The Peterkin Papers

  AGAMEMNON'S CAREER.

  THERE had apparently been some mistake in Agamemnon's education. He hadbeen to a number of colleges, indeed, but he had never completed hiscourse in any one.

  He had continually fallen into some difficulty with the authorities. Itwas singular, for he was of an inquiring mind, and had always tried tofind out what would be expected of him, but had never hit upon the rightthing.

  Solomon John thought the trouble might be in what they called theelective system, where you were to choose what study you might take.This had always bewildered Agamemnon a good deal.

  "And how was a feller to tell," Solomon John had asked, "whether hewanted to study a thing before he tried it? It might turn out awfulhard!"

  Agamemnon had always been fond of reading, from his childhood up. He wasat his book all day long. Mrs Peterkin had imagined he would come out agreat scholar, because she could never get him away from his books.

  And so it was in his colleges; he was always to be found in the library,reading and reading. But they were always the wrong books.

  For instance: the class were required to prepare themselves on theSpartan war.

  This turned Agamemnon's attention to the Fenians, and to study thesubject he read up on "Charles O'Malley," and "Harry Lorrequer," andsome later novels of that sort, which did not help him on the subjectrequired, yet took up all his time, so that he found himself unfittedfor anything else when the examinations came. In consequence he wasrequested to leave.

  Agamemnon always missed in his recitations, for the same reason thatElizabeth Eliza did not get on in school, because he was always askedthe questions he did not know. It seemed provoking; if the professorshad only asked something else!

  But they always hit upon the very things he had not studied up.

  Mrs. Peterkin felt this was encouraging, for Agamemnon knew the thingsthey did not know in colleges. In colleges they were willing to takefor students only those who already knew certain things. She thoughtAgamemnon might be a professor in a college for those students whodidn't know those things.

  "I suppose these professors could not have known a great deal," sheadded, "or they would not have asked you so many questions; they wouldhave told you something."

  Agamemnon had left another college on account of a mistake he had madewith some of his classmates. They had taken a great deal of trouble tobring some wood from a distant wood-pile to make a bonfire with,under one of the professors' windows. Agamemnon had felt it would be acompliment to the professor.

  It was with bonfires that heroes had been greeted on their return fromsuccessful wars. In this way beacon-lights had been kindled upon loftyheights, that had inspired mariners seeking their homes after distantadventures. As he plodded back and forward he imagined himself some heroof antiquity. He was reading "Plutarch's Lives" with deep interest. Thishad been recommended at a former college, and he was now taking it up inthe midst of his French course.

  He fancied, even, that some future Plutarch was growing up in Lynn,perhaps, who would write of this night of suffering, and glorify itsheroes.

  For himself he took a severe cold and suffered from chilblains, inconsequence of going back and forward through the snow, carrying thewood.

  But the flames of the bonfire caught the blinds of the professor'sroom, and set fire to the building, and came near burning up the wholeinstitution. Agamemnon regretted the result as much as his predecessor,who gave him his name, must have regretted that other bonfire, on theshores of Aulis, that deprived him of a daughter.

  The result for Agamemnon was that he was requested to leave, afterhaving been in the institution but a few months.

  He left another college in consequence of a misunderstanding about thehour for morning prayers. He went every day regularly at ten o'clock,but found, afterward, that he should have gone at half-past six. Thishour seemed to him and to Mrs. Peterkin unseasonable, at a time of yearwhen the sun was not up, and he would have been obliged to go to theexpense of candles.

  Agamemnon was always willing to try another college, wherever he couldbe admitted. He wanted to attain knowledge, however it might be found.But, after going to five, and leaving each before the year was out, hegave it up.

  He determined to lay out the money that would have been expended in acollegiate education in buying an Encyclopaedia, the most complete thathe could find, and to spend his life studying it systematically. Hewould not content himself with merely reading it, but he would studyinto each subject as it came up, and perfect himself in that subject.By the time, then, that he had finished the Encyclopaedia he should haveembraced all knowledge, and have experienced much of it.

