were the two captains left - big John Rice for District Number 34,
and that wiry, nervous, black-haired girl of 'Lias Hoover's, Polly
Ann. She married a man by the name of Brubaker. I guess you didn't
know him. His folks moved here from Clarke County. Polly Ann's
eyes glittered like a snake's, and she kept putting her knuckles up
to the red spots in her cheeks that burned like fire. Old John,
he didn't seem to care a cent. And what do you think Polly Ann
missed on? "Feoffment." A simple little word like "feoffment!"
She hadn't got further than pheph -- " when she knew that she
was wrong, but Teacher had said "Next!" and big John took it and
spelled it right. She had a fit of nervous crying, and some were
for giving her the victory, after all, because she was a lady. But
big John said: "She missed, didn't she? Well. And I spelled it
right, didn't I? Well. She took her chances same as the rest of
us. 'Taint me you got to consider, it's District Number 34. And
furthermore. AND FURTHERMORE. Next time somebuddy asts her to
go home with him from singin'-school, mebby she won't snigger right
in his face, and say 'No! 's' loud 'at everybuddy kin hear it."

It's quite a thing to be a good speller, but there are people who
can spell any word that ever was, and yet if you should ask them
right quick how much is seven times eight, they'd hem and haw and
say: "Seven tums eight? Why - ah, lemme see now. Seven tums -
what was it you said? Oh, seven tums eight. Why - ah, seven
tums eight is sixty-three - fifty-six I mean." There's nothing
really to spelling. It's just an idiosyncrasy. If there was
really anything useful in it, you could do it by machinery -just
the same as you can add by machinery, or write with a typewriter,
or play the piano with one of these things with cut paper in it.
Spelling is an old-fashioned, hand-powered process, and as such