Edward's father was distinctly interested--very much amused, as he
confessed to the boy in later years--in his son's discernment of the
futility of the Spencerian style of penmanship. He agreed with the boy,
and, next morning, accompanied him to school and to the principal. The
two men were closeted together, and when they came out Edward was sent
to his classroom. For some weeks he was given no penmanship lessons, and
then a new copy-book was given him with a much simpler style. He pounced
upon it, and within a short time stood at the head of his class in
writing.
The same instinct that was so often to lead Edward aright in his future
life, at its very beginning served him in a singularly valuable way in
directing his attention to the study of penmanship; for it was through
his legible handwriting that later, in the absence of the typewriter, he
was able to secure and satisfactorily fill three positions which were to
lead to his final success.
Years afterward Edward had the satisfaction of seeing public-school
pupils given a choice of penmanship lessons: one along the flourish
lines and the other of a less ornate order. Of course, the boy never
associated the incident of his refusal with the change until later when
his mother explained to him that the principal of the school, of whom
the father had made a warm friend, was so impressed by the boy's simple
but correct view, that he took up the matter with the board of
education, and a choice of systems was considered and later decided
upon.
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