CHAPTER III.
DR. EUCLID RECEIVES A CALL

Dr. Euclid lived in a comfortable dwelling-house not far from the Presbyterian Church. His family was small, consisting only of his wife and himself. Having no children, he devoted himself solely to the interests of the academy, of which he had been the principal for a space of fifteen years.

The doctor was an unusually learned man for the preceptor of an academy. He by no means confined his attention to the studies pursued in the institution, but devoted his leisure hours to reading classic authors, such as are read in our best colleges. He had published a carefully annotated edition of Greek tragedy, which had gained him a great deal of credit in the eyes of scholars. Indeed, he had received, only a short time previous, an invitation to the chair of Latin and Greek in a well-known college, and had been strongly tempted to accept, but had finally declined it, not being willing to leave the Hamilton Academy, to which he had become much attached, and his friends and neighbors in the village, by whom he was held in high esteem.

Dr. Euclid was seated in his library, examining a new classical book which had been sent him by the publishers, when the maid-servant opened the door, and said:

“Please, Dr. Euclid, there’s a gentleman wants to see you.”

“Do you know who it is, Mary?” asked the doctor, laying aside his book, with a look of regret.

“I think it’s the lyyer man, sir.”

“Oh, you mean the lawyer,” said Dr. Euclid, smiling.

“That’s what I said, sir.”

“Well, show him up.”

Almost immediately Brandon Ross, Esq., rather a pompous-looking individual, who tried to make himself look taller by brushing up his reddish hair till it stood up like a hedge above his forehead, entered the room.

“Good-evening, Mr. Ross!” said Dr. Euclid, politely.

He wondered why the lawyer had favored him with a call. It did not occur to him that it had any connection with the little difficulty of the morning between Herbert Ross and his young janitor.

“Ahem! Doctor, I am very well,” said the lawyer.

“Take a seat, if you please.”

“Thank you, sir. I can’t stay long. I am occupied with some very important legal business just now.”

Mr. Ross said this with an air of satisfaction. He always represented that he was occupied with important business.

“Then he won’t stay long,” thought the doctor. “Well, I am glad of that, for I want to get back to my book.”

“You probably expected I would call,” Squire Ross began.

“No; I can’t say I did,” answered the doctor, regarding his visitor with surprise.

“Surely, sir, after that outrageous assault upon my son this morning, an assault, sir, committed almost in your very presence, you could hardly suppose I, as Herbert’s father, would remain calmly at home and ignore the affair?”

Mr. Ross said this in the tone in which he usually addressed juries, and he looked to see it produce an effect upon Dr. Euclid. But he was disappointed. An amused smile played over the face of the dignified scholar, as he answered:

“I certainly didn’t connect your visit with the little matter you refer to.”

“Little matter!” repeated the lawyer, indignantly. “Do I understand, Dr. Euclid, that you speak of a ruffianly assault upon my son Herbert as a little matter?”

Dr. Euclid wanted to laugh. He had a vivid sense of the ridiculous, and the lawyer’s way of speaking seemed so disproportioned to the boyish quarrel to which he referred, that it seemed to him rather ludicrous.

“I was not aware, Mr. Ross, that such an assault had been made upon your son,” he replied.

“Surely you know, Dr. Euclid,” said the lawyer, warmly, “that your janitor, Andrew Gordon, had assaulted Herbert?”

“I knew the boys had had a little difficulty,” returned the doctor, quietly. “Your son struck Andrew with a broom. Did he tell you that?”

Mr. Ross was surprised, for Herbert had not told him that.

“It was a proper return for the violent attack which the boy made upon him. I am glad that my son showed proper resentment.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Ross, but your son’s attack preceded Andrew’s. It was Andrew who acted in self-defense, or, if you choose to call it so, in retaliation.”

“I presume your account comes from your janitor,” said the lawyer, a little disconcerted.

“On the contrary, it comes from your son. Herbert admitted to me this morning what I have just stated to you.”

“But,” said Ross, after a pause, “Andrew had previously covered him with dust, from malicious motives.”

“I deny the malicious motives,” said the doctor. “Your son entered the schoolroom hurriedly, just as Andrew was sweeping out. Accidentally, his clothes were covered with dust.”

