To all this, however, Mr. Bright paid no heed.  He stepped down to the boy’s desk again, put the list of books upon it, then turned and left the room abruptly, without a word.

The act was so sudden, so unlike what “Dodd” had expected, that it left him, for a moment, utterly nonplussed.

He was vexed that he had not been able to get into a fight with a man who had left him alone; and yet, as he raised his eyes cautiously, to make sure that Mr. Bright was really gone, he smiled in spite of himself, at the absurdity of the situation!  He felt his cheeks wrinkle up, good-naturedly, as the smile crept over his face from above (I think smiles do come from above), and was angrier than ever.  He checked his rising good nature with an oath, and raising his arm, he struck the desk a tremendous blow, that made the cover bound again, and the room echo with the thud.  Then he rose, grinding his teeth as he got up, and slowly and noisily banged his way out of the room.

Not till three days after this did he appear again in the school room.  During this time he loafed about the town and took particular pains to be where Mr. Bright could see him and have a chance to reprove him.  But though his teacher met him several times, he gave “Dodd” no other word than such greeting as true politeness dictated.  This was worse than ever, for the boy, who was really “spoiling for a row” by this time.  The machine, or the machine man, would have had a row with him.  Mr. Bright was not a machine man.

Did you ever hook a big fish, when angling with a light rod and line?  If you ever did, and have succeeded in landing your game, then you know something about the situation which I am now noting.  You see, when the odds are so much against you, you have to do as you can, and not as you would like to, with the wily fellow at the other end of your weak tackle.  That is, if you accomplish what you ought to wish to accomplish, if you fish at all!

Of course, there is a quick way of deciding who shall win, you or the fish, and that is to pull away, with might and main, straight for shore, and undertake to drag your captive to you by sheer muscle, brutally matching your strength against his.  But if you try this, you know that the chances are a thousand to one that you will part your line and lose the best end of it, and your game along with it.

You can do this, if you choose, of course—­this is a free country; but if that is your way of fishing, you had better give up any little pet idea that may be lurking about you, that heaven made you for a fisherman.  Perhaps you might make a fair superintendent of school machines, but you ought not to fish!

Or, you may despise the fish, if you choose, and when he has left you, you may gloat over the fact that “anyhow you have stuck something into his gullet that will stay there, and that he can’t get away from.”  You may hope that the trailing line will tangle to a bush and hang the creature.  All this you may do, and yet, of what avail is it all?  It benefits neither you nor the fish!