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“ ’Fessor Mitchell,” piped up a high school lad, “I’d better be getting home, I’ve a long ways to go and it’ll be dark before I get there.”
“You may go as soon as you’ve completed your lesson,” came the reply.
Another darkening half hour elapsed.
“’Feasor Mitchell!”
"Yes, young man?”
“It’s getting so dark, Sir, I can’t see how to study.”
“Very well, we shall remedy that condtion. Howard, go up to Mr. Coleman’s store and tell him to send me two coal-oil lamps. . . And, ^toward, tell him to be sure they are full of oil.” t
We learned the words, reports one of those former high school students. And it was well past bedtime before we got home.
Yes, sir! The Tessor meant business.
Take, as an example, the time a group of youngsters had got into some trouble, and ’Fessor had lined them up, to take their turn at a sound whipping — and the Professor knew how to administer it. — “ Tessor,” chirped one young hopeful, “my father said he didn’t Want me whipped at school.”
“Very well, young man, produce a written statement to that effect before it gets to be your turn.”
» I've realized of late that my school days havcL deprived me of ever aspiring to a big government job. You see, the year I was in the fourth grade someone put a skunk in the ventilator. It would be impossible to prove to any Senatorial investigating committee that I was innocent. No amount of explaining that pranks of that kind are usually the work of the older pupils, and fourth graders are most t^t to be in ned early would exonerate me. ' My name was on the school roll at the time the event took place, and you could imagine the headlines! y..»
Yes, it looks like I’m never going to be president, and it’s all the fault of the school!
Week-end guests of Mr. and Mrs. C. B. Johnson were Mr. and Mrs. Jimmie Johnson ‘of Charlottesville. Dinner guests of Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were Misses LiOie and Nellie Johnson.
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