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American Agriculturist, June 16,1923 
The Brown Mouse — By Herbert Quick 
M ore interesting to a keen observer than the speeches, were the unusual things 
in the room itself. To be sure, there were on the blackboards exercises and 
outlines, of lessons in language, history, mathematics, geography and the like. 
But these were not the usual things taken from text-books. The problems in arith¬ 
metic were calculations as to the feeding value of various rations for live stock, 
records of laying hens and computation as to the excess of value in eggs produced 
over the cost of feed. Pinned to the wall were market reports on all sorts of farm 
products, and especially numerous were the statistics on the prices of cream and 
butter. There were files of farm papers piled about, and racks of agricultural 
bulletins. In one corner of the room was a typewriting machine, and in another 
a sewing machine. Parts o.f an old telephone were scattered about on the teacher’s 
desk. A model of a piggery stood on a shelf, done in cardboard. Instead of the 
usual collection of text-books in the desk, there were hectograph copies of 
exercises, reading lessons, arithmetical tables and essays on various matters re¬ 
lating to agriculture, all of which were accounted for by two or three hand-made 
hectographs—a very fair sort of printing plant—lying on a table. 
The members of the school board were there, looking on these evidences of 
innovation with wonder and more or less disfavor. Things were disorderly. The 
text-books recently adopted by the board against some popular protest had evi¬ 
dently been pitched, neck and crop, out of the school by the man whom Bonner 
had termed a dub. It was a sort of contempt for the powers that be. 
Colonel Woodruff was in the chair. 
After the speechifying was over, and 
the stereotyped, though rather illogical, 
appeal had been made for voters of the 
one party to cast the straight ticket, 
and for those of the other faction to 
scratch, the colonel rose to adjourn the 
meeting. 
Newton Bronson, safely concealed 
behind taller people, called out, “Jim 
Irwin! speech!” 
There was a giggle, a slight sensa¬ 
tion, and many voices joined in the 
call for the new schoolmaster. 
Colonel Woodruff felt the unwisdom 
of ignoring the demand. Probably he 
relied upon Jim’s discretion and ex¬ 
pected a declination. 
Jim arose, seedy and lank, and the 
voices ceased, save for another sup¬ 
pressed titter. 
“I don’t know,” said Jim, “whether 
this call upon me is a joke or not. If it 
is, it isn’t a practical one, for I can’t 
talk. I don’t care much about parties 
or politics. I don’t know whether I’m 
a Democrat, a Republican or a Pop¬ 
ulist.” 
This caused a real sensation. The 
nerve of the fellow! Really, it must 
in justice be said, Jim was losing 
himself in a desire to tell his true feel¬ 
ings. He forgot all about Jennie and 
her candidacy—about everything except 
his real, true feelings. This proves 
that he was no politician. 
“I don’t see much in this county 
campaign that interests me,” he went 
on—and Jennie Woodruff reddened, 
while her seasoned- father covered his 
mouth with his hand to conceal a smile. 
“The politicians come out into the 
farming districts every campaign and 
get us hayseeds for anything they 
want. They give us clodhoppers the 
glad hand, a cheap cigar, and a cheaper 
smile after election;—and that’s all. 
I know it, you all know it, they know 
it. I don’t blame them so very much. 
The trouble is we don’t ask them to do 
anything better. I want a new kind of 
rural school; but I don’t see any pros¬ 
pect, no matter how this election goes, 
for any change in them. We in the 
Woodruff District will have to work 
out our own salvation. Our political 
ring never’ll do anything but the old 
things. That’s all—and I don’t suppose 
I should have said as much as I have!” 
There was stark silence for a moment 
when he sat down, and then as many 
cheers for Jim as for the principal 
speaker of the evening, cheers mingled 
with titters and catcalls. Jim felt a 
good deal as he had done when he 
knocked down Mr. Dilly’s chauffeur— 
rather degraded and humiliated, as if 
he had made an ass of himself. And 
as he walked out of the door, the 
future county superintendent passed by 
him in high displeasure, and walked 
home with someone else. 
