The Evolution of "Dodd" Part 9

Bright would put a question to him about some of the lessons. He was aching for a chance to snub Mr. Bright, or defy him, by telling him that he didn't know. But he got no questions from his teacher that day, nor for some days after. There are many ways, so many ways, of tiring out a fish, before landing him!

So the day wore on, the first whole day in school for "Dodd" Weaver, for several years. At recesses he unbent a little, but he was only accosted by some of the youngest pupils of the room, and he felt uneasy and out of place among the larger and more advanced members of the school.

It was nearing four o'clock, and the closing work of the day was pressing. Mr. Bright was more than busy with his cla.s.s, and the room was quiet, the pupils devoting themselves to their work a.s.siduously.

"Dodd" sat listless for some time, but he finally straightened himself up quietly, his face lighted with interest, and it would have been evident to any one watching him (no one was watching him just at this time) that he was about to do something. He was.

His desk was in the row of seats next the wall, and there was only a narrow aisle between him and the blackboard. He could reach across this easily. He reached across.

He picked up a piece of crayon and began drawing lines on the board.

He moved his chalk carefully, and it made no sound. Yet his movements attracted attention, shortly, and one pupil, and another, and another, turned to watch him.

When "Dodd" found that he had finally succeeded in securing an audience he felt that his point was gained. He winked to a few of the boys about him, and even half smiled at a somewhat coquettish girl whose eye he happened to catch. He was winning his way, and he hastened to make the most of his opportunity.

He had not made a half-dozen strokes with the crayon till every one saw that his sketch was a caricature of Mr. Bright.

This gentleman was not handsome. His features were angular and somewhat irregular, and upon every one of these individualities the graceless artist enlarged at will. He turned up the nose, and set the stray bits of whiskers, and dotted the cheeks, at war one with another.

He even went further, and with a few clever strokes sketched a dwarfed body for the life-sized head. He worked rapidly and turned now and then to view his subject.

And all this time Mr. Bright was unconscious of what was going on. He sat with his face more than half turned away from "Dodd," and was devoting all his energies to the elucidation of a problem that was particularly troublesome to the advanced cla.s.s in algebra. He had no thought of the "order" of his school room. He was too busy trying to help the boys and girls who sat before him, to have time to trouble himself with the rest of the pupils, who were well able to care for themselves between recitations. This was his way of "maintaining order."

But presently he became aware, by soul or ear, that something was wrong about him, somewhere. For an instant he could not make out what it was, so deeply was he engrossed in his work. Then, like a flash, it came to him that it was "Dodd"! He turned his eyes quickly to where the boy sat, and had the good fortune to catch that young gentleman in the very act of adding the finishing touches to his sketch, with much flourish and circ.u.mstance.

So much elated was "Dodd," that for an instant he forgot where he was, and for more than a minute after Mr. Bright caught sight of what he was doing, he continued to put in new lines, every one of which added to the grotesqueness of the picture.

Meanwhile the school saw the situation and began to enjoy it hugely, though now at "Dodd's" expense.

Presently the young man looked up from his work and, glancing quickly to the teacher, saw that he was fairly caught. Like lightning he swept the brush, which he held in his left hand, over the picture, and it was gone. Then he squared himself in his seat.

But it was too late. He had overshot the mark. He heard a sneer of disgust from the pupils instead of the laugh he had counted on. He was down again. He was vexed at the result, and his face drew on an air of injured vexation, after the manner of his kind.

Then Mr. Bright said, stepping down to "Dodd's" desk, and speaking in a low tone, to the boy only:

"The picture was very good; very much better than I could have made. I see you have a good deal of ability with the chalk; I am glad to know it. If you care to try your hand on the board, you are welcome to do so at any time; only please do not try to take the attention of the pupils from their studies by your pictures, as you did just now," and without another word he resumed the point under consideration when the interruption took place.

"Dodd" tried to look defiant, but to little purpose. There was nothing left to defy.

I have seen men strike so hard at nothing at all that they have fallen headlong themselves, dragged down by the force of the blow they had intended for another. "Dodd" was down, and it was his own hand that had put him there.

And it is so much better that way!

Yet two points had been gained by this encounter. Mr. Bright had discovered that "Dodd" had a genius for one thing at least, for the sketch was really a remarkably strong one--so strong that the subject of it would have been glad to have preserved it; and "Dodd" was fully convinced that he had no ordinary man to deal with in the person of Mr.

Charles Bright. With these two new points developed, the party at the reel end of the line began slowly to "wind up," yet again, and the party of the second part let him wind.

CHAPTER XIII.

Rome was not built in a day nor is a character formed in one round of the sun. A man never reaches a great height at a single stride, and many times he slips and falls back, even after he has been climbing a great while. This is a thing that is common to the race.