  The family were much interested in this plan of making practice of everysubject that came up.

  He did not, of course, get on very fast in this way. In the secondcolumn of the very first page he met with A as a note in music. This ledhim to the study of music. He bought a flute, and took some lessons, andattempted to accompany Elizabeth Eliza on the piano. This, of course,distracted him from his work on the Encyclopaedia. But he did not wish toreturn to A until he felt perfect in music. This required a long time.

  Then in this same paragraph a reference was made; in it he was requestedto "see Keys." It was necessary, then, to turn to "Keys." This wasabout the time the family were moving, which we have mentioned, when thedifficult subject of keys came up, that suggested to him his own simpleinvention, and the hope of getting a patent for it. This led him astray,as inventions before have done with master-minds, so that he was drawnaside from his regular study.

  The family, however, were perfectly satisfied with the career Agamemnonhad chosen. It would help them all, in any path of life, if he shouldmaster the Encyclopaedia in a thorough way.

  Mr. Peterkin agreed it would in the end be not as expensive as a collegecourse, even if Agamemnon should buy all the different Encyclopaediasthat appeared.

  There would be no "spreads" involved; no expense of receiving friends atentertainments in college; he could live at home, so that it would notbe necessary to fit up another room, as at college. At all the times ofhis leaving he had sold out favorably to other occupants.

  Solomon John's destiny was more uncertain. He was looking forwardto being a doctor some time, but he had not decided whether to beallopathic or homeopathic, or whether he could not better invent his ownpills. And he could not understand how to obtain his doctor's degree.

  For a few weeks he acted as clerk in a druggist's store. But he couldserve only in the toothbrush and soap department, because it was foundhe was not familiar enough with the Latin language to compound thedrugs. He agreed to spend his evenings in studying the Latin grammar;but his course was interrupted by his being dismissed for treating thelittle boys too frequently to soda.

  The little boys were going through the schools regularly. The family hadbeen much exercised with regard to their education. Elizabeth Elizafelt that everything should be expected from them; they ought to takeadvantage from the family mistakes. Every new method that came up wastried upon the little boys.

  They had been taught spelling by all the different systems, and werejust able to read, when Mr. Peterkin learned that it was now consideredbest that children should not be taught to read till they were ten yearsold.

  Mrs. Peterkin was in despair. Perhaps, if their books were taken fromthem even then, they might forget what they had learned. But no, theevil was done; the brain had received certain impressions that could notbe blurred over.

  This was long ago, however. The little boys had since entered the publicschools. They went also to a gymnasium, and a whittling school, andjoined a class in music, and another in dancing; they went to someafternoon lectures for children, when there was no other school, andbelonged to a walking-club. Still Mr. Peterkin was dissatisfied by theslowness of their progress. He visited the schools himself, and foundthat they did not lead their classes. It seemed to him a great deal oftime was spent in things that were not instructive, such as putting onand taking
off their india-rubber boots.

  Elizabeth Eliza proposed that they should be taken from school andtaught by Agamemnon from the Encyclopaedia. The rest of the family mighthelp in the education at all hours of the day. Solomon John could takeup the Latin grammar, and she could give lessons in French.

  The little boys were enchanted with the plan, only they did not want tohave the study-hours all the time.

  Mr. Peterkin, however, had a magnificent idea, that they should maketheir life one grand Object Lesson. They should begin at breakfast, andstudy everything put upon the table,--the material of which it was made,and where it came from.

  In the study of the letter A, Agamemnon had embraced the study of music,and from one meal they might gain instruction enough for a day.

  "We shall have the assistance," said Mr. Peterkin, "of Agamemnon, withhis Encyclopaedia."

  Agamemnon modestly suggested that he had not yet got out of A, and intheir first breakfast everything would therefore have to begin with A.

  "That would not be impossible," said Mr. Peterkin. "There is Amanda, whowill wait on table, to start with--"

  "We could have 'am-and-eggs," suggested Solomon John Mrs. Peterkin wasdistressed. It was hard enough to think of anything for breakfast, andimpossible, if it all had to begin with one letter.