“It suits you to consider it an accident,” said the lawyer, rudely. “I view it in quite a different light. Your janitor is well known to be a rude, ill-mannered boy – ”

“Stop there, Mr. Ross!” said Dr. Euclid, in a dignified tone. “I don’t know where you got your information on this subject, but you are entirely mistaken. Andrew is neither rough nor ill-mannered. I considered him very gentlemanly, and, what I consider of quite as much importance, a thoroughly manly boy.”

“Then, sir, I understand that you uphold him in his assault upon my son,” said the lawyer, fiercely.

“I consider,” said the doctor, in a dignified tone, “that he was entirely justified in what he did.”

“Then, sir, allow me to say that I am utterly astounded to hear such sentiments from a man in your position. I do not propose to allow my son to be ill-treated by a boy so much his inferior.”

“If you mean inferior in scholarship,” said the doctor, “you are under a misapprehension. Andrew is in your son’s class in Latin and Greek, but he is quite superior to him in both of these languages.”

This was far from agreeable information for the proud lawyer, though he could not help being aware that his son was not a good scholar.

“I referred to social position,” he said, stiffly.

“Social position doesn’t count for much in America,” said Dr. Euclid, smiling. “Of course, Mr. Ross, you recall Pope’s well-known lines:

“ ‘Honor and shame from no condition rise.

Act well your part – there all the honor lies.’ ”

“I don’t agree with Pope, then. His lines are foolish. But I won’t waste my time in arguing. I have come here this evening, Dr. Euclid, as one of the trustees of the Hamilton Academy, to insist upon Andrew Gordon’s discharge from the position of janitor.”

“I must decline to comply with your request, Mr. Ross. Andrew is a capable and efficient janitor, and I prefer to retain him.”

“Dr. Euclid, you don’t seem to remember that I am a trustee of the academy!” said the lawyer, pompously.

“Oh, yes, I do! But the trustees have nothing to do with the appointment of a janitor.”

“You will admit, sir, that they have something to do with the appointment of a principal,” said Brandon Ross, significantly.

“Oh, yes!” answered the doctor, smiling.

“And that it is wise for the principal to consult the wishes of those trustees.”

“I presume I understand you, Mr. Ross,” said Dr. Euclid, in a dignified tone, “and I have to reply that you are only one out of six trustees, and, furthermore, that as long as I retain the position which I have held for fifteen years, I shall preserve my independence as a man.”

“Very well, sir! very well, sir!” exclaimed the lawyer, intensely mortified at the ignominious failure of his trump card, as he had regarded it. “I shall be under the necessity of withdrawing my son from the academy, since he cannot otherwise be secure from such outrages as that of this morning.”

“If your son will respect the rights of others, he will stand in no danger of having his own violated. As to withdrawing him from school, you must do as you please. Such a step will injure him much more than any one else.”

“I am the best judge of that!” said the lawyer, stiffly. “Good-evening, sir!”

“Good-evening!”

The troublesome visitor went out, and with a sigh of relief, Dr. Euclid returned to his book.

CHAPTER IV.
TROUBLE PREPARING FOR ANDY

When Lawyer Ross returned to his showy dwelling, he found Herbert eagerly waiting to hear an account of his mission.

Herbert was firmly of the opinion that his father and himself were the two most important persons in Hamilton, and he confidently anticipated that Dr. Euclid would be overawed by his father’s visit, and meekly accede to his demand. He thought, with a pleasant sense of triumph, how it would be in his power to “crow over” the janitor, who had so audaciously ventured to lay a finger upon his sacred person.

He looked up eagerly when his father entered the room.

“Well, father, did you see Dr. Euclid?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied the lawyer, in a tone by no means pleasant.

“Did he agree to discharge Andy Gordon?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Herbert looked perplexed.

“Did you ask him to?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“There are a good many things you don’t understand,” said his father, giving a kick to the unoffending cat which lay on the rug before the fire, and forcing the astonished animal to vacate her comfortable quarters.

“I should think,” Herbert ventured to say, “that Dr. Euclid wouldn’t dare to disobey you, as you are a trustee.”

“Dr. Euclid is an obstinate fool!” exploded the lawyer.

“It would serve him right if you kicked him out and appointed a new principal,” insinuated Herbert.

Mr. Ross felt in the mood to do as his son advised, but he felt very doubtful of his ability to accomplish the displacement of so popular and highly esteemed a teacher. He was pretty sure that he could not talk over the other trustees to agree to so decided a step, but he was unwilling to confess it, even to his son. Therefore he spoke diplomatically.

