"Just one more," said the
clerk, and it ought to be; Hubbard Squash was not there. I don't know
what affinity there is between Hubbard Squash and me, but I can never
forget his face. When I come to the teachers' room, his face attracts me
first; while walking out in the street, his manners are recalled to my
mind. When I go to the hot springs, sometimes I meet him with a
pale-face in the bath, and if I hallooed to him, he would raise his
trembling head, making me feel sorry for him. In the school there is no
teacher so quiet as he. He seldom, if ever, laughs or talks. I knew the
word "gentleman" from books, and thought it was found only in the
dictionary, but not a thing alive. But since I met Hubbard Squash, I was
impressed for the first time that the word represented a real substance.
As he is a man so attached to me, I had noticed his absence as soon as I
entered the meeting hall. To tell the truth, I came to the hall with the
intention of sitting next to him. The principal said that the absentee
may appear shortly, and untied a package he had before him, taking out
some hectograph sheets and began reading them. Red Shirt began polishing
his amber pipe with a silk handkerchief. This was his hobby, which was
probably becoming to him.
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