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We have insisted so strenuously upon concrete instruction that we have perhaps failed also to insist that fact without law is blind, and that observation without induction is stupidity gone to seed. Let me give a concrete instance of what I mean. Not long ago, I visited an eighth-grade class during a geography period.
It was half an hour before the doors were to be opened. Curiously enough, there were no eighth-grade pupils present. These were assembled in Room 1, on the floor below, seated behind the desks that had been theirs during the school year. "Young ladies and gentlemen," began Old Dut, rapping on his desk and rising.
True, she might be trying to keep up appearances like the old-maid teacher who scolded knowledge into the eighth-grade class, but she was willing to spend money for his benefit, and that made all the difference in the world. Past the hotel they went, and down the five long, successive blocks of gray stone university buildings which flanked that side of the boulevard. John's spirits rose.
Eighth-grade patriarchs, retained by the same pay as the corner advance agent, darted here and there in the aisles, striving to preserve order amid a great show of authority. Up on the little balconies at each side groups of trouble-makers performed gymnastics on the railings and banisters at seeming peril of their lives until the colored janitor ordered them down.
"Otherwise, we may disturb some of the grown-up, eighth-grade classes who are too old for these things." No need of any such caution. The children were quiet as the proverbial mice as they waited for the first name to be called. "John Fletcher." He stumbled to his feet in amazement. Had Louise sent him a valentine?
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