“Oh, it’s this proposition about constructing squares on the sides of a right-angle triangle and making the sum of them equal the one constructed on the—er—hippenuse, I think it’s called.”
“Hypothenuse—the hypothenuse!” laughed Jack, as he heard the odd pronunciation. “Why, that’s an easy problem, Demy. George Abbot here will show you how. We’re going for a skate.”
“Oh, I——!” began the human question box. He was going skating also, but now he had to stop and explain to the janitor. And it was well to keep in with the latter, for he often did the boys favors, and many a night he let them in before some prowling monitor could spy them. “Well, come over here, and I’ll do it for you,” ended George, as he saw his chums making appealing signals to him.
Soon he was explaining that comparatively simple geometrical problem while the others, including Tom, went down to the frozen river.
Early that evening there was secret meeting of the Freshman Latin class, and a solemn agreement was entered into that, if they had to strike, they would all stick together. Even Sam Heller was present, though with no very good grace, and he made the promise with the others.
“Now to await developments,” suggested Tom. “We’ll give that old taskmaster one more chance, and if he takes it, and bullyrags us any more, we’ll defy him, and go on strike.”
“Hurray!” yelled Jack Fitch.
“That’s the talk!” came from several.
“Meeting’s adjourned,” said Tom with a smile. “Come on, Jack, I feel just like running the guard.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Where you going?”