I was on the point of falling into the arms of Morpheus in the land of
Nod, when a stealthy attempt to open the door sent the chair with a
crash to the floor. Yelling at the top of my voice, "Get out of that,
or I'll put a bullet through you!" I heard a form tumble down the
steep stairs, and muffled curses which reminded me of the lines in the
Hohenlinden poem: "It is Iser (I sir) rolling rapidly."
At the first dawn of a dismal day I crept down the dirty stairs, and
out of the door of what I learned to be one of the most dangerous
houses in that sin-cursed city.
The days immediately following while seeking for employment were
forlorn and miserable; I was the fifth wheel of a coach which no one
wanted. Finally, when I had spent my last cent for a beggarly meal, I
saw an advertisement for a teacher in the reform school, and called on
a Mr. Atterbury, the trustee. He regarded me with a pitying eye; told
me two teachers had recently been driven from the prison by the kicks
and cuffs of the toughest boys that ever went unhung; but if I wished
to try it, he would pass me to that "den of thieves." I grasped at
the chance like a drowning man at a straw, and that very night found
myself facing nearly 1,000 hard looking specimens from the slums of
all nations. The schoolroom was a huge hall, in which, at a tap of the
bell, great doors were rolled on iron tracks to subdivide it into many
small class sections, each in charge of a lady assistant.
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