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A Bent Twig
by
Miss Bailey dropped into her chair. “Isidore!” cried she. “Oh, Isidore! You’re the cleverest boy! I would rather have this bag than anything else in the world.”
A moment later her joy was gone again. The bag was absolutely empty, and Constance Bailey did some of the keenest thinking of her career.
“It would be quite perfect,” said she, “if I only had a few little things in it. Perhaps a transfer, a lace collar, or some pieces of paper”–she caught the gleam in Isidore’s rabbit eye, and amended quickly–“not money, of course. It would be foolish to carry money in a bag like this”–the gleam vanished–“but just a few papers and things would seem more natural.”
“Stands somethings like that to my house,” Isidore vouchsafed generously. “Mine auntie don’t needs them too.”
“Then perhaps,” said Constance Bailey carefully, “perhaps, dear, your aunt would let me have them.”
“I likes,” said Isidore, dashing off at an unmistakably natural tangent, “I likes I shall be monitors maybe off of somethings.”
Miss Bailey felt the teeth of the trap, but she knew that her hand was touching the very life of Gertie Armusheffsky, and she made no effort to escape. “And what sort of a monitor would you like to be?” she asked casually.
“Off of supplies,” was his decided answer.
“I think that could be arranged,” she replied. “And these little things to put in my bag?”
“I could to git ’em ‘fore the other kids comes in,” said Isidore.
And a few moments later she had obtained leave of absence from the principal, and was buttoning her gloves while she gave her final instructions to the substitute who would minister until luncheon hour to the First Readers.
“I’m quite sure you will have no trouble. The children understand that I shall be back in the afternoon. If you want pencils, paper, or anything else, Isidore Cohen will get them for you. For Isidore”–and she laid her hand upon his narrow head–“Isidore is monitor of supplies.”
Very late that afternoon a disillusioned monitor of supplies fared unostentatiously homeward from Room 18. He had never met candor equal to Miss Bailey’s, and he was in the grip of the paralyzing conviction that for as long as he remained within her sphere of influence, honesty would be the only expedient policy.