FullReads

In an instant the room was in an uproar. Patrick, his face and hands daubed with ink, was executing a triumphant war-dance around Isaac, who, livid and inarticulate with rage, was alternately struggling for words and making wondrous Delsartean attempts to see his outraged back.

“I socked it to you good and plenty!” chanted Patrick in shrill victory. “Look at your back! Look at your leg! It’s ink! It won’t come off! It will never come off! Look at your back!”

Miss Bailey clanged the bell, caught Patrick by the waist-line, thrust him under her desk, fenced him in with a chair, and turned to Isaac who had only just realized the full horror of his plight. Isidore Belchatosky and Eva Gonorowsky had torn off the white tunic–thereby disclosing quantities of red flannel–and exhibited its desecrated back. And speech, English speech returned to the Prince of Hester Street. Haltingly at first, but with growing fluency he cursed and swore and blasphemed; using words of whose existence Teacher had never heard or known and at whose meaning she could but faintly guess. Eva began to whimper; Nathan lifted shocked eyes to Teacher; Patrick kicked away the barricading chair and, still armed with the inky brush, sprang into the arena, and it was not until five minutes later that gentle peace settled down on Room 18.

Miss Bailey had received full parental authority from the policeman on the beat and she felt that the time for its exercise had come.

“Patrick,” she commanded. “Position!” And the Leader of the Line stood forth stripped of his rank and his followers, but not of his dauntless bearing.

Teacher, with a heavy heart, selected the longest and lightest of her rulers and the review continued.

“Hips firm!” was the next command, and Patrick’s grimy hands sprang to his hips.

“Trunk forward–bend!” Patrick doubled like a jack-knife and Miss Bailey did her duty.

When it was over she was more distressed than was her victim. “Patrick, I’m so sorry this happened,” said she. “But you remember that I warned you that I should whip you if you touched Isaac. Well, you did and I did. You know–all the children know–that I always keep my word.”

“Yiss ma’an,” murmured the frightened First Reader Class.

“Always?” asked Patrick.

“Always,” said Miss Bailey.

“Then wash out his mouth,” said Patrick, pointing to the gloating Isaac, who promptly ceased from gloating.

“Oh, that reminds me,” cried Teacher, “of something I want you to do. Will you tell Isaac you are sorry for spoiling his new suit?”

“Sure,” answered Patrick readily. “Say, Isaac, I’m sorry. Come and git your mouth washed.”

“Well,” Miss Bailey temporized, “his clothes are ruined. Don’t you think you could forgive him without the washing?”

“Sure,” answered Patrick again. “Ain’t it too bad that you can’t, too! But you said it and now you’ve got to do it. Like you did about me, you know. Where’s the basin? I’ll fill it.”

Teacher was fairly trapped, but, remembering that Isaac’s provocation had been great, she determined to make the ordeal as bearable as possible. She sent for some water, selected a piece of appetizing rose pink soap, a relic of her Christmas store, and called Isaac, who, when he guessed the portent of all these preliminaries, suffered a shocking relapse into English. Nerved by this latest exhibition, Miss Bailey was deaf to the wails of Isaac and unyielding to the prayers and warnings of Morris and to the frantic sympathy of Eva Gonorowsky.

“Soap ain’t fer us,” Morris cried. “It ain’t fer us. We don’t ever make like you makes mit soap!”

“I noticed that,” said Teacher dryly. “I really think you are afraid of soap and water. When I finish with Isaac you will all see how good it is for boys and girls to be washed.”

“But not in the mouth! Oh, Missis Bailey, soap in the mouth ain’t fer us.”

“Nonsense, honey,” answered Teacher; “it will only clean his teeth and help him to remember not to say nasty words.” And, all unaware of the laws of “kosher” and of “traef,” the distinctions between clean and unclean, quite as rigorous as, and much more complicated than, her own, Constance Bailey washed out the mouth of her royal charge, and, it being then three o’clock, dismissed her awed subjects and went serenely home.