"Dodd" Weaver possessed this trait. I say that he did, and shall proceed to prove it, in two ways, which I plainly state for the benefit of the two cla.s.ses of people who can only see the same set of facts from opposite points of vision.

For the practical people, those who believe only what they see,--the unimaginative and severely scientific, if you will,--I present in proof of the proposition stated above, the record of the boy's life up to this point--the bare facts that have transpired. For those who bow down at the shrine of pure logic, who accept no conclusion but such as has been hoisted into place by a lever of syllogism, with a major premise for a fulcrum, and a minor premise on the long end of the bar,--for these, I submit the familiar form:

A--All men slip and fall back into old ways, more or less (chiefly more), when striving to change a course of life that has become fixed by habit.

B--"Dodd" Weaver (Socrates) was a man (or near enough so to come within the range of the first term above).

C--Therefore; "Dodd" Weaver (Soc.) slipped and fell back into old ways, more or less (chiefly more), when striving to change a course of life that had become fixed by habit. The form will bear study.

I am glad to record just here, too, though it may be counted a digression, that for once the facts in the case and the logical conclusion reached concerning the same tally exactly. What a blessed thing it would have been for the martyrs, all through the ages, if there had always been such happy coincidence between logical sequence and actual facts! But what were the world without martyrs?

I have heard it said that pure logic has a mission to perform in this world. The record of its doings so far shows that, chiefly, it has been engaged in reaching conclusions that did not tally with actualities, and in leading its devotees to persecute those who accepted facts rather than its ultimatum. It is this that has fostered more persecution in the past than all other forms of bigotry combined.

Even religion herself has often fallen a prey to this false G.o.d, and the most relentless of religious wars have been waged with a logical difference as a basis.

Nevertheless, pure logic has its use. I have used it to prove that "Dodd" Weaver did not spring from groveling to grace without some set-backs, I have done obeisance to logic. I can now move on peaceably, I trust.

Mr. Bright made a point with "Dodd" by his quick discovery of the boy's genius with the chalk. In a few days he scored another, when he found how well he could read. Indeed, it was here the teacher and pupil first felt their souls flow together freely, for an instant.

It was the old "Sam Weller's Valentine" selection that the cla.s.s was laboring with. The boys and girls tugged at the dialogue, but in the main got little from it.

It came "Dodd's" turn to read. He had taken in the whole scene and was full of the spirit of the piece. His place of beginning was at the words with which "Sam" begins his letter, and, commencing there, he read, a.s.suming a high-pitched voice:

"Lovely creeter!"

The school broke out into a laugh, as did also Mr. Bright. "Dodd"

raised his eyes for an instant to catch the cause of their mirth, only to meet the approving smile of the teacher, and the slightest nod of admiration from him. He flushed with a glow of wholesome pride, and the next instant shouted, in the deep, husky guttural of "Old Tony":

"Stop! A gla.s.s o' the inwariable, my dear!" and so he continued with the dialogue.

It was a revelation to the school, this reading of "Dodd's." After the first floating breath of laughter had pa.s.sed over the room, every pupil was full of attention, and was listening to the reading of this proverbially bad boy.

"Dodd" read to the end of the letter and then sat down.

Mr. Bright said, "Very well!" and marked him 9 1/2! The two walked home to dinner together, at noon!

For many weeks after this "Dodd" continued as he had begun, and grew in favor with the pupils in general and with Mr. Bright in particular. He came regularly to school, studied fairly, and advanced quite rapidly in his work. This was very satisfactory to his parents, who saw their son, whom they had mourned as worse than dead, once more "clothed and in his right mind." The Elder was happy and felt that at last the personal influence of one good man had done for "Dodd" what a half dozen revival conversions had failed to do for him. Perhaps he did not say it just that way, even to himself; but we often hear voices within us saying things that we dare not say ourselves, even to ourselves. It was a voice within that said this to the parson. I merely record the fact without further comment. Why should anyone comment on such a fact?

But there came a day--there are always days a-coming. There came, too, a deed, and there are always deeds a-coming. It was in this wise.

School had just begun, after dinner, when suddenly "Dodd" Weaver arose to leave the room. There was nothing remarkable in this, for it was not unlawful for pupils to leave Mr. Bright's room without special permission. They were permitted to come and go at pleasure, subject, always, to the direction of the teacher in each or every case.

Mr. Bright did not notice the young man till he had nearly reached the door; then, suddenly, it occurred to him that there was no good reason for his going out.

"Why are you leaving the room, 'Dodd'?" he inquired, a trifle abruptly.

"To get a drink of water," returned the boy.

"You need not go," remarked Mr. Bright. "A young man of your years should attend to that at the proper time. You may take your seat!"