Stuart Little by E. B. White, Garth Williams

teacher whom nobody had ever seen before.
    Stuart arrived at nine. He
parked his car briskly at the door of the school, stalked boldly into the room,
found a yardstick leaning against Miss Gunderson’s desk, and climbed hand-over-hand
to the top. There he found an inkwell, a pointer, some pens and pencils, a bottle
of ink, some chalk, a bell, two hairpins, and three or four books in a pile. Stuart
scrambled nimbly up to the top of the stack of books and jumped for the button
on the bell. His weight was enough to make it ring, and Stuart promptly slid
down, walked to the front of the desk, and said:
    “Let me have your attention,
please!”
    The boys and girls crowded
around the desk
    to look at the substitute.
Everyone talked at once, and they seemed to be very much pleased. The girls
giggled and the boys laughed and everyone’s eyes lit up with excitement to see
such a small and good-looking teacher, so appropriately dressed.
    “Let me have your attention,
please!” repeated Stuart. “As you know, Miss Gunderson is sick and I am taking
her place.”
    “What’s the matter with her?”
asked Roy Hart, eagerly.
    “Vitamin trouble,” replied
Stuart. “She took Vitamin D when she needed A. She took B when she was short of
C, and her system became overloaded with riboflavin, thiamine hydrochloride,
and even with pyridoxine, the need for which in human nutrition has not been
established. Let it be a lesson for all of us!” He glared fiercely at the
children and they made no more inquiries about Miss Gunderson.
    “Everyone will now take his
or her seat!” commanded Stuart. The pupils filed obediently down the aisles and
dropped into their seats, and in a moment there was silence in the classroom.
Stuart cleared his throat. Seizing a coat lapel in either hand, to make himself
look like a professor, Stuart began:
    “Anybody absent?”
    The scholars shook their
heads.
    “Anybody late?”
    They shook their heads.
    “Very well,” said Stuart, “what’s
the first
    subject you usually take up in
the morning?”
    “Arithmetic,” shouted the
children.
    “Bother arithmetic!” snapped
Stuart.
    “Let’s skip it.”
    There were wild shouts of
enthusiasm at this suggestion. Everyone in the class seemed perfectly willing
to skip arithmetic for one morning.
    “What next do you study?”
asked Stuart.
    “Spelling,” cried the
children.
    “Well,” said Stuart, “a
    misspelled word is an
abomination in the sight of everyone. I consider it a very fine thing to spell words
correctly and I strongly urge every one of you to buy a Webster’s Collegiate
Dictionary and consult it whenever you are in the slightest doubt. So much for
spelling. What’s next?”
    The scholars were just as
pleased to be let out of spelling as they were about arithmetic, and they
shouted for joy, and everybody looked at everybody else and laughed and waved
handkerchiefs and rulers, and some of the boys threw spit balls at some of the girls.
Stuart had to climb onto the pile of books again and dive for the bell to
restore order. “What’s next?” he repeated.
    “Writing,” cried the
scholars.
    “Goodness,” said Stuart in
disgust, “don’t you
    children know how to write
yet?”
    “Certainly we do!” yelled
one and all.
    “So much for that, then,”
said Stuart.
    “Social studies come next,”
cried Elizabeth Gardner, eagerly.
    “Social studies? Never heard
of them,” said Stuart. “Instead of taking up any special subject this morning,
why wouldn’t it be a good idea if we just talked about something.”
    The scholars glanced around
at each other in expectancy.
    “Could we talk about the way
it feels to hold a snake in your hand and then it winds itself around your wrist?”
asked Arthur Greenlaw.
    “We could, but I’d rather
not,” replied Stuart.
    “Could we talk about sin and
vice?” pleaded Lydia Lacey.
    “Nope,” said Stuart. “Try
again.”
    “Could we talk about the fat
woman at the circus and she had hair all over