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The Brown Mouse
Chapter 20. Think Of It
Herbert Quick
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       _ CHAPTER XX. THINK OF IT
       Ames was an inspiration. Jim Irwin received from the great agricultural college more real education in this one trip than many students get from a four years' course in its halls; for he had spent ten years in getting ready for the experience. The great farm of hundreds of acres, all under the management of experts, the beautiful campus, the commodious classrooms and laboratories, and especially the barns, the greenhouses, gardens, herds and flocks filled him with a sort of apostolic joy.
       "Every school," said he to Professor Withers, "ought to be doing a good deal of the work you have to do here."
       "I'll admit," said the professor, "that much of our work in agriculture is pretty elementary."
       "It's intermediate school work," said Jim. "It's a wrong to force boys and girls to leave their homes and live in a college to get so much of what they should have before they're ten years old."
       "There's something in what you say," said the professor, "but some experiment station men seem to think that agriculture in the common schools will take from the young men and women the felt need, and therefore the desire to come to the college."
       "If you can't give them anything better than high-school work," said Jim, "that will be so; but if the science and art of agriculture is what I think it is, it would make them hungry for the advanced work that really can't be done at home. To make the children wait until they're twenty is to deny them more than half what the college ought to give them--and make them pay for what they don't get."
       "I think you're right," said the professor.
       "Give us the kind of schools I ask for," cried Jim, "and I'll fill a college like this in every congressional district in Iowa, or I'll force you to tear this down and build larger."
       The professor laughed at his enthusiasm.
       More nearly happy, and rather shorter of money than he had recently been, Jim journeyed home among the companions from his own neighborhood, in a frenzy of plans for the future. Mr. Hofmyer had dropped from his mind, until Con Bonner, his old enemy, drew him aside in the vestibule of the train and spoke to him in the mysterious manner peculiar to politicians.
       "What kind of a proposition did that man Hofmeister make you?" he inquired. "He asked me about you, and I told him you're a crackerjack."
       "I'm much obliged," replied Jim.
       "No use in back-cappin' a fellow that's tryin' to make somethin' of himself," said Bonner. "That ain't good politics, nor good sense. Anything to him?"
       "He offered me a salary of seventy-five dollars a month to take charge of his school," said Jim.
       "Well," said Con, "we'll be sorry to lose yeh, but you can't turn down anything like that."
       "I don't know," said Jim. "I haven't decided."
       Bonner scrutinized his face sharply, as if to find out what sort of game he was playing.
       "Well," said he, at last, "I hope you can stay with us, o' course. I'm licked, and I never squeal. If the rist of the district can stand your kind of thricks, I can. And say, Jim"--here he grew still more mysterious--"if you do stay, some of us would like to have you be enough of a Dimmycrat to go into the next con'vintion f'r county superintendent."
       "Why," replied Jim, "I never thought of such a thing!"
       "Well, think of it," said Con. "The county's close, and wid a pop'lar young educator--an' a farmer, too, it might be done. Think of it."
       It must be confessed that Jim was almost dazed at the number of "propositions" of which he was now required to "think"--and that Bonner's did not at first impress him as having anything back of it but blarney. He was to find out later, however, that the wily Con had made up his mind that the ambition of Jim to serve the rural schools in a larger sphere might be used for the purpose of bringing to earth what he regarded as the soaring political ambitions of the Woodruff family.
       To defeat the colonel in the defeat of his daughter when running for her traditionally-granted second term; to get Jim Irwin out of the Woodruff District by kicking him up-stairs into a county office; to split the forces which had defeated Mr. Bonner in his own school district; and to do these things with the very instrument used by the colonel on that sad but glorious day of the last school election--these, to Mr. Bonner, would be diabolically fine things to do--things worthy of those Tammany politicians who from afar off had won his admiration.