Jim found the weather much colder 
than it had been while coming. He 
really needed an Eskimo’s fur suit. 
CHAPTER VII 
THE NEW WINE 
I N the little strip of forest which 
divided the sown land from the Iowa 
fields wandered two boys in earnest 
converse. From their backloads of 
steel-traps one of them might have 
been Frank Merriwell, and the other 
Dead-Shot Dick. However, though it 
was only mid-December, and the fur 
of all wild varmints was at its primest, 
they were bringing their traps into 
the settlements, instead of taking them 
afield. “The settlements” were repre¬ 
sented by the ruinous dwelling of the 
Simmses, and the boy who resembled 
Frank Merriwell was Raymond Simms. 
The other, who was much more bar¬ 
barously accoutered, whose overalls 
were fringed, who wore a cartridge 
belt, and carried hatchet, revolver, and 
a long knife with a deerfoot handle, 
and who so studiously looked like 
Dead-Shot Dick, was our old friend 
Newton Bronson. On the right, on the 
left, a few rods would have brought 
the boys out upon the levels of rich 
corn-fields, and in sight of the long 
rows of soft maples along the straight 
roads, and of the huge red barns. But 
here, they could be the Boy Trappers 
—a thin fringe of bushes and trees 
made of the little valley a forest to 
the imagination of the boys. Newton 
put down his load, and sat upon a 
stump to rest. 
R aymond SIMMS was dimly con¬ 
scious of a change in Newton since 
the day when they met and helped select 
Colonel Woodruff’s next year’s seed corn. 
Newton’s mother had a mother’s confi¬ 
dence that Newton was now a good boy, 
who had been led astray by other boys, 
but had reformed. Jim Irwin had a dis¬ 
tinct feeling of optimism. Newton had 
quit tobacco and beer, casually stating 
to Jim that he was “in training.” Since 
Jim had shown his ability to administer 
a knockout to that angry chauffeur, he 
seemed to this hobbledehoy peculiarly a 
proper person for athletic confidences. 
Newton’s mind seemed gradually filling 
up with interests that displaced the 
psychological complex out of which 
oozed the bad stories and filthy allusion. 
Jim attributed much of this to the clear 
mountain atrnosphere which surrounded 
Raymond _ Simms, the ignorant bar¬ 
barian driven out of his native hills by 
a feud. Raymond was of the open 
spaces, and refused to hear fetid things 
that seemed out of place in them. But 
how could you have a fuss with a feller 
who knew all about trapping, who had 
seen a man shot, who had shot a bear, 
who had killed wild turkeys, who had 
trapped a hundred dollars’ worth of 
furs in one winter, who knew the proper 
“sets” for all fur-bearing animals, and 
whom you liked, and who liked you? 
As the reason for Newton’s improve¬ 
ment in manner of living, Raymond, 
out of his own experience, would have 
had no hesitation in naming the school 
and the schoolmaster. 
“I wouldn’t go back on a friend,” said 
Newton, seated on the stump with his 
traps at his feet. 
“You got no call to talk thataway,” 
replied the mountain boy. “How’m I 
goin’ back on you?” 
“We was goin’ to trap all winter,” 
asseverated Newton, “and next winter 
we were goin’ up in the north woods 
together.” 
“You know,” said Raymond somberly, 
“that we cain’t run any trap line and 
do whut we got to do to he’p Mr. Jim.” 
Newton sat mute as one having no 
rejoinder. 
“Mr. Jim,” went on Raymond, “needs 
all the he’p_ every kid in this settlement 
kin give him. He’s the best friend I 
ever had. I’m a pore ignerant boy, an’ 
he teaches me how to do things that will 
make me something.” 
“Darn it all!” said Newton, 
“You know,” said Raymond, “that 
you’d think mahgty small of me, if I’d 
desert Mr. Jipi Irwin.” 
