This was a special meeting called to arrange for a new schoolhouse.  Raften got out a lot of papers, including letters from the Department of Education.  The School District had to find half the money; the Department would supply the other half if all conditions were complied with.  Chief of these, the schoolhouse had to have a given number of cubic feet of air for each pupil.  This was very important, but how were they to know in advance if they had the minimum and were not greatly over.  It would not do to ask the Department that.  They could not consult the teacher, for he was away now and probably would cheat them with more air than was needed.  It was Raften who brilliantly solved this frightful mathematical problem and discovered a doughty champion in the thin, bright-eyed child.

“Yahn,” he said, offering him a two-foot rule, “can ye tell me how many foot of air is in this room for every scholar when the seats is full?”

“You mean cubic feet?”

“Le’s see,” and Raften and Moore, after stabbing at the plans with huge forefingers and fumbling cumberously at the much-pawed documents, said together:  “Yes, it says cubic feet.”  Yan quickly measured the length of the room and took the height with the map-lifter.  The three graybeards gazed with awe and admiration as they saw how sure he seemed.  He then counted the seats and said, “Do you count the teacher?” The men discussed this point, then decided, “Maybe ye better; he uses more wind than any of them.  Ha, ha!”

Yan made a few figures on paper, then said, “Twenty feet, rather better.”

“Luk at thot,” said Raften in a voice of bullying and triumph; “jest agrees with the Gover’ment Inspector.  I towld ye he could.  Now let’s put the new buildin’ to test.”

More papers were pawed over.

“Yahn, how’s this—­double as many children, one teacher an’ the buildin’ so an’ so.”

Yan figured a minute and said, “Twenty-five feet each.”

“Thar, didn’t I tell ye,” thundered Raften; “didn’t I say that that dhirty swindler of an architect was playing us into the conthractor’s hands—­thought we wuz simple—­a put-up job, the hull durn thing.  Luk at it!  They’re nothing but a gang of thieves.”

Yan glanced at the plan that was being flourished in the air.

“Hold on,” he said, with an air of authority that he certainly never before had used to Raften, “there’s the lobby and cloak-room to come off.”  He subtracted their bulk and found the plan all right—­the Government minimum of air.

Boyle’s eye had now just a little gleam of triumphant malice.  Raften seemed actually disappointed not to have found some roguery.

“Well, they’re a shcaly lot, anyhow.  They’ll bear watchin’,” he added, in tones of self-justification.

“Now, Yahn, last year the township was assessed at $265,000 an’ we raised $265 with a school-tax of wan mill on the dollar.  This year the new assessment gives $291,400; how much will the same tax raise if cost of collecting is same?”