When Carl Lindstrom went to Bentley township to teach for a year and so earn money with which to pursue his law course, he had no fear of meeting resistance, for this community was one of culture and good tradition, in which the children expected to do well in school and later to go to college. Carl himself was always popular at college, and he had no idea of being anything else in any community that he might grace with his presence. Before the first week was up, he had lost this happy confidence. Charles Moxler was the cause of the new distrust of himself which Carl felt; and Charles was regarded as a model of boyhood in the whole countryside. He was fifteen years old, large and handsome, with charming manners and marked ability. He learned his lessons seemingly without much effort, and was a good violinist and a daring horseman. His attitude toward Carl irritated the teacher from the first, for he was not used to the easy, condescending tolerance with which Charles regarded him. Charles never refused to comply with any direct request; he obeyed the letter of the law without quibble. Nevertheless, Carl disliked him. Charles seemed to have more influence with the students than the teacher had, and this influence seemed to the sensitive teacher to be exerted in a way to belittle his own authority. He resolved that when a chance came he would show everyone who was master in that school. The easy air of superiority of Charles nettled him so that one day he made an issue, resolved to reduce the insolent boy to his proper place. Charles, who had a loud and resonant voice, was telling a group of pupils of a football game he had seen the Saturday before. “Charles,” said Carl Lindstrom, “do try to talk more quietly. You can be heard clear to the corner.” “All right, sir!” sang out Charles, with easy good-nature. The other pupils, especially the girls, with whom he was a great hero, giggled, and Charles continued his story in a low monotone. But it was an exciting story, and soon he was talking as loudly as before, while the rest joined in his hearty laughter at the incident he was relating. Carl, sitting outside the circle of fun and fellowship, felt his authority seriously threatened, as indeed it was. “Charles Moxler, take your seat!” he called out, suddenly, surprised himself at the irritation in his voice. “If once asking isn’t enough, I shall have to take other means. There is no sense in your talking so loud, and when I ask you to do a thing, I mean it! The rest of you may either take your seats or go out-of-doors.” The pupils scattered, rather sullenly. School began a few moments later, and Charles studied with unusual application. When the algebra class was called, he came forward with the rest to recite. When his turn came to demonstrate at the board, he stepped forward, placed his problem on the board, and then began to explain in a voice so low that no one could hear without straining.