“Well, then,” replied Newton, seizing 
his traps and throwing them across his 
shoulder, “come on with the traps, and 
shut up! What’ll we do when the school 
board gets Jennie Woodruff to revoke 
his certificate and make him quit teach- 
in’, hey?” 
“Nobody’ll eveh do that,” said Ray¬ 
mond. “I’d set in the schoolhouse do’ 
with my rifle and shoot anybody that’d 
come to th’ow Mr. Jim outen the school.” 
“Not in this country,” said Newton. 
“This ain’t a gun country.” 
“But it orto be either a justice kentry, 
or a gun kentry,” replied the mountain 
boy. “It stands to reason it must be 
one ’r the otheh, Newton.” 
“No, it don’t, neither,” said Newton 
dogmatically. 
“Why should they th’ow Mr. Jim 
outen the school?” inquired Raymond. 
“Ain’t he teachin’ us right?” 
N ewton explained for the tenth 
time that his father, Mr. Con Bon¬ 
ner and Mr. Haakon Peterson had not 
meant to hire Jim Irwin at all, but each 
had voted for him so that he might have 
one vote. Now, however, Jim had done 
so many things that no teacher was 
supposed to do, and had left undone 
so many things that teachers were 
bound by custom to perform, that New¬ 
ton’s father and Mr. Bonner and Mr. 
Peterson had made up up their minds 
that they would call upon him to re¬ 
sign, and if he wouldn’t, they would 
“turn him out” in some way. And the 
best way, if they could do it, would be 
to induce County Superintendent Wood¬ 
ruff, who didn’t like Jim since the speech 
he made at the political meeting, to 
revoke his certificate. 
“What wrong’s he done committed?” 
asked Raymond. “I don’t know what 
teachers air supposed to do in this 
kentry, but Mr. Jim seems to be the 
only sure-enough teacher I ever see!” 
“He don’t teach out of the books the 
school board adopted,” replied Newton. 
“But he makes up better lessons,” 
urged Raymond. “An’ all the things 
we do in school, he’ps us make a 
livin’.” 
“He begins at eight in the mornin’,” 
said Newton, “an’ he has some of us 
there till half past five, and comes back 
in the evening. And every Saturday, 
some of the kids are doin’ something at 
the schoolhouse.” 
“They don’t pay him for overtime, 
do they?” queried Raymond. “Well, 
then, they orto, instid of turnin’ him 
out!” 
“Well, they’ll turn him out!” prophe¬ 
sied Newton. “I’m havin’ more fun in 
school than I ever—an’ that’s why I’m 
with you on this quittin’ trapping— 
but they’ll get Jim, all right!” 
“I’m having something betteh’n fun,” 
replied Raymond. “My pap has never 
understood this kentry, an’ we-all has 
had bad times hyeh; but Mr. Jim an’ I 
have studied out how I can make a 
betteh livin’ next year—and pap says 
we kin go on the way Mr. Jim says. I’ll 
work for Colonel Woodruff a part of 
the time, an’ pap kin make corn in the 
biggest field. It seems we didn’t do 
our work right last year—an’ in a 
couple of years, with the increase of 
the hawgs, an’ the land we kin get 
under plow. . . .” 
R aymond was off on his pet dream 
of becoming something better than 
the oldest of the Simms tribe of outcasts 
—and Newton was subconsciously inr- 
pressed by the fact that never for a 
moment did Raymond’s plans fail to 
include the elevation with him of 
Calista and Jinnie and Buddy and Pap 
and Mam. It was taken for granted 
that the Simmses sank or swam to¬ 
gether, whether their antagonists were 
poverty and ignorance, or their ancient 
foes, the Hobdays. 
