Chapter XX. Pomp's Education Commences

by Horatio Alger

　　In the season of leisure from farm work which followed, Frankfound considerable time for study. The kind sympathy and readyassistance given by Mr. Morton made his task a very agreeableone, and his progress for a time was as rapid as if he hadremained at school.He also assumed the office of teacher, having undertaken to givea little elementary instruction to Pomp. Here his task was besetwith difficulties. Pomp was naturally bright, but incorrigiblyidle. His activity was all misdirected and led him into a widevariety of mischief. He had been sent to school, but hismischievous propensities had so infected the boys sitting nearhim that the teacher had been compelled to request his removal.Three times in the week, during the afternoon, Pomp came over tothe farm for instruction. On the first of these occasions we willlook in upon him and his teacher.Pomp is sitting on a cricket by the kitchen fire. He has a primeropen before him at the alphabet. His round eyes are fixed uponthe page as long as Frank is looking at him, but he requiresconstant watching. His teacher sits near-by, with a Latindictionary resting upon a light stand before him, and a copy ofVirgil's Aeneid in his hand."Well, Pomp, do you think you know your lesson?" he asks."Dunno, Mass' Frank; I reckon so.""You may bring your book to me, and I will try you."Pomp rose from his stool and sidled up to Frank with no greatalacrity."What's that letter, Pomp?" asked the young teacher, pointing outthe initial letter of the alphabet.Pomp answered correctly."And what is the next?"Pomp shifted from one foot to the other, and stared vacantly outof the window, but said nothing."Don't you know?"" 'Pears like I don't 'member him, Mass' Frank."Here Frank had recourse to a system of mnemonics frequentlyresorted to by teachers in their extremity."What's the name of the little insect that stings peoplesometimes, Pomp?""Wasp, Mass' Frank," was the confident reply."No, I don't mean that. I mean the bee.""Yes, Mass' Frank.""Well, this is B."Pomp looked at it attentively, and, after a pause, inquired,"Where's him wings, Mass' Frank?"Frank bit his lips to keep from laughing. "I don't mean that thisis a bee that makes honey," he explained, "only it has the samename. Now do you think you can remember how it is called?""Bumblebee!" repeated Pomp triumphantly.Pomp's error was corrected, and the lesson proceeded."What is the next letter?" asked Frank, indicating it with thepoint of his knife-blade."X," answered the pupil readily."No, Pomp," was the dismayed reply. "It is very different fromX.""Dat's him name at school," said Pomp positively."No, Pomp, you are mistaken. That is X, away down there.""Perhaps him change his name," suggested Pomp."No. The letters never change their names. I don't think you knowyour lesson, Pomp. just listen to me while I tell you the namesof some of the letters, and try to remember them."When this was done, Pomp was directed to sit down on the cricket,and study his lesson for twenty Minutes, at the end of which hemight again recite.Pomp sat down, and for five minutes seemed absorbed in his book.Then, unfortunately, the cat walked into the room, and soonattracted the attention of the young student. He sidled from hisseat so silently that Frank did not hear him. He was soon madesensible that Pomp was engaged in some mischief by hearing aprolonged wail of anguish from the cat.Looking up, he found that his promising pupil had tied her by theleg to a chair, and under these circumstances was amusing himselfby pinching her tail."What are you doing there, Pomp?" he asked quickly.Pomp scuttled back to his seat, and appeared to be deeply intentupon his primer."Ain't doin' noffin', Mass' Frank," he answered innocently."Then how came the cat tied to that chair?"" 'Spec' she must have tied herself.""Come, Pomp, you know better than that. You know cats can't tiethemselves. Get up immediately and unfasten her."Pomp rose with alacrity, and undertook to release puss from thethraldom of which she had become very impatient. Perhaps shewould have been quite as well off if she had been left toherself. The process of liberation did not appear to be veryagreeable, judging from the angry mews which proceeded from her.Finally, in her indignation against Pomp for some aggressive act,she scratched him sharply."You wicked old debble!" exclaimed Pomp wrathfully.He kicked at the cat; but she was lucky enough to escape, and ranout of the room as fast as her four legs could carry her."Big ugly debble!" muttered Pomp, watching the blood ooze fromhis finger."What's the matter, Pomp?""Old cat scratch me.""And what did you do to her, Pomp? I am afraid you deserved yourscratch.""Didn't do noffin', Mass' Frank," said Pomp virtuously."I don't think you always tell the truth, Pomp.""Can't help it, Mass' Frank. 