Hartsook’s first day was hurried and unsatisfactory.  He was not of himself, and consequently not master of anybody else.  When evening came, there were symptoms of insubordination through the whole school.  Poor Ralph was sick at heart.  He felt that if there had ever been the shadow of an alliance between himself and Bud, it was all “off” now.  It seemed to Hartsook that even Bull had lost his respect for the teacher.  Half that night the young man lay awake.  At last comfort came to him.  A reminiscence of the death of the raccoon flashed on him like a vision.  He remembered that quiet and annihilating bite which Bull gave.  He remembered Bud’s certificate, that “Ef Bull once takes a holt, heaven and yarth can’t make him let go.”  He thought that what Flat Creek needed was a bulldog.  He would be a bulldog, quiet, but invincible.  He would take hold in such a way that nothing should make him let go.  And then he went to sleep.

In the morning Ralph got out of bed slowly.  He put his clothes on slowly.  He pulled on his boots in a bulldog mood.  He tried to move as he thought Bull would move if he were a man.  He ate with deliberation, and looked everybody in the eyes with a manner that made Bud watch him curiously.  He found himself continually comparing himself with Bull.  He found Bull possessing a strange fascination for him.  He walked to school alone, the rest having gone on before.  He entered the school-room preserving a cool and dogged manner.  He saw in the eyes of the boys that there was mischief brewing.  He did not dare sit down in his chair for fear of a pin.  Everybody looked solemn.  Ralph lifted the lid of his desk.  “Bow-wow! wow-wow!” It was the voice of an imprisoned puppy, and the school giggled and then roared.  Then everything was quiet.

The scholars expected an outburst of wrath from the teacher.  For they had come to regard the whole world as divided into two classes, the teacher on the one side representing lawful authority, and the pupils on the other in a state of chronic rebellion.  To play a trick on the master was an evidence of spirit; to “lick” the master was to be the crowned hero of Flat Creek district.  Such a hero was Bud Means; and Bill, who had less muscle, saw a chance to distinguish himself on a teacher of slender frame.  Hence the puppy in the desk.

Ralph Hartsook grew red in the face when he saw the puppy.  But the cool, repressed, bulldog mood in which he had kept himself saved him.  He lifted the dog into his arms and stroked him until the laughter subsided.  Then, in a solemn and set way, he began: 

“I am sorry,” and he looked round the room with a steady, hard eye—­everybody felt that there was a conflict coming—­“I am sorry that any scholar in this school could be so mean”—­the word was uttered with a sharp emphasis, and all the big boys felt sure that there would be a fight with Bill Means, and perhaps with Bud—­“could be so mean—­as to—­shut up his brother in such a place as that!”