CHAPTER XXIII.
PRIZE WINNING AND LOSING.
There were many ways in which the methods employed at Dr. Johnston'sschool were unique. The system of registering attendance, proficiency,and conduct has been already fully explained. It was hardly possiblethat this could have been more perfect. No boy could be absent withoutbeing missed, and an explanation or excuse of a thoroughly satisfactorynature was required the next day. No mistake could occur as to thestanding of the pupils in the different classes. The record of each daywas all comprehensive. It constituted a photograph, so to speak, of eachpupil's doings, in so far as they related to his school, and the doctorwas exceedingly proud of the journals, which he kept with scrupulouscare and neatness.
Another feature of the school, peculiar to itself, was the system bywhich a knowledge of arithmetic was fostered, and the faculty of usingit quickly was developed. The whole of one morning each week was devotedto this. The scholars were grouped in classes according to theirvarying proficiency, care being taken to give each one a fair chance byassociating him with those who were about as far advanced as himself.These classes were then arranged upon seats very much after the fashionof a Sunday school, save that instead of a teacher being in theircentre, they were placed around a backless chair, in such a manner thatit was equally convenient of access to all. Each boy had his slate andpencil in readiness.
The school having been called to order, the doctor then proceeded toread out to the senior class a problem in proportion or compoundinterest, or whatever it might be, and this they hurriedly scribbleddown on their slates. If they did not understand it fully at first, hewould read it again, but of course never gave any explanations. So soonas a scholar had clearly grasped the problem to be solved he set to workat its solution with all his might, and it was a most interestingspectacle to watch when the whole class, with heads bent close to theslates, made their squeaking, scratching pencils fly over them. Everypossible shade of mental condition, from confident knowledge toforeboding bewilderment, would be expressed in their faces. The instantone of them had completed his work, he banged his slate down upon thebackless chair, with the writing turned under. The others followed asbest they could, and all the slates being down, they awaited thedoctor's coming around to their class again.
When Dr. Johnston had completed the round of the classes, and given eacha problem, he would, after a pause, call upon each in turn to read theanswers as set down upon the slate. The boy whose slate was first on thechair, and therefore at the bottom of the pile, would read his answerfirst. If it were correct, he scored a point, and none of the otherswere called upon. If incorrect, the next to him would read his answer,and so on until a correct answer was given, and a point scored bysomebody. Only one point could be made each round, and so theunsuccessful ones had to console themselves with the hope of havingbetter luck next time. Not more than four or five rounds would be hadeach day, and it rarely happened that the same boy would be successfulin all of them. Three points were considered a very good day's work, andif a boy made four points he was apt to feel that the prize in thatclass was as good as his, until some other boy made four points also,and thereby lessened his chances.
It did not always happen that being first down with his slate assuredthe scholar of scoring a point. A slight mistake in his addition,subtraction, or division might have thrown him off the track, and thennumber two, or maybe number three, would come in with a correct answerand triumphantly score the point, success being all the sweeter, becauseof being somewhat unexpected.
Now this kind of competition suited Bert thoroughly. He was as quick asany of his companions, cooler than many of them, and had by this timeacquired a very good understanding of the chief principles ofarithmetic. He greatly enjoyed the working against time, which was thedistinctive feature of the contest. It brought out his mental powers totheir utmost, and he looked forward to "arithmetic day," with aneagerness that was not caused entirely by what his father had promisedhim in the event of his being successful in carrying off a prize.
In the same class with him were Frank Bowser, Ernest Linton, and ahalf-dozen other boys of similar age and standing in the school. He hadno fear of Frank or Ernest. They were no match for him either as toknowledge, or rapidity of work; but there was a boy in the class whoseemed fully his equal in both respects. This was Levi Cohen, adark-skinned, black-haired chap, whose Jewish features were in entireharmony with his Jewish name. He was indeed a Jew, and, young though hewas, had all the depth, self-control, and steadfastness of purpose ofthat strange race. He also had, as the sequel will show theirindifference as to the rightness of the means employed so long as theend in view was gained.
The school had been in session for more than a month, and those who wereparticularly interested in the arithmetic competitions were alreadycalculating their chances of success. In Bert's class it was clearbeyond a doubt that the contest lay between him and Levi Cohen. Itrarely happened that they did not monopolise the points between them,and so far, they had divided them pretty evenly. One day Bert wouldscore three and Levi two, and then the next week Levi would have three,and Bert two, and so it went on from week to week.
As the second month drew to a close, Bert began to gain upon his rival.He nearly always made the majority of the points, and was now at leastsix ahead. Then suddenly the tide turned and Levi seemed to have it allhis own way. The quickness with which he got the answers wasbewildering. Nay, more, it was even suspicious. One familiar with thedetails of the problems given, and the amount of work a full working outwould require, could not help being struck by the fact that Cohen seemedto arrive at his answer after a remarkably small expenditure ofslate-pencil. Time and again he would have his slate down at leasthalf-a-minute before Bert did his, although previous to this suddenchange in his fortunes, the difference in time between them had beenrarely more than a few seconds. Then again it was noticeable that hetook the utmost care that none of the others should see what was on hisslate. He did his work in a corner, hunched up over it so that it waswell concealed, and he snatched his slate away from the pile at the veryfirst opportunity.