'Spec' I've got a little debbleinside of me.""What do you mean, Pomp! What put that idea in your head?""Dat's what mammy says. Dat's what she al'ays tells me.""Then," said Frank, "I think it will be best to whip it out ofyou. Where's my stick?""Oh, no, Mass' Frank," said Pomp, in alarm; "I'll be good, forsure.""Then sit down and get your lesson."Again Pomp assumed his cricket. Before he had time to devise anynew mischief, Mrs. Frost came to the head of the stairs andcalled Frank.Frank laid aside his books, and presented himself at the foot ofthe stairs."I should like your help a few minutes. Can you leave yourstudies?""Certainly, mother."Before going up, he cautioned Pomp to study quietly, and not getinto any mischief while he was gone. Pomp promised very readily.Frank had hardly got upstairs before his pupil rose from thecricket, and began to look attentively about him. His firstproceeding was to, hide his primer carefully in Mrs. Frost'swork-basket, which lay on the table. Then, looking curiouslyabout him, his attention was drawn to the old-fashioned clockthat stood in the corner.Now, Pomp's curiosity had been strongly excited by this clock. Itwas not quite clear to him how the striking part was effected.Here seemed to be a favorable opportunity for instituting aninvestigation. Pomp drew his cricket to, the clock, and, openingit, tried to reach up to the face. But he was not yet highenough. He tried a chair, and still required a greater elevation.Espying Frank's Latin dictionary, he pressed that into service.By and by Frank and his mother heard the clock striking anunusual number of times."What is the matter with the clock?" inquired Mrs. Frost."I don't know," said Frank unsuspiciously."It has struck ten times, and it is only four o' clock.""I wonder if Pomp can have got at it," said Frank, with a suddenthought.He ran downstairs hastily.Pomp heard him coming, and in his anxiety to escape detection,contrived to lose his balance and fall to the floor. As he fell,he struck the table, on which a pan of sour milk had been placed,and it was overturned, deluging poor Pomp with the unsavoryfluid.Pomp shrieked and kicked most energetically. His appearance, ashe picked himself up, was ludicrous in the extreme. His sableface was plentifully besprinkled with clotted milk, giving himthe appearance of a negro who is coming out white in spots. Thefloor was swimming in milk. Luckily the dictionary had fallenclear of it, and so escaped."Is this the way you study?" demanded Frank, as sternly as hissense of the ludicrous plight in which he found Pomp wouldpermit.For once Pomp's ready wit deserted him. He had nothing to say."Go out and wash yourself."Pomp came back rather shamefaced, his face restored to itsoriginal color."Now, where is your book?"Pomp looked about him, but, as he took good care not to lookwhere he knew his book to be, of course he did not find it."I 'clare, Mass' Frank, it done lost," he at length asserted."How can it be lost when you had it only a few minutes ago?""I dunno," answered Pomp stolidly."Have you been out of the room?"Pomp answered in the negative."Then it must be somewhere here."Frank went quietly to the corner of the room and took therefrom astick."Now, Pomp," he said, "I will give you just two minutes to findthe book in. If you don't find it, I shall have to give you awhipping."Pomp looked at his teacher to see if he was in earnest. Seeingthat he was, he judged it best to find the book.Looking into the work-box, he said innocently: "I 'clare togracious, Mass' Frank, if it hasn't slipped down yere. Dat'smi'ty cur's, dat is.""Pomp, sit down," said Frank. "I am going to talk to youseriously. What makes you tell so many lies?""Dunno any better," replied Pomp, grinning."Yes, you do, Pomp. Doesn't your mother tell you not to lie?""Lor', Mass' Frank, she's poor ignorant nigger. She don't knownuffin'.""You mustn't speak so of your mother. She brings you up as wellas she knows how. She has to work hard for you, and you ought tolove her.""So I do, 'cept when she licks me.""If you behave properly she won't whip you. You'll grow up a'poor, ignorant nigger' yourself. if you don't study.""Shall I get white, Mass' Frank, if I study?" asked Pomp, showinga double row of white teeth."You were white enough just now," said Frank, smiling."Yah, yah!" returned Pomp, who appreciated the joke."Now, Pomp," Frank continued seriously, "if you will learn yourlesson in fifteen minutes I will give you a piece ofgingerbread.""I'll do it, Mass' Frank," said Pomp promptly.Pomp was very fond of gingerbread, as Frank very well knew. Inthe time specified the lesson was got, and recitedsatisfactorily.As Pomp's education will not again be referred to, it may be saidthat when Frank had discovered how to manage him, he learnedquite rapidly. Chloe, who was herself unable to read, began tolook upon Pomp with a new feeling of respect when she found thathe could read stories in words of one syllable, and the"lickings" of which he complained became less frequent. But hislove of fun still remained, and occasionally got him intotrouble, as we shall hereafter have occasion to see.