The Grammar School Boys of Gridley | Page 2

much of the fiery color that had flamed up to his cheeks, temples and forehead.
"Master Prescott," announced the principal, "the class shall not be deprived of its expected treat. I will tell a story, and I think you will find some of the elements of humor in it. Will you kindly step this way?"
Dick went forward, head up and chest thrown out, a look almost of defiance in his clear, blue eyes as a titter ran around the room.
"Stand right here beside me," coaxed Old Dut. "Now, let me see if I can remember the story. Yes; I believe I can. It runs something like this."
Then Old Dut began his story. It was a very ordinary one that had to do with a boy's disobedience of his father's commands. But it had a "woodshed" end to it.
"So," continued Old Dut, "Johnson took his boy out to the shed. There, with a sigh as though his heart were breaking, the old man seated himself on the chopping block. He gathered his son across his knee--about like this."
Here Principal Jones suddenly caught Dick Prescott and brought that lad across his own knee. The expectant class now tittered loudly.
"I can't tell this story unless I have quiet," announced Old Dut, glancing up and around the room with a reproachful look.
Then, after clearing his throat, the principal resumed:
"'Johnny,' said the old man huskily, 'I know what my duty in the matter really is. I ought to give you a good spanking, like this (whack!). But I haven't the heart to give you such a blow as you deserve. (Whack!) But the next time (whack!), I'm going to give you (whack!) just such a good one (whack! whack!) as you deserve. (Whack! whack!) So, remember, Johnny (whack!), and don't let me catch you (whack!) disobeying me again. (Whack! whack!)."
Each "whack" Old Dut emphasized by bringing down his own broad right hand on Dick's unprotected body.
A few flashing eyes there were in the young audience, and a few sympathetic glances from the girls, but, for the most part, the class was now in a loud roar of laughter.
"That's the story," announced Old Dut, gently restoring Dick Prescott to his feet. "I think you all see the point to it. Perhaps there's a moral to it, also. I really don't know."
Pallor due to a sense of outraged dignity now struggled for a place in the red that covered Dick Prescott's face.
"You may go to your seat, Master Prescott."
Dick marched there, without a glance backward.
"Now, that we've had our little indulgence in humor," announced Old Dut dryly, "we will all return to our studies."
There was silence again in the room, during which the rain outside began to come down in a flood.
"I'll get the fellows to-night--for that--and we'll carry Old Dut's front gate off and throw it in the river!" ran vengefully through Dave Darrin's mind.
"Old Dut needn't look for his late posies to bloom until the frost comes this year," reflected Greg Holmes, while he pored, apparently, over the many-colored map of Asia. "I'll get some of the fellows out to-night, and we'll make a wreck scene in Old Dut's flower beds."
Dick said nothing, even to himself, as he picked up his much-thumbed book on physiology and turned the pages. He was smarting not only from the indignity to which he had been treated, but quite as much from the masterful way in which Old Dut had punctuated that "funny story" with his broad right hand.
Once in a while Old Dut cast a sly glance in Dick's direction.
"That young man will bear watching," mused the principal, as he caught a sudden flash in Prescott's eye, as the latter glanced up.
The recitation in arithmetic soon came along. This was one of Dick's favorite studies, and, wholly forgetting his late experience, so it seemed, he covered himself with glory in his blackboard demonstration of an intricate problem in interest and discount.
Then the class settled down to twenty minutes' more study.
"Master Prescott," broke in Old Dut's voice, at last, "did you think my story a funny one?"
"Pretty fair, sir," answered Dick, looking up and straight into the eyes of the principal.
"Only 'pretty fair,' eh? Could you tell me a funnier story?"
"I'm pretty sure I could, yes, sir," answered Dick, with great promptness. "Only--I don't believe I'm big enough yet!"
There was a moment's hush. Then the class caught the spirit of the answer. A few titters sounded, cautiously--to be followed instantly by an explosion of laughter. Even Old Dut had to join in the laugh.
"That young man will bear watching," thought the principal grimly. "He's my best pupil, and one of the most mischievous. I'd rather have any youngster mischievous than stupid."
Glancing at the clock, Principal Jones swung around, running a finger down a line of push buttons in the wall