Charlie quickly bumped his nose into one respect in which Venus was not for sissies. His father placed him in school, he was assigned to a grade taught by Mr. deSoto. The school room was not attractive — “grim” was the word Charlie used, but he was not surprised, as most buildings in Borealis were unattractive, being constructed either of spongy logs or of lignin panels made from jungle growth.
But the school itself was “grim.” Charlie had been humiliated by being placed one grade lower than he had expected; now he found that the lessons were stiff and that Mr. deSoto did not have the talent, or perhaps the wish to make them fun. Resentfully, Charlie loafed.
After three weeks Mr. deSoto kept him in after school. “Charlie, what’s wrong?”
“Huh? I mean, ‘Sir?”
“You know what I mean. You’ve been in my class nearly a month. You haven’t learned anything. Don’t you want to?”
“What? Why, sure I do.”
“Surely’ in that usage, not ‘sure.’ Very well, so you want tO learn; why haven’t you?”
Charlie stood silent. He wanted to tell Mr. deSoto what a swell place Horace Mann Junior High School had been, with its teams and its band and its student plays and its student council (this crazy school didn’t even have a student council!), and its study projects picked by the kids themselves, and the Spring Outburst and Sneak Day…and — oh, shucks!
But Mr. deSoto was speaking. “Where did you last go to school, Charlie?”
Charlie stared. Didn’t the teacher even bother to read his transcript? But he told him and added, “I was a year farther along there. I guess I’m bored, having to repeat.”
“I think you are, too, but I don’t agree that you are repeating. They had an eighteen-year Jaw there, didn’t they?”
“Sir?”
“You were required to attend school until you were eighteen Earth-years old?”
“Oh, that! Sure. I mean ‘surely.’ Everybody goes to school until he’s eighteen. That’s to ‘discourage juvenile delinquency,” he quoted.
“I wonder. Nobody ever flunked, I suppose.”
“Sir?”
“Failed. Nobody ever got tossed out of school or left back for failing his studies?”
“Of course not, Mr. deSoto. You have to keep age groups together, or they don’t develop socially as they should.”
“Who told you that?”
“Why, everybody knows that. I’ve been hearing that ever since I was in kindergarten. That’s what education is for — social development.”
Mr. deSoto leaned back, rubbed his nose. Presently he said slowly; “Charlie, this isn’t that kind of a school at all.”
Charlie waited. He was annoyed at not being invited to sit down and was wondering what would happen if he sat down anyway.
“In the first place we don’t have the eighteen-year rule. You can quit school today. You know how to read. Your handwriting is sloppy but it will do. You are quick in arithmetic. You can’t spell worth a hoot, but that’s your misfortune; the city fathers don’t care whether you learn to spell or not. You’ve got all the education the City of Borealis feels obliged to give you. If you want to take a flame gun and start carving out your chunk of the jungle, nobody is standing in your way. I can write a note to the Board of Education, telling them that Charles Vaughn, Jr. has gone as far as he ever will. You needn’t come back tomorrow.”
Charlie gulped. He had never heard of anyone being dropped from school for anything less than a knife fight. It was unthinkable — what would his folks say?
“On the other hand,” Mr. deSoto went on, “Venus needs educated citizens. We’ll keep anybody as long as they keep learning. The city will even send you back to Earth for advanced training if you are worth it, because we need scientists and engineers…and more teachers. But this is a struggling new community and it doesn’t have a penny to waste on kids who won’t study. We do flunk them in this school. If you don’t study, we’ll lop you off so fast you’ll think you’ve been trimmed with a flame gun. We’re not running the sort of overgrown kindergarten you were in. It’s up to you. Buckle down and learn…or get out. So go home and talk it over with your folks.”