CHAPTER IX SOARING

Half the members of the class passed out to a recitation-room, the
empurpled Victorine among them, and Miss Spence started the remaining
half through the ordeal of trial by mathematics. Several boys and girls
were sent to the blackboard, and Penrod, spared for the moment, followed
their operations a little while with his eyes, but not with his mind;
then, sinking deeper in his seat, limply abandoned the effort. His eyes
remained open, but saw nothing; the routine of the arithmetic lesson
reached his ears in familiar, meaningless sounds, but he heard nothing;
and yet, this time, he was profoundly occupied. He had drifted away from
the painful land of facts, and floated now in a new sea of fancy which
he had just discovered.

Maturity forgets the marvellous realness of a boy's day-dreams, how
colourful they glow, rosy and living, and how opaque the curtain closing
down between the dreamer and the actual world. That curtain is almost
sound-proof, too, and causes more throat-trouble among parents than is
suspected.

The nervous monotony of the schoolroom inspires a sometimes unbearable
longing for something astonishing to happen, and as every boy's
fundamental desire is to do something astonishing himself, so as to be
the centre of all human interest and awe, it was natural that Penrod
should discover in fancy the delightful secret of self-levitation.
He found, in this curious series of imaginings, during the lesson in
arithmetic, that the atmosphere may be navigated as by a swimmer under
water, but with infinitely greater ease and with perfect comfort in
breathing. In his mind he extended his arms gracefully, at a level with
his shoulders, and delicately paddled the air with his hands, which at