In short, all the elements of vacation were here,--all but the thing itself. Each morning the summons came at twenty minutes of nine, and each morning we trod the dismal path. Pencils squeaked, and slaty smells arose as the slates were covered with figures and then cleaned with damp sponges. The pungent odor of cedar, from newly sharpened lead-pencils, mingled with the fragrance of pickled limes,--smuggled into school and eaten contrary to the orders of Miss Temple, the teacher. Outside, summer called us in a dozen different ways. And, uneasy prisoners, we chafed and wriggled in our seats.
But, somehow, the days had dragged by, and even this final one had nearly gone. At the last moment, when our release was so near at hand, a dismal spectre arose before us to block the way. It was the forbidding form of Mr. Colburn.
This was a man who had written an arithmetic,--an arithmetic of singular and diabolical ingenuity. He had done this thing long before any of us were born, and then he had passed from the earth. But his work had remained to annoy us. Occasionally, during the last hour of the afternoon session, we wrestled with Mr. Colburn, by request. This was in addition to the regular arithmetic lesson in the morning.
I conceived Mr. Colburn as a tall, spare man, clad in brown leather. His face was brown and leathery, too, and it was puckered and sour. In one hand he held his famous book,--in the other, a big switch. He was full of impertinent curiosity, was Mr. Colburn, and he had no manner of interest in the things that really concerned us.
I wanted to know if Ed Mason (whose seat was next but one behind mine) were going fishing to-morrow morning. Mr. Colburn wanted to know if 3 fifths of a chaldron of coal cost 8 dollars, what is the whole chaldron worth?
I did not care what it was worth, I did not know what a chaldron was, anyway,--and I have never found out. But I saw we were in for an uncomfortable hour as soon as Miss Temple said:
"Take your Colburn's Arithmetics and sit up straight in your seats.... Robert, did you throw that? Well, you may go and stand in that corner, with your face to the wall."
Rob Currier did as he was directed with undisguised delight. By one skilful stroke he had put himself beyond the clutch of Mr. Colburn. The rest of us looked upon him with envy,--if we had only been so inspired!