that’s been said, but I don’t believe that it is alto¬ gether our fault.” He was intensely in earnest, and so were his listeners. “Look at the faculty. When I came here I thought that they were all wise men because they were on the faculty. Well, I’ve found out otherwise. Some of them know a lot and can’t teach, a few of them know a lot and can teach, some of them know a little and can’t teach, and some of them don’t know anything and can’t explain c-a-t. Why, look at Kempton. That freshman, Larson, showed me a theme the other day that Kempton had corrected. It was full of errors that were n’t marked, and it was nothing in the world but drip. Even Larson knew that, but he’s the foxy kid; he wrote the theme about Kemp¬ ton. All right—Kempton gives him a B and tells him that it is very amusing. Hell of a lot Larson’s learning. Look at Kane in math. I had him when I was a freshman.”
“Me, too,” Hugh chimed in.
“’Nough said, then. Math’s dry enough, God knows, but Kane makes it dryer. He s a born desiccator. He could make ‘Hamlet as dry as calculus.”
“Right-o,” said Pudge. “But MitcheU could make calculus as exciting as ‘Hamlet.’ It’s fifty fifty.”
“And they fired Mitchell.” Jack Lawrence spoke for the first time. “I have that straight.
