“It was the best way we could think of,” spoke Tom. “We wanted better treatment. We want it yet, and we are going to get it, or we will continue to refuse to recite to Professor Skeel. We will continue to strike.”
“Strong words,” said the head master. “But may I ask how you came to hit on—er this—er—rather novel form of rebellion? I am anxious to know,” and he prepared to make some notes in a book. Professor Skeel fairly snorted with rage.
“It began from the very first,” explained Tom, and he went over the different steps in their trouble with the unpopular professor. “Now we can stand it no longer. We will leave school, if necessary, to gain our rights.”
Doctor Meredith looked surprised at this. The loss of the Freshman Latin class would mean a serious blow to the finances of the institution of learning. Still he would have done his duty in the face of this if he saw it clearly. But he was not at all in sympathy with the methods of Professor Skeel, and the boys probably realized this.
“And so we struck,” ended Tom, concluding the history of the rebellion.
“And it is my duty to end this strike,” declared the head master. “I ask you to return to your recitation in Professor Skeel’s room, and I—er—I have no doubt but what matters will adjust themselves.”
“We will not—we feel that we cannot—return and end the strike, unless we receive some assurance that we will be treated like gentlemen, and not imposed upon in the matter of lessons,” declared Tom.
“That’s right!” chorused the others.
“Silence!” commanded the professor, but he was not in command now, and the lads realized it. “Then you will remain on strike?” asked Doctor Meredith, as if surprised that his request had not been complied with.