Bert noticed all these things, and they perplexed him quite as much asCohen's rapid gain alarmed him. He soon became convinced that there wassomething wrong, that Cohen was doing crooked work; but, puzzle hisbrains as he might, he could not get at the bottom of the mystery. Frankand Ernest fully shared his suspicions, and they had many a talk overthe matter. Frank thought that Cohen must have the answers written on apiece of paper which he managed to peep at somehow while all the otherboys were absorbed in working out the problems; but although he onseveral occasions purposely refrained from doing anything himself inorder to watch Cohen the more closely, he failed to find the slightestground for his suspicions in that direction. Then Bert put forward histheory.
"I'll tell what it is Frank: Cohen must learn the answers off by heart,and then he sets them down without working out the whole sum."
"Shouldn't wonder a bit," said Frank. "He's got a great memory, I know,and we always can tell from what part of the arithmetic Dr. Johnston isgoing to get the sums."
"But how can we make sure of it, Frank?" inquired Bert, anxiously.
"The only way is to get hold of his slate, and see how he works his sumsout," replied Frank.
"Yes; but he takes precious good care not to let anybody see how he doesthem."
"So he does; but we've got to find out some way, and I'm going to do it,so sure as my name's Frank Bowser."
"How'll you manage it, Frank?" asked Bert, brightening up; for he reallywas a good deal troubled over Cohen's continued success, particularly ashe felt so strongly that there was something wrong at the bottom of it.
"I don't know yet, Bert; but I'll find out a way somehow. See if youcan't think of a plan yourself."
"I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll ask father about it," said Bert, in atone that implied perfect confidence in Mr. Lloyd's ability to furnish asolution for any difficulty.
Accordingly, that eve
ning, Bert laid the whole case before his father,who listened with judicial gravity, and then proceeded to ask a questionor two:
"You feel quite sure that Cohen does not take the time to work out thesums properly?"
"Yes, father; perfectly sure."
"Then why don't you inform Dr. Johnston of your suspicions, and he willmake an examination into the matter?"
"Oh, father!" exclaimed Bert, with a look of profound surprise. "Youwouldn't have me turn tattle-tale, would you?"
"No, Bert, dear; indeed, I would not, although you should lose a dozenprizes. I said that simply to see what you would think of it, and I amglad you answered me as I expected you would. But, Bert, you have askedmy advice in this matter. Did you think of asking somebody else who isinfinitely wiser than I am?"
Bert understood his father at once.
"No, father; I did not. I never thought of it," he answered, frankly.
"Then had you not better do so when you are saying your prayersto-night?"
"I will, father. I'm so glad you reminded me." And with that Bertdropped the subject for the time.
That night, ere he went to bed, Bert laid the matter before his Fatherin heaven, just as he had done before his father upon earth. He hadimbibed his ideas of prayer from what he heard from his own father atfamily worship. Mr. Lloyd's conception of prayer was that it could notbe too simple, too straightforward. It often seemed as though God werepresent in the room, and he was talking with him, so natural, sosincere, so direct were his petitions. And Bert had learned to pray inthe same manner. A listener might at times be tempted to smile at thefrankness, the naivete of Bert's requests; but they were uttered notmore in boyish earnest than in truest reverence by the petitioner.
The next morning, when Bert came down to the breakfast-room, he wasevidently in the best of spirits.
"It's all right, father," said he. "I asked God to show me what's thebest thing to do, and I'm sure He will."
"That's it, Bert; that's the way to look at it," replied Mr. Lloyd, witha smile of warm approval.
On reaching the school Bert found Frank awaiting him.
"I've got it! I've got it!" he shouted, so soon as Bert appeared. "Iknow how Levi manages it now."
"How is it?" asked Bert, eagerly.
"Why, he learns all the answers off by heart, and then doesn't work outthe sums at all, but just pretends to, and slaps down the answer beforethe rest of us fellows are half through," explained Frank.
"To be sure, Frank; you know I thought of that before. But how are wegoing to stop him?"
"That's just what I'm coming to. When the time comes to read the answersI'm going to take up the slates, just as if mine was down first; andthen, if Levi's been playing sharp on us, I'll expose him."
"What a brick you are!" exclaimed Bert, admiringly, patting Frank on theback. "That's a grand plan of yours, and I do believe it's the way Godis going to answer my prayer."
"Answer your prayer, Bert? Why, what do you mean?" inquired Frank.
"Why, you know, Frank, last night when I was saying my prayers, I toldGod all about it, and now I believe He's going to make it all right. Youjust see if He doesn't."
Frank was evidently very much struck with the idea of his being chosenby God to answer Bert's prayer. It was quite a new thought, and made adeep impression upon him. He was a clear and strong, if not very rapid,reasoner, and his reasoning in this case led him to the conclusion thatif God thought that much of him he certainly ought to think more of God.He did not talk about it to anyone, but for many days his mind wasoccupied with thoughts of this nature, and their direct result was tolead him nearer to the kingdom.
