The Gold-Stealers | Page 5

the success of a pedagogue. In addressing the boys he
used their correct names, or the nicknames liberally bestowed upon
them by their mates, indiscriminately, and showed no resentment
whatever when he heard himself alluded to as Jo, or Hamlet, or the
Beetle, his most frequent appellations in the playground. He kept a
black bottle in his desk, at the neck of which he habitually refreshed

himself before the whole school; and he addressed the children with an
elaborate and caustic levity in a thin shaky voice quite twenty years too
old for him. His humour was thrown away upon the rising generation
of Waddy, and might have been supposed to be the cat-like pawing of a
vicious mind; but Joel Ham was not cruel, and although when occasion
demanded he could use the cane with exceeding smartness, he
frequently overlooked misdemeanours that might have justified an
attack, and was never betrayed into administering unmerited cuts even
when his black bottle was empty and his thirst most virulent.
In spite of his eccentricities and his weaknesses, and the fact that he
was neither respected nor dreaded, Ham brought his scholars on
remarkably well. There were three big classes in the room--first, third,
and fifth--and a higher and lower branch of each; he managed all, with
the assistance of occasional monitors selected from the best pupils.
Good order prevailed in the school, for little that went on there escaped
the master's alert eye. Even when he drowsed at his desk, as he
sometimes did on warm afternoons, the work was not delayed, for he
was known to have a trick of awakening with a jerk, and smartly
nailing a culprit or a dawdler.
The school to-day was in a tense and excitable condition, now
heightened to fever by the two cobwebbed mysteries standing against
the wall, but the imperative rattle of Joel's cane on the desk quickly
induced a specious show of industry.
'Gable!'
The individual addressed, a big scholar in the Lower Third, was so
absorbed in the spectacle provided by Haddon and McKnight that he
failed to hear the master's voice, and continued staring stupidly with all
his eyes.
'Gable! This way, my dear child.'
Gable started guiltily, and then fell into confusion. He climbed
awkwardly, out of his seat, and advanced hesitatingly with shuffling
feet towards the master. It was now evident that Gable was not a large

boy, but a little old man, slightly built, with a round ruddy clean-shaven
face and thick white hair. But his manner was that of a boy of eight.
'Hold out, my young friend!' Joel commanded, with an expressive
flourish of his cane.
Gable held out his hand; his toothless mouth formed itself into a dark
oval, his eyes distended with painful expectancy, and he assumed the
shrinking attitude of the very small boy who expects the fall of the cane.
The situation was absurd, but no one smiled. Ham raised the extended
hand a little with the end of the dreaded weapon.
'You are going the right way to come to a dishonoured old age, Gable,'
he said, and the cane went up, but the cut was not delivered. 'There,'
continued the master, 'I forgive you in consideration of your extreme
youth. Go to your place, and try to set a better example to the older
boys.'
The old man trotted back to his seat, grinning all over his face, and set
to work at his book with an appearance of intense zeal; and Joel Ham
turned his attention to the prime culprits. Having marched the
youngsters from the front desk of the third class, he drew desk and
form forward into the middle of the clear space, and then beckoned to
McKnight.
'Jacker, my man,' he said cheerfully, 'bring your slate and sit here. I
have a little job for you.'
Dick, standing alone, watched his mate seat himself at the desk, elated
for a moment with the idea that perhaps Jo was not going to regard
their offence as particularly heinous after all; but his better judgment
scouted the idea, and he returned to his scrutiny of the wall. There was
a weak spot near where Hector, Peterson's billy-goat, had butted his
way through on a memorable occasion, and escape was still a
comforting contingency.
The master approached McKnight with a pencil as if to set a lesson, but
this was merely a ruse; Jacker was a hard-headed vicious youth whose

favourite kick Ham wisely reckoned with on an occasion like this. To
the boy's surprise and disgust he was presently seized by the neck and
hauled forward on to the desk. His legs, being against the seat, which
was attached to the desk, were quite useless for defence, so that he was
a helpless victim under the chastening rod. It