“I don’t believe Mr. Slocum knew how to do that sum,” said Frank Bent, at noon. “He got off by saying that he did it in another way; but I saw him looking at the rule about forty times when he was trying to do it. If you hadn’t done it on the board, he would have been caught.”

“Listen, boys,” said John Sandford, “I’ll put you up to a good joke. We shall have the rest of those sums to-morrow. We’ll all pretend we can’t do them, and ask him to explain them to us. Do you agree?”

The boys unanimously agreed.

“As he will be most likely to call on you, Julius, you must be the individual to ask him for an explanation.”

“All right,” said Julius, who enjoyed the prospect of cornering the teacher.

Accordingly at recess Julius went up to the teacher gravely, and said, “Mr. Slocum, will you tell me how to do this sum?”

“Ahem! let me see it,” said the teacher.

He took the book and read the following example:

“If seven is the denominator of the following fraction,{131} nine and one-quarter over twelve and seven-eighths, what is its value when reduced to a simple fraction?”

Now this ought not to present any difficulty to a teacher; but Mr. Slocum had tried it at home, and knew he could not do it. He relied upon some one of the scholars to do it on the board, and as he decided in his own mind, from his experience of the day before, that Julius was most to be relied upon, he was dismayed by receiving such an application from our hero.

“It is rather a difficult example,” he said, slowly. “Have you tried it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Julius had tried it, and obtained the correct answer; but this he did not think it necessary to mention.

“Then you had better go to your desk and try again.”

“Won’t you explain it to me, sir?”

“I have not time,” said Mr. Slocum. “Besides, I think it much better that you should find out for yourself.”

“It isn’t easy to get ahead of him,” thought Julius; “but when the class comes up, we’ll see how he’ll get off.”

To tell the truth, though he had got off for the time being, Mr. Slocum was rather disturbed in mind. He could not do the sum, and it was possible he would be called upon to explain it to the class. How should he conceal his ignorance? That was an important question.{132} He did not suspect that a trap had been laid for him, but supposed the question had been asked in good faith.

At length the time came, and the class were called upon to recite.

“Julius Taylor,” said the teacher, “you may go to the board and do the eleventh example.”

“I’ll try, sir,” said Julius.

He went up to the board and covered it with a confused mass of figures; finally bringing out the answer one hundred and eleven over eight hundred and forty-six.

“I haven’t got the same answer as the book, Mr. Slocum,” he said.

“You have probably made some mistake in the figures,” said the teacher.

“I am not sure that I have done it the right way, sir.”

Mr. Slocum scanned with a look of impressive wisdom the confused figures on the board, and said: “You are right in principle, but there is an error somewhere.”

“Would you be kind enough to point it out, sir?” asked Julius, demurely.

“Is there any one in the class who has obtained the correct answer to this sum?” asked the teacher, hoping to see a hand raised.

Not one of the class responded.

“You may all bring up your slates and do it at the{133} same time, while Julius does it again on the board,” he said.

Five minutes passed, and by agreement every one announced a wrong answer. The boys thought Mr. Slocum would now be forced to explain. But the pedagogue was too wise to attempt what he knew was impossible.

“I see,” said the teacher, “that these sums are too difficult for the class. I shall put you back at the beginning of fractions.”

This announcement was heard by most of the boys with dismay. Many of them could only attend school in the winter, and wanted to make as much progress as they could in the three months to which they were limited. Among the most disappointed was Julius. He saw that his practical joke on the teacher was likely to cost him dear, and he resolved to sacrifice it.

“I think I can do it now, sir,” he said. “I have just thought of the way.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Slocum, much relieved; “you may do it.”

Our hero at once performed the sum correctly, obtaining the same answer as the book.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

“You may explain it to the class,” said the teacher.

Julius did so.

“That is the result of perseverance,” said Mr. Slocum, “I was always persevering. When I was connected with{134} a celebrated institution of learning in the State of Maine, the principal one day said to me: ‘Theophilus, I never knew a more persevering boy than you are. You never allow any difficulties to stand in your way. You persevere till you have conquered them.’ Once, at the end of the arithmetic—a more difficult one than this—there was a very hard example, which none of the other boys could do; but I sat up till one o’clock at night and did it. Such are the results of perseverance.”

“May we go on where we are?” asked Julius, “and not go back to the beginning of fractions?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Slocum, “since you have shown that you can persevere. I could easily have explained the sum to you at once; but what good would it have done you? You could not have done the next. Now that you have got it out yourself, I think I am justified in letting you advance.”

So Mr. Slocum triumphed; but not one of the class credited his statement. It was clear to all that he had been “stuck,” and did not dare attempt the sum for fear of failing.

“You had to back down, and do the sum after all, Julius,” said Frank Bent.

“Yes; I didn’t want the class put back to the beginning of fractions.”

“The master was pretty well cornered, I wondered how he would get out.”{135}

“I hope he knows more about other things than arithmetic.”

“I wish we had Mr. Fairbanks back again. He had the whole arithmetic by heart. There wasn’t a sum he couldn’t do; though he didn’t brag about it, like Mr. Slocum. He knew how to explain so a feller couldn’t help understand him.”

In the afternoon Mr. Slocum had another chance to boast. This time it was about his travels, which, by the way, were limited to his journey from Maine, by way of New York. But the city of New York, in which he spent two days, had impressed him very much, and he was proud of having visited it.

“What is the largest city in the United States, Julius?” asked the teacher; though this question was not included in the lesson.

“New York.”

“Quite correct. New York is indeed a vast city. I am quite familiar with it, having spent some time there not long since. I expect you have not any of you had the privilege of visiting this great city.” Here Julius and Teddy Bates exchanged glances of amusement.

“New York contains a great variety of beautiful edifices,” continued Mr. Slocum, complacently. “I used often to walk up Broadway, and survey the beautiful stores. I made some purchases at the store of the celebrated{136} A. T. Stewart, whom you have heard of frequently.”

Mr. Slocum’s extensive purchases to which he alluded consisted of a handkerchief, for which he paid fifty cents.

“It is very beneficial to travel,” continued Mr. Slocum. “It enlarges the mind, and stores it with useful information. We cannot all travel, for travel is expensive; but I think teachers ought to travel, as it enables them to illustrate lessons in geography by their own observations in distant cities and remote lands.”

Here Frank Bent raised his hand.

“Will you tell us some more about New York, sir?”

Mr. Slocum was flattered; and with a preliminary flourish proceeded: “I am glad you desire to acquire information; it is a very laudable ambition. I stopped at one of the finest hotels in New York, located on Chatham Avenue, a broad and fashionable thoroughfare, lined with stately stores.”

Here Julius and Teddy found it difficult to repress their laughter, but by an effort succeeded.

“Did you go to the Grand Duke’s Oprea House?” Julius asked, raising his hand.

“To be sure,” said Mr. Slocum, supposing it to be a fashionable place of amusement. “It is an elegant structure, worthy of the great city in which it is erected. I never visited Europe, but I am told that none of the{137} capital cities of the Old World can surpass it in grandeur.”

This was intensely amusing to Julius, who remembered the humble basement in Baxter Street, described in our early chapters, as the “Grand Duke’s Oprea House.” He concluded that Mr. Slocum’s knowledge of New York was about on a par with his knowledge of complex fractions.{138}