She hated them. So loudly and insolently male! Their hard, distrustful eyes, their scornful glances. Not a one of them willing to admit an error. No accommodation. She hated them.
And now on this November evening they were questioning her about the school. The books she had dared to order. A dictionary. A book of world history. And what about the pencils? The paper and pencils? What was wrong with the good old slates they had all learned with? Nothing better.
``Slates are very useful,'' she said, ``But we have no slates. They are all broken.'' More cacophony.
``The students must bring their own pencils and paper. They must buy their own books. We have no budget for these things.''
``We have heard that the floor is not swept regularly - that the room is frequently in disorder...''
She said nothing.
``The stove is not cleaned out regularly -''
``The windows are to be cleaned weekly -''
``The students may not smoke in the class room -''
``Food scraps must be removed from the premises -''
``-reading and figuring and a proper respect for authority...''
Their voices droned on, their self righteous eyes staring dully at her.
She began to think about the dragging hours in the bleak cold room. The blank, uninterested faces of the children. The impatience and resentment of the older boys with men's work waiting for them at home. The girls looking in her eyes - desperate for the approval she could not give as she checked their inept work.
An hour of desolation was running into two. The school board was disintegrating into a brawl that did not concern her. Anger and hostility spewed from snaggle toothed mouths. A gun appeared in Mr. Brown's hand.
She pulled up the double hung window and leapt out into the night.