of him was his election to the legislature."

"That's a bully story," said Charlie, using a word which he had heard from older boys. "I wish I was a great tall giant."

"What would you do if you were, Charlie?"

"I'd go and fight the rebels," said Charlie manfully.

CHAPTER XX. POMP'S EDUCATION COMMENCES

In the season of leisure from farm work which followed, Frank found considerable time for study. The kind sympathy and ready a.s.sistance given by Mr. Morton made his task a very agreeable one, and his progress for a time was as rapid as if he had remained at school.

He also a.s.sumed the office of teacher, having undertaken to give a little elementary instruction to Pomp. Here his task was beset with difficulties. Pomp was naturally bright, but incorrigibly idle.

His activity was all misdirected and led him into a wide variety of mischief. He had been sent to school, but his mischievous propensities had so infected the boys sitting near him that the teacher had been compelled to request his removal.

Three times in the week, during the afternoon, Pomp came over to the farm for instruction. On the first of these occasions we will look in upon him and his teacher.

Pomp is sitting on a cricket by the kitchen fire. He has a primer open before him at the alphabet. His round eyes are fixed upon the page as long as Frank is looking at him, but he requires constant watching. His teacher sits near-by, with a Latin dictionary resting upon a light stand before him, and a copy of Virgil's Aeneid in his hand.

"Well, Pomp, do you think you know your lesson?" he asks.

"Dunno, Ma.s.s' Frank; I reckon so."

"You may bring your book to me, and I will try you."

Pomp rose from his stool and sidled up to Frank with no great alacrity.

"What's that letter, Pomp?" asked the young teacher, pointing out the initial letter of the alphabet.

Pomp answered correctly.

"And what is the next?"

Pomp shifted from one foot to the other, and stared vacantly out of the window, but said nothing.

"Don't you know?"

"'Pears like I don't 'member him, Ma.s.s' Frank."

Here Frank had recourse to a system of mnemonics frequently resorted to by teachers in their extremity.

"What's the name of the little insect that stings people sometimes, Pomp?"

"Wasp, Ma.s.s' Frank," was the confident reply.

"No, I don't mean that. I mean the bee."

"Yes, Ma.s.s' Frank."

"Well, this is B."

Pomp looked at it attentively, and, after a pause, inquired, "Where's him wings, Ma.s.s' Frank?"

Frank bit his lips to keep from laughing. "I don't mean that this is a bee that makes honey," he explained, "only it has the same name. Now do you think you can remember how it is called?" "b.u.mblebee!" repeated Pomp triumphantly.

Pomp's error was corrected, and the lesson proceeded.

"What is the next letter?" asked Frank, indicating it with the point of his knife-blade.

"X," answered the pupil readily.

"No, Pomp," was the dismayed reply. "It is very different from X."

"Dat's him name at school," said Pomp positively.

"No, Pomp, you are mistaken. That is X, away down there."

"Perhaps him change his name," suggested Pomp.

"No. The letters never change their names. I don't think you know your lesson, Pomp. just listen to me while I tell you the names of some of the letters, and try to remember them."

When this was done, Pomp was directed to sit down on the cricket, and study his lesson for twenty Minutes, at the end of which he might again recite.

Pomp sat down, and for five minutes seemed absorbed in his book. Then, unfortunately, the cat walked into the room, and soon attracted the attention of the young student. He sidled from his seat so silently that Frank did not hear him. He was soon made sensible that Pomp was engaged in some mischief by hearing a prolonged wail of anguish from the cat.

Looking up, he found that his promising pupil had tied her by the leg to a chair, and under these circ.u.mstances was amusing himself by pinching her tail.

"What are you doing there, Pomp?" he asked quickly.

Pomp scuttled back to his seat, and appeared to be deeply intent upon his primer.

"Ain't doin' noffin', Ma.s.s' Frank," he answered innocently.

"Then how came the cat tied to that chair?"

"'Spec' she must have tied herself."

"Come, Pomp, you know better than that. You know cats can't tie themselves. Get up immediately and unfasten her."

Pomp rose with alacrity, and undertook to release puss from the thraldom of which she had become very impatient. Perhaps she would have been quite as well off if she had been left to herself. The process of liberation did not appear to be very agreeable, judging from the angry mews which proceeded from her. Finally, in her indignation against Pomp for some aggressive act, she scratched him sharply.

"You wicked old debble!" exclaimed Pomp wrathfully.

He kicked at the cat; but she was lucky enough to escape, and ran out of the room as fast as her four legs could carry her.