Ramsey Milholland | Page 4

platform, a brisk and unsympathetically cheerful young woman
mounting thereon to "teach German."
For a long time mathematics and German had been about equally
repulsive to Ramsey, who found himself daily in the compulsory
presence of both; but he was gradually coming to regard German with
the greater horror, because, after months of patient mental resistance,
he at last began to comprehend that the German language has sixteen
special and particular ways of using the German article corresponding
to that flexible bit of a word so easily managed English--the. What in
the world was the use of having sixteen ways of doing a thing that
could just as well be done in one? If the Germans had contented
themselves with insisting upon sixteen useless variations for infrequent
words, such as hippopotamus, for instance, Ramsey might have thought

the affair unreasonable but not necessarily vicious--it would be easy
enough to avoid talking about a hippopotamus if he ever had to go to
Germany. But the fact that the Germans picked out a and the and many
other little words in use all the time, and gave every one of them
sixteen forms, and expected Ramsey Milholland to learn this dizzying
uselessness down to the last crotchety detail, with "When to employ
Which" as a nausea to prepare for the final convulsion when one didn't
use Which, because it was an "Exception"--there was a fashion of
making easy matters hard that was merely hellish.
The teacher was strict but enthusiastic; she told the children, over and
over, that German was a beautiful language, and her face always had a
glow when she said this. At such times the children looked patient; they
supposed it must be so, because she was an adult and their teacher; and
they believed her with the same manner of believing which those of
them who went to Sunday-school used there when the Sunday-school
teachers were pushed into explanations of various matters set forth in
the Old Testament, or gave reckless descriptions of heaven. That is to
say, the children did not challenge or deny; already they had been
driven into habits of resignation and were passing out of the age when
childhood is able to reject adult nonsense.
Thus, to Ramsey Milholland, the German language seemed to be a
collection of perverse inventions for undeserved torment; it was full of
revolting surprises in the way of genders; vocally it often necessitated
the employment of noises suggestive of an incompletely mastered
knowledge of etiquette; and far inside him there was something faintly
but constantly antagonistic to it--yet, when the teacher declared that
German was incomparably the most beautiful language in the world,
one of the many facets of his mind submissively absorbed the statement
as light to be passed inward; it was part of the lesson to be learned. He
did not know whether the English language was beautiful or not; he
never thought about that, and no one ever said anything to him about it.
Moreover, though his deeper inward hated "German," he liked his
German teacher, and it was pleasant to look at her when that glow came
upon her face.

Sometimes, too, there were moments of relaxation in her class, when
she would stop the lesson and tell the children about Germany: what a
beautiful, good country it was, so trim and orderly, with such pleasant
customs, and all the people sensible and energetic and healthy. There
was "Music" again in the German class, which was another alleviation;
though it was the same old "Star Spangled Banner" over again. Ramsey
was tired of the song and tired of "My Country 'Tis of Thee"; they were
bores, but it was amusing to sing them in German. In German they
sounded "sort o' funny," so he didn't mind this bit of the day's work.
Half an hour later there arrived his supreme trial of this particular
morning. Arithmetic then being the order of business before the house,
he was sent alone to the blackboard, supposedly to make lucid the
proper reply to a fatal conundrum in decimals, and under the glare and
focus of the whole room he breathed heavily and itched everywhere;
his brain at once became sheer hash. He consumed as much time as
possible in getting the terms of the problem stated in chalk; then,
affecting to be critical of his own handiwork, erased what he had done
and carefully wrote it again. After that, he erased half of it, slowly
retraced the figures, and stepped back as if to see whether perspective
improved their appearance. Again he lifted the eraser.
"Ramsey Milholland!"
"Ma'am?"
"Put down that eraser!"
"Yes'm. I just thought--"
Sharply bidden to get forward with his task, he explained in a feeble
voice that he had first to tie a shoe string and