previous
next

(iii)

SAID Mr. Samson Flusky to his secretary, between such pauses as his cigar demanded:

“A letter to the Governor. Put in all the flourishes.

Here's what I want said: Government at home don't send out the men we want here. You can't expect it. A sign-painter, say, commits a felony, he's got to be transported same as if he was a useful man. Gentlemen, too, that can't do a hand's turn beyond shove a pen. What's wanted isn't Grammar Schools, or places like this King's School, as they call it; a lot of kids dressed up in uniform to learn Greek. It's schools for teaching trades this country wants. I'm ready to back my words. I'll give the land, and build the school, tell him, if so he'll agree to it. That's the lot. His obedient humble servant, and I'll sign.”

The secretary, without replying, chose a sheet of finer paper, trimmed his pen carefully, and bent over the desk.

“Make it plain. A school for men to learn to use their hands. I don't give two chatsnote for Latin and poetry. Wait; say they'll be taught to cipher. That's got some sense to it, too. Learn 'em to keep an eye on their money when they make it. Poetry——”




  ― 198 ―

He made a contemptuous sound at the thought of that. Winter bent lower, teeth caught upon his lip; aware of himself, not for the first time, as the whipping boy of Mr. Charles Adare.

previous
next