his grades ranged from mediocre to appalling. His attendance record showed a high percentage of absenteeism, even more tardiness, and once or twice he had been sent to the offices by an irate teacher.
Still, there was nothing really malicious or ugly in his behavior record, only a puzzling lack of interest or effort. He went on to the personal information. The father was not listed, and after the mother’s name was a notation in pencil—divorced.
Glen went back to the chart that showed the grades. English had fared better than most subjects, starting modestly well but curving downhill from the beginning of the term.
History was another exception, the first grade period ranging even higher than English, but following the same downhill trend. Was that the clue he was seeking, he wondered? Jerry had indicated an interest in antiquity, and his grades seemed to bear out this fact, dropping as the past became present.
He perused the rest of the chart. Physical education, one of the classes in which Pete would have the boy, was erratic, ranging from excellent reports to poor ones. Nothing else seemed particularly significant.
He glanced up as Mrs. Wade, one of the History teachers, came into the office and asked for the principal. She gave Glen a pleasant nod.
“Problems, Glen,” she asked, leaning against the counter near him while Mrs. Devraux checked with the principal.
“Wish I knew,” he answered, closing the file and pushing it across the counter in the direction of Mrs. Devraux. “Tell me, don’t you have Jerry Allen in your class?”
Mrs. Wade sighed and gave him a sympathetic nod. “Yes, and he is a puzzling one, isn’t he? Is he any better in English than he is in my History class?”
Glen grinned and shook his head. “I doubt it. Tell me, how is he in History, any interest at all in the subject?”
“Well you know, I thought there was at first. He started out well, and showed some real promise. But it all tapered off after a short while and I haven’t been able to get a spark out of him since. I don’t think modern history appeals to him at all.”
“But antiquity did?” It was something, a possible clue to where Jerry’s interests lay, and it fitted with Glen’s own conclusions.
“Yes, I think so, up to the Middle Ages even, but nothing beyond that.”
The door to the principal’s office opened and Mr. Meier came out with another teacher. “You wanted to see me?” he asked, addressing his remark to Mrs. Wade. He nodded a curt greeting in Glen’s direction.
“Yes, nothing too drastic,” she answered, gathering her things together. “I won’t take more than a minute.”
“Thanks, Alice,” Glen told her as she started toward the office. He tapped the counter for Mrs. Devraux’s attention, indicated that he was finished with the file, and left to return to his own classroom.
He would have been hard pressed to explain, even to himself, the reason for his interest in Jerry Allen. In the past he had limited his interest in the welfare or the problems of his students to the classroom itself, adhering to the philosophy that he was, after all, only there to teach them English and literature, and not to interfere in their lives.
This instance was different, however. Almost without realizing it, he had already made a decision. Somehow, in some way, he intended to help Jerry Allen. He wanted to surmount the wall that the boy had built about himself, illuminate the dark regions beyond. How it would be done, he did not yet know, but he knew, as he reentered his classroom, that he would find a way.
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