At the very first opportunity Frank put his plan into execution.Arithmetic day came round, the class gathered in its place, the firstsum was read out to them, and before Bert was half through working itout, Levi Cohen placed his slate softly upon the chair, and leaned backin his seat with a sly smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. Frankglanced up from his work, gave Bert a meaning look, and then dropped hisslate upon Cohen's with a loud bang. The others followed more slowly,and presently the time came for the answers to be read.
Before Cohen could leave his corner, Frank rose up, seized the pile ofslates, turned them over, and examined the first intently, while Bertwatched him with breathless expectancy, and Cohen, at first toosurprised to act, sprang forward to wrest it from his hands. But Frankmoved out of his reach, and at the same time, with a triumphant smile,exhibited the face of the slate to the rest of the class, saying, in aloud whisper:
"Look, boys, that's the way he works them out."
Dr. Johnston noticed the slight commotion this created, but he was toofar away to see clearly what it meant, so he called out:
"Why does not class six read their answers?"
Cohen stood up, and held up his hand.
"Well, Cohen, what is it?" asked the doctor.
"Please, sir, Bowser has taken my slate, and won't give it to me,"answered Cohen, in a whining voice.
"Bowser, what's the meaning of this? What are you doing with Cohen'sslate?" demanded the doctor, frowning darkly.
Frank did not look a bit frightened, but still holding on to the slate,which Cohen was making ineffectual efforts to regain, replied, inrespectful tones:
"May I hand you the slate first, sir?"
At these words Cohen turned ashy pale, and Dr. Johnston, realising thatthere must be something going on that required explanation, orderedFrank to bring all the slates up to him.
With radiant face Frank proceeded to obey, giving Bert a triumphant lookas he passed by him, while Cohen shrank back into his corner, and bithis nails as though he would devour his finger tips. Taking up Cohen'sslate, the doctor scrutinised it carefully. One glance was sufficient. Adeep flush spread over his dark face, his eyes lighted up threateningly,and in his sternest tones he called out:
"Cohen, come here!"
Amid the expectant hush of the school, none but class six knowing whatwas the matter, Cohen, looking as though he would give his right hand tobe able to sink through the floor, walked slowly up into the dreadfulpresence of the angered master. Holding up the slate before him, Dr.Johnston asked:
"Is this your slate, sir?"
Cohen gave it a cowering glance, and said, faintly:
"Yes, sir."
"How long has this been going on?" thundered the doctor.
Cohen made no reply.
"Answer me, sir, at once. How long has this been going on?" repeated thedoctor.
"I don't quite know, sir; but not very long," faltered out Cohen.
With an exclamation of disgust, Dr. Johnston turned from him, and,holding the slate up high so that all the school might see it, relievedthe curiosity of the scholars, now at fever pitch, by addressing themthus:
"Cohen has just been detected in one of the most contemptible tricksthat has come under my observation since I have been master of thisschool. He has evidently been committing to memory the answers to theproblems that would be given out, and instead of doing the work properlyhas been scratching down a few figures, then writing the answers, and sofinishing long before any of the other scholars. I need hardly say thatthis is not only a most contemptible trick, as I have already said, buta serious blow at the principles of fair play and justice which shouldregulate the winning of prizes in this school. I therefore feel bound toexpress my indignation at Cohen's offence in the most decided manner."
Turning to Cohen: "You, sir, shall stand upon the floor for punishment.All the points scored by you already this term will be taken from you,and you will not be permitted to compete for any prize until I shall sodetermine."
A kind of subdued whistle rose from the boys when they heard thedoctor's severe, and yet not too severe, sentence. Cohen was nofavourite with them; and yet they could not help some pity for him, asthoroughly cowed and crushed he stood before them all, the very pictureof misery. Bert's tender heart was so touched by his abject appearance,that he half relented at his exposure. But Frank w
as troubled by no suchsecond thoughts. The unexpectedly complete success of his scheme filledhim with delight. It had accomplished two objects, both of which gavehim keen pleasure. Bert's most dangerous rival for the prize had beenput out of the way, and Cohen, whom he cordially disliked, had been wellpunished for his knavery.
With Cohen disqualified, Bert had a comparatively easy time of it forthe rest of the term. He usually managed to secure four out of the fivepoints obtainable, and steadily added to his score until at last therewas no chance of anyone beating him, and he could look forward withcomfortable confidence to the prize that meant so much in his case. Afew days before Christmas the results were declared, and the prizesawarded, and although Bert gained only the one upon which his heart hadbeen set, while other boys carried off two, and even three, he enviednone of them. Their prizes meant nothing more perhaps than thebrightly-bound books which the doctor selected with special reference toboyish preferences. But _his_ prize meant more than a book. It meant apony. And so if he was the happiest boy in all the land of Acadia it wasnot without good reason. Frank was hardly less jubilant, for he hadgained his prize, and there was a hope taking strong hold upon hisheart, that if fortune was kind to him, there might be a pony for him aswell as for Bert.
Bert Lloyd's Boyhood: A Story from Nova Scotia Page 24