It was still an hour before nine— 
when the rural ' school traditionally 
“takes up”—when the boys had stored 
their traps in a shed at the Bronson 
home, and walked on to the school- 
house. That rather scabby and weath¬ 
ered edifice was already humming with 
industry of a sort. Never had the at¬ 
tendance been so large or regular; and 
one of the reasons for sessions before 
nine and after four was the inability 
of the teacher to attend to the needs 
of his charges in the five and a half 
hours called “school hours.” 
This, however, was not the sole rea¬ 
son. It was the new sort of work 
which commanded the attention of Ray¬ 
mond and Newton as they entered. 
This morning, Jim had arranged in 
various sorts of disRes specimens of 
grain and grass seeds. By each was a 
card bearing the name of the farm 
from which one of the older boys or 
girls had brought it. “Wheat, Scotch 
Fife, from the farm of Columbus 
Smith.” “Timothy, or Herd’s Grass, 
from the farm of A. B. Talcott.” “Al- 
sike Clover, from the farm of B. B. 
Hamm.” Each lot was in a small 
cloth bag which had been made by one 
of the little girls as a sewing exercise; 
and each card had been written as a 
lesson in penmanship by one of the 
younger pupils, and contained, in addi¬ 
tion to the data above mentioned, heads 
under which to enter the number of 
grains of the seed examined, the num¬ 
ber which grew, the percentage of 
viability, the number of alien seeds of 
weeds and other sorts, the names of 
these adulterants, the weight of true 
and vitalized, and of foul and alien 
and dead seeds, the value per bushel 
in the local market of the seeds under 
test, and the real market values of the 
samples, after dead seeds and alien 
matter had been subtracted. 
“Now get busy, here,” cried Jim' 
Irwin. “We’re late! Raymond, you’ve 
a quick eye—you count seeds—and you, 
Calista, and Mary Smith—and mind,' 
next year’s crop may depend on mak¬ 
ing no mistakes!” 
“Mistakes!” scoffed Mary Smith, a 
dumpy girl of fourteen. “We don’t 
make mistakes any more, teacher.” 
I T was a frolic, rather than a task. 
All had come with a perfect under¬ 
standing that this early attendance 
was quite illegal, and not to be re¬ 
quired of them—but they came. 
“Newt,” suggested Jim, “get busy 
on the percentage problems for that 
second class in arithmetic.” 
“Sure,” said Newt. “Let’s see .... 
Good seed is the base, and bad seed 
and dead seed the percentage—find the 
rate . . . . ” 
“Oh, you know!” said Jim. “Make 
them easy and plain and as many as 
WHAT HAS HAPPENED? 
J IM IRWIN, a field hand by 
force of circumstances, but con¬ 
scious of an ability he has never . 
been able to express, is elected 
school teacher by a fluke. He ac¬ 
cepts because Jennie Woodruff 
said “humph!” when he told her 
his ambitions. Jim makes friends 
with the Simms family, moun¬ 
taineers from Tennessee, and even 
rounds up Newton Bronson, a vil¬ 
lage problem, whose father is a 
member of the school board. 
Jennie is running for County 
Superintendent, and Jim offends 
her by his lack of enthusiasm. 
you can get out—and be sure that you 
name the farm every pop!” 
“Got you!” answered Newton, and in 
a fine frenzy went at the job of creat¬ 
ing a text-book in arithmetic. 
“Buddy,” said Jim, patting the 
youngest Simms on the head, “you and 
Virginia can print the reading lessons 
this morning, can’t you?” 
“Yes, Mr. Jim,” answered both Mc- 
Geehee Simms and his sister cheerily. 
“Where’s the copy?” 
“Here,” answered the teacher, hand¬ 
ing each a typewritten sheet for use as 
the original from which the young 
mountaineers were to make hecto¬ 
graph copies, “and mind you make 
good copies! Bettina Hansen pretty 
nearly cried last night because she had 
to write them over so many times on 
the typewriter before she got them all 
right!” 
The reading lesson was an article on 
corn condensed from a farm paper, 
and a selection from Hiawatha —the 
Indian-corn myth. 
(Continued on page 513) 
W 
