Library of the best American literature: Containing the lives of our authors in story form, their portraits, their homes, and their personal traits, how they worked and what they wrote; choice selections from eminent writers, embracing great American poets and novelists, foremost women in American letters, distinguished critics and essayists, our national humorists, noted journalists and magazine contributors, popular writers for young people, great orators and public lecturers
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Library of the best American literature: Containing the lives of our authors in story form, their portraits, their homes, and their personal traits, how they worked and what they wrote; choice selections from eminent writers, embracing great American poets and novelists, foremost women in American letters, distinguished critics and essayists, our national humorists, noted journalists and magazine contributors, popular writers for young people, great orators and public lecturers
American literature
Jim Phillips was a tall, lank, stoop-shouldered fellow, who had never
distinguished himself in any other pursuit than spelling. Except in
this one art of spelling he was of no account. He could neither catch
a ball well nor bat well. He could not throw well enough to make his
mark in that famous Western game of Bull-pen. He did not succeed well
in any study but that of Webster’s Elementary. But in that――to use the
usual Flat Creek locution――he was “a hoss.” The genius for spelling is
in some people a sixth sense, a matter of intuition. Some spellers are
born and not made, and their facility reminds one of the mathematical
prodigies that crop out every now and then to bewilder the world. Bud
Means, foreseeing that Ralph would be pitted against Jim Phillips, had
warned his friend that Jim could spell “like thunder and lightning,”
and that it “took a powerful smart speller” to beat him, for he knew
“a heap of spelling-book.” To have “spelled down the master” is next
thing to having whipped the biggest bully in Hoophole County, and Jim
had “spelled down” the last three masters. He divided the hero-worship
of the district with Bud Means.
For half an hour the Squire gave out hard words. What a blessed
thing our crooked orthography is. Without it there could be no
spelling-schools. As Ralph discovered his opponent’s mettle he became
more and more cautious. He was now satisfied that Jim would eventually
beat him. The fellow evidently knew more about the spelling-book than
old Noah Webster himself. As he stood there, with his dull face and
long sharp nose, his hands behind his back, and his voice spelling
infallibly, it seemed to Hartsook that his superiority must lie in his
nose. Ralph’s cautiousness answered a double purpose; it enabled him
to tread surely, and it was mistaken by Jim for weakness. Phillips
was now confident that he should carry off the scalp of the fourth
school-master before the evening was over. He spelled eagerly,
confidently, brilliantly. Stoop-shouldered as he was, he began to
straighten up. In the minds of all the company the odds were in his
favor. He saw this, and became ambitious to distinguish himself by
spelling without giving the matter any thought.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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