  Elizabeth Eliza thought it would not be necessary. All they were to dowas to ask questions, as in examination papers, and find their answersas they could.

  They could still apply to the Encyclopaedia, even if it were not inAgamemnon's alphabetical course.

  Mr. Peterkin suggested a great variety. One day they would study thebotany of the breakfast-table, another day, its natural history.The study of butter would include that of the cow. Even that of thebutter-dish would bring in geology.

  The little boys were charmed at the idea of learning pottery from thecream-jug, and they were promised a potter's wheel directly.

  "You see, my dear," said Mr. Peterkin to his wife, "before many weeks,we shall be drinking our milk from jugs made by our children."

  Elizabeth Eliza hoped for a thorough study.

  "Yes," said Mr. Peterkin, "we might begin with botany. That would benear to Agamemnon alphabetically. We ought to find out the botany ofbutter. On what does the cow feed?"

  The little boys were eager to go out and see.

  "If she eats clover," said Mr. Peterkin, "we shall expect the botany ofclover."

  The little boys insisted that they were to begin the next day; that veryevening they should go out and study the cow.

  Mrs. Peterkin sighed, and decided she would order a simple breakfast.The little boys took their note-books and pencils, and clambered uponthe fence, where they seated themselves in a row.

  For there were three little boys. So it was now supposed. They werealways coming in or going out, and it had been difficult to count them,and nobody was very sure how many there were.

  There they sat, however, on the fence, looking at the cow. She looked atthem with large eyes.

  "She won't eat," they cried, "while we are looking at her!"

  So they turned about, and pretended to look into the street, and seatedthemselves that way, turning their heads back, from time to time, to seethe cow.

  "Now she is nibbling a clover."

  "No, that is a bit of sorrel."

  "It's a whole handful of grass."

  "What kind of grass?" they exclaimed.

  It was very hard, sitting with their backs to the cow, and pretending tothe cow that they were looking into the street, and yet to be looking atthe cow all the time, and finding out what she was eating; and the upperrail of the fence was narrow and a little sharp. It was very high,too, for some additional rails had been put on to prevent the cow fromjumping into the garden or street.

  Suddenly, looking out into the hazy twilight, Elizabeth Eliza sawsix legs and six india-rubber boots in the air, and the little boysdisappeared!

  "They are tossed by the cow! The little boys are tossed by the cow!"

  Mrs. Peterkin rushed for the window, but fainted on the way. SolomonJohn and Elizabeth Eliza were hurrying to the door, but stopped, notknowing what to do next. Mrs. Peterkin recovered herself with a supremeeffort, and sent them out to the rescue.

  But what could they do? The fence had been made so high, to keep the cowout, that nobody could get in. The boy that did the milking had goneoff with the key of the outer gate, and perhaps with the key of the sheddoor. Even if that were not locked, before Agamemnon could get round bythe wood-shed and cow-shed, the little boys might be gored through andthrough!

  Elizabeth Eliza ran to the neighbors, Solomon John to the druggist's forplasters, while Agamemnon made his way through the dining-room to thewood-shed and outer-shed door. Mr. Peterkin mounted the outside of thefence, while Mrs.

  Peterkin begged him not to put himself in danger. He climbed high enoughto view the scene. He held to the corner post and reported what he saw.

  They were not gored. The cow was at the other end of the lot. One of thelittle boys were lying in a bunch of dark leaves. He was moving.

  The cow glared, but did not stir. Another little boy was pulling hisindia-rubber boots out of the mud. The cow still looked at him.

  Another was feeling the top of his head. The cow began to crop thegrass, still looking at him.

  Agamemnon had reached and opened the shed-door. The little boys werenext seen running toward it.

  A crowd of neighbors, with pitchforks, had returned meanwhile withElizabeth Eliza. Solomon John had brought four druggists. But, by thetime they had reached the house, the three little boys were safe in thearms of their mother!

  "This is too dangerous a form of education," she cried; "I had ratherthey went to school."

  "No!" they bravely cried. They were still willing to try the other way.