So this was where Mr. Wood lived!  Mr. Wood, instructor in Latin and Greek at Densmore Academy.  It was now borne in on me for the first time that he did live and have his ties like any other human being, instead of just appearing magically from nowhere on a platform in a chalky room at nine every morning, to vanish again in the afternoon.  I had formerly stood in awe of his presence.  But now I was suddenly possessed by an embarrassment, and (shall I say it?) by a commiseration bordering on contempt for a man who would consent to live thus for the sake of being a schoolteacher.  How strange that civilization should set such a high value on education and treat its functionaries with such neglect!

Mr. Wood’s surprise at seeing me was genuine.  For I had never shown a particular interest in him, nor in the knowledge which he strove to impart.

“I thought you had forgotten me, Hugh,” he said, and added whimsically:  “most boys do, when they graduate.”

I felt the reproach, which made it the more difficult for me to state my errand.

“I knew you sometimes took pupils in the evening, Mr. Wood.”

“Pupils,—­yes,” he replied, still eyeing me.  Suddenly his eyes twinkled.  He had indeed no reason to suspect me of thirsting for learning.  “But I was under the impression that you had gone into business, Hugh.”

“The fact is, sir,” I explained somewhat painfully, “that I am not satisfied with business.  I feel—­as if I ought to know more.  And I came to see if you would give me lessons about three nights a week, because I want to take the Harvard examinations next summer.”

Thus I made it appear, and so persuaded myself, that my ambition had been prompted by a craving for knowledge.  As soon as he could recover himself he reminded me that he had on many occasions declared I had a brain.

“Your father must be very happy over this decision of yours,” he said.

That was the point, I told him.  It was to be a surprise for my father; I was to take the examinations first, and inform him afterwards.

To my intense relief, Mr. Wood found the scheme wholly laudable, and entered into it with zest.  He produced examinations of preceding years from a pigeonhole in his desk, and inside of half an hour the arrangement was made, the price of the lessons settled.  They were well within my salary, which recently had been raised....

When I went down town, or collecting bills for Breck and Company, I took a text-book along with me in the street-cars.  Now at last I had behind my studies a driving force.  Algebra, Latin, Greek and history became worth while, means to an end.  I astonished Mr. Wood; and sometimes he would tilt back his chair, take off his spectacles and pull his beard.

“Why in the name of all the sages,” he would demand, “couldn’t you have done this well at school?  You might have led your class, instead of Ralph Hambleton.”