Dr. Euclid lived in a comfortable dwelling-house not far from the Presbyterian Church. His family was small, consisting only of his wife and himself. Having no children, he devoted himself solely to the interests of the academy, of which he had been the principal for a space of fifteen years.
The doctor was an unusually learned man for the preceptor of an academy. He by no means confined his attention to the studies pursued in the institution, but devoted his leisure hours to reading classic authors, such as are read in our best colleges. He had published a carefully annotated edition of Greek tragedy, which had gained him a great deal of credit in the eyes of scholars. Indeed, he had received, only a short time previous, an invitation to the chair of Latin and Greek in a well-known college, and had been strongly tempted to accept, but had finally declined it, not being willing to leave the Hamilton Academy, to which he had become much attached, and his friends and neighbors in the village, by whom he was held in high esteem.
Dr. Euclid was seated in his library, examining a new classical book which had been sent him by the publishers, when the maid-servant opened the door, and said:
“Please, Dr. Euclid, there’s a gentleman wants to see you.”
“Do you know who it is, Mary?” asked the doctor, laying aside his book, with a look of regret.
“I think it’s the lyyer man, sir.”
“Oh, you mean the lawyer,” said Dr. Euclid, smiling.
“That’s what I said, sir.”
“Well, show him up.”
Almost immediately Brandon Ross, Esq., rather a pompous-looking individual, who tried to make himself look taller by brushing up his reddish hair till it stood up like a hedge above his forehead, entered the room.
“Good-evening, Mr. Ross!” said Dr. Euclid, politely.
He wondered why the lawyer had favored him with a call. It did not occur to him that it had any connection with the little difficulty of the morning between Herbert Ross and his young janitor.
“Ahem! Doctor, I am very well,” said the lawyer.
“Take a seat, if you please.”
“Thank you, sir. I can’t stay long. I am occupied with some very important legal business just now.”
Mr. Ross said this with an air of satisfaction. He always represented that he was occupied with important business.
“Then he won’t stay long,” thought the doctor. “Well, I am glad of that, for I want to get back to my book.”
“You probably expected I would call,” Squire Ross began.
“No; I can’t say I did,” answered the doctor, regarding his visitor with surprise.
“Surely, sir, after that outrageous assault upon my son this morning, an assault, sir, committed almost in your very presence, you could hardly suppose I, as Herbert’s father, would remain calmly at home and ignore the affair?”
Mr. Ross said this in the tone in which he usually addressed juries, and he looked to see it produce an effect upon Dr. Euclid. But he was disappointed. An amused smile played over the face of the dignified scholar, as he answered:
“I certainly didn’t connect your visit with the little matter you refer to.”
“Little matter!” repeated the lawyer, indignantly. “Do I understand, Dr. Euclid, that you speak of a ruffianly assault upon my son Herbert as a little matter?”
Dr. Euclid wanted to laugh. He had a vivid sense of the ridiculous, and the lawyer’s way of speaking seemed so disproportioned to the boyish quarrel to which he referred, that it seemed to him rather ludicrous.
“I was not aware, Mr. Ross, that such an assault had been made upon your son,” he replied.
“Surely you know, Dr. Euclid,” said the lawyer, warmly, “that your janitor, Andrew Gordon, had assaulted Herbert?”
“I knew the boys had had a little difficulty,” returned the doctor, quietly. “Your son struck Andrew with a broom. Did he tell you that?”
Mr. Ross was surprised, for Herbert had not told him that.
“It was a proper return for the violent attack which the boy made upon him. I am glad that my son showed proper resentment.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Ross, but your son’s attack preceded Andrew’s. It was Andrew who acted in self-defense, or, if you choose to call it so, in retaliation.”
“I presume your account comes from your janitor,” said the lawyer, a little disconcerted.
“On the contrary, it comes from your son. Herbert admitted to me this morning what I have just stated to you.”
“But,” said Ross, after a pause, “Andrew had previously covered him with dust, from malicious motives.”
“I deny the malicious motives,” said the doctor. “Your son entered the schoolroom hurriedly, just as Andrew was sweeping out. Accidentally, his clothes were covered with dust.”
“It suits you to consider it an accident,” said the lawyer, rudely. “I view it in quite a different light. Your janitor is well known to be a rude, ill-mannered boy – ”
“Stop there, Mr. Ross!” said Dr. Euclid, in a dignified tone. “I don’t know where you got your information on this subject, but you are entirely mistaken. Andrew is neither rough nor ill-mannered. I considered him very gentlemanly, and, what I consider of quite as much importance, a thoroughly manly boy.”
“Then, sir, I understand that you uphold him in his assault upon my son,” said the lawyer, fiercely.
“I consider,” said the doctor, in a dignified tone, “that he was entirely justified in what he did.”
“Then, sir, allow me to say that I am utterly astounded to hear such sentiments from a man in your position. I do not propose to allow my son to be ill-treated by a boy so much his inferior.”
“If you mean inferior in scholarship,” said the doctor, “you are under a misapprehension. Andrew is in your son’s class in Latin and Greek, but he is quite superior to him in both of these languages.”
This was far from agreeable information for the proud lawyer, though he could not help being aware that his son was not a good scholar.
“I referred to social position,” he said, stiffly.
“Social position doesn’t count for much in America,” said Dr. Euclid, smiling. “Of course, Mr. Ross, you recall Pope’s well-known lines:
“ ‘Honor and shame from no condition rise.
Act well your part – there all the honor lies.’ ”
“I don’t agree with Pope, then. His lines are foolish. But I won’t waste my time in arguing. I have come here this evening, Dr. Euclid, as one of the trustees of the Hamilton Academy, to insist upon Andrew Gordon’s discharge from the position of janitor.”
“I must decline to comply with your request, Mr. Ross. Andrew is a capable and efficient janitor, and I prefer to retain him.”
“Dr. Euclid, you don’t seem to remember that I am a trustee of the academy!” said the lawyer, pompously.
“Oh, yes, I do! But the trustees have nothing to do with the appointment of a janitor.”
“You will admit, sir, that they have something to do with the appointment of a principal,” said Brandon Ross, significantly.
“Oh, yes!” answered the doctor, smiling.
“And that it is wise for the principal to consult the wishes of those trustees.”
“I presume I understand you, Mr. Ross,” said Dr. Euclid, in a dignified tone, “and I have to reply that you are only one out of six trustees, and, furthermore, that as long as I retain the position which I have held for fifteen years, I shall preserve my independence as