places at the crank; so long as they can draw their pay, escape public
censure, dodge behind a stack of examination papers when individual
complaints appear, shield themselves from responsibilities by records
and marks, keep the promotions in order, graduate a class a year in
good clothes and with pretty speeches, see each of those who have been
ground through go out into the great world armed with a diploma tied up
with a blue ribbon, and so following--so long as the machine can do all
this, what is the use of paying any attention to "Dodd" Weaver and such
incorrigibles as he, who refuse to go into the mill and be ground?
What, indeed?

However, you know the story of "the ninety-and-nine." At least you
ought to know it. It has an application in these premises.

But Elder Weaver shifted his base of operations once more, and "Dodd"
had another chance.

He had now got so far down on the ladder of his descent that he was
counted almost dangerous. His father feared him, and he was even the
terror of his brothers and sisters. In a word, he was a hard case.

It was the town of Emburg in which the parson was stationed this
time--one of those towns so common all through the West, places that
start out with a boom and the prospect of being municipalities of at
least 500,000 inhabitants in a few years; whose founders lay out into
town lots all the land that joins them and sell these at fabulous
prices to those who are credulous enough to buy; and which finally
settles down to a quiet village of about 2,500 souls, with a depot,
stores, seven churches, and a school requiring about ten teachers to
take care of its pupils.