“I cannot tell what I may do,” he said. “It will depend upon circumstances. All I can say is that Dr. Euclid will sooner or later be sorry for upholding Andrew Gordon in his lawless acts.”

“Does he uphold him?”

“Yes. He says that Andrew was perfectly justified in what he did.”

“He ought to be ashamed of himself!” said Herbert, provoked.

“He says,” continued Mr. Ross, who took a perverse pleasure in mortifying his son, as he had himself been mortified, “that Andrew is your superior.”

“My superior!” exclaimed Herbert, more than ever exasperated. “That young beggar my superior!”

“He says Andrew is a better scholar than you!”

“Then I don’t want to go to his confounded school any more. He doesn’t seem to know how to treat a gentleman.”

“You needn’t go, Herbert, if you don’t care to,” said his father, more mildly.

“May I leave the academy?” asked Herbert, eagerly.

“Yes. After the course which Dr. Euclid has seen fit to adopt, I shall not force a son of mine to remain under his instruction. I told him so this evening.”

“What did he say to that?” queried Herbert, who could not help thinking that Dr. Euclid would be very sorry to lose a pupil of his social importance.

“He didn’t say much,” said the lawyer, who was not disposed to repeat what the doctor actually did say.

“Then,” said Herbert, “there is no use for me to study my Latin lesson for to-morrow.”

“You may omit it this evening, but of course I cannot have you give up study. I may obtain a private tutor for you, or send you to some school out of town.”

The lawyer hoped that this step, though personally inconvenient, and much more expensive, might injure Dr. Euclid by implying that one of the trustees lacked confidence in him as a teacher.

Herbert left the room, well pleased on the whole with the upshot of the affair.

Half an hour later an old man, Joshua Starr by name, was ushered into the lawyer’s presence. He was a man bordering upon seventy, with pinched and wizened features, which bore the stamp of meanness plainly stamped upon them. By one method and another he had managed to scrape together a considerable property, not wholly in a creditable manner.

He had cheated his own brother out of three thousand dollars, but in a way that did not make him amenable to the law. He had lent money to his neighbors on usurious terms, showing no mercy when they were unable to make payment. Such was the man who came to the squire for help.

“Good-evening, Squire Ross!” he said. “I’ve come to you on a little matter of business.”

“Well, Mr. Starr, state your case.”

“I’ve got a note agin’ a party in town, which I want you to collect.”

“Who is the party, Mr. Starr?”

“Waal, it’s the Widder Gordon.”

Squire Ross pricked up his ears.

“Go on,” he said, beginning to feel interested.

“You see, I’ve got a note agin’ her husband for a hundred dollars, with interest.”

“But her husband is dead.”

“Jes’ so, jes’ so! But he borrowed the money when he was alive, in the year 1862.”

“And now it is 1866.”

“Jes’ so! You see it isn’t outlawed. The note is good.”

“Show me the note.”

The lawyer took and scanned it carefully.

“It was to run for three months,” he said.

“Jes’ so!”

“Why didn’t you present it for payment?”

“I did,” said Starr. “But it wan’t convenient for him to pay it.”

“You don’t usually give so much time to your creditors, Mr. Starr,” said the lawyer, keenly.

“I didn’t want to be hard on him,” whined Starr.

“There’s something under this,” the lawyer thought.

“Have you presented it for payment to the widow?” asked Ross.

“Yes; and what do you think? She says her husband paid it. It’s ridikilus!”

“In that case you would have surrendered the note or given a receipt.”

“Jes’ so, jes’ so!” said Mr. Starr, eagerly. “You understand the case, square. Let her show the receipt, as I’ve got the note.”

“How does she explain your having the note?”

“She says I had mislaid the note, and her husband agreed to take a receipt instead.”

“But she don’t show the receipt.”

“No; that’s where I’ve got her,” chuckled the old man. “I say, square, ain’t my claim good?”

“Certainly, if she can’t show any receipt from you.”

“Then you can collect it for me?”

“I can try; but I don’t suppose she has any property.”

“There’s her furnitoor,” suggested the old man.

“Well, you may leave the note, and I will see what I can do. Good-night!”

“Good-night, square!”

When the lawyer was left alone, there was a look of malicious satisfaction on his face.

“Now, Master Andrew Gordon,” he said to himself, “I think I can make you rue the day when you assaulted my son. But for that, I wouldn’t have meddled in this business, for Starr is an old rascal; but now it suits me to do it. The Widow Gordon and her precious son shall hear from me to-morrow!”