       Jim had scarcely taken his seat in the car, facing Jennie Woodruff and Bettina Hansen in the Pullman, when Columbus Brown, pathmaster of the road district and only across the way from residence in the school district, came down the aisle and called Jim to the smoking-room.
       "Did an old fellow named Hoffman from Pottawatomie County ask you to leave us and take his school?" he asked.
       "Mr. Hofmyer," said Jim, "--yes, he did."
       "Well," said Columbus, "I don't want to ask you to stand in your own light, but I hope you won't let him toll you off there among strangers. We're proud of you, Jim, and we don't want to lose you."
       Proud of him! Sweet music to the underling's ears! Jim blushed and stammered.
       "The fact is," said Columbus, "I know that Woodruff District job hain't big enough for you any more; but we can make it bigger. If you'll stay, I believe we can pull off a deal to consolidate some of them districts, and make you boss of the whole shooting match."
       "I appreciate this, Clumb," said Jim, "but I don't believe you can do it."
       "Well, think of it," said Columbus. "And don't do anything till you talk with me and a few of the rest of the boys."
       "Think of it" again!
       A fine home-coming it was for Jim, with the colonel waiting at the station with a double sleigh, and the chance to ride into the snowy country in the same seat with Jennie--a chance which was blighted by the colonel's placing of Jennie, Bettina and Nils Hansen in the broad rear seat, and Jim in front with himself. A fine ride, just the same, over fine roads, and past fine farmsteads snuggled into their rectangular wrappages of trees set out in the old pioneer days. The colonel would not allow him to get out and walk when he could really have reached home more quickly by doing so; no, he set the Hansens down at their door, took Jennie home, and then drove the lightened sleigh merrily to the humble cabin of the rather excited young schoolmaster.
       "Did you make any deal with those people down in the western part of the state?" asked the colonel. "Jennie wrote me that you've got an offer."
       "No," said Jim, and he told the colonel about the proposal of Mr. Hofmyer.
       "Well," said the colonel, "in my capacity of wild-eyed reformer, I've made up my mind that the first four miles in the trip is to make the rural teacher's job a bigger job. It's got to be a man's size, woman's size job, or we can't get real men and real women to stay in the work."
       "I think that's a statesmanlike formulation of it," said Jim.
       "Well," said the colonel, "don't turn down the Pottawatomie County job until we have a chance to see what we can do. I'll get some kind of a meeting together, and what I want you to do is to use this offer as a club over this helpless school district. What we need is to be held up. Do the Jesse James act, Jim!"
       "I can't, Colonel!"
       "Yes, you can, too. Will you try it?"
       "I want to treat everybody fairly," said Jim, "including Mr. Hofmyer. I don't know what to do, hardly."
       "Well, I'll get the meeting together," said the colonel, "and in the meantime, think of what I've said."
       Another thing to think of! Jim rushed into the house and surprised his mother, who had expected him to arrive after a slow walk from town through the snow. Jim caught her in his arms, from which she was released a moment later, quite flustered and blushing.
       "Why, James," said she, "you seem excited. What's happened?"
       "Nothing, mother," he replied, "except that I believe there's just a possibility of my being a success in the world!"
       "My boy, my boy!" said she, laying her hand on his arm, "if you were to die to-night, you'd die the greatest success any boy ever was--if your mother is any judge."
       Jim kissed her, and went up to his attic to change his clothes. Inside the waistcoat was a worn envelope, which he carefully opened, and took from it a letter much creased from many foldings. It was the old letter from Jennie, written when the comical mistake had been made of making him the teacher of the Woodruff school. It still contained her rather fussy cautions about being "too original," and the sage statement that "the wheel runs easiest in the beaten track." It was written before the vexation and trouble he had caused her; but he did not read the advice, nor think of the coolness which had come between them--he read only the sentence in which Jennie had told of her father's interest in Jim's success, ending with the underscored words, "I'm for you, too."
       "I wonder," said Jim, as he went out to do the evening's tasks, "I wonder if she is for me!" _