"Yes, sir," mumbled Patch, reddening, and glaring, through his great horn-rimmed glasses, at his companions. "Back here with the giddy old boots, you asses!" he whispered, in a furious aside.
"Well, then," said Mr. Salmon, arranging his spectacles so that he could get a good view of the boy, "we were talking about Charles XII. Patch, tell me why he was unsuccessful against Peter in this campaign."
"You said, sir?" replied Patch.
"Why was he unsuccessful?"
"Ah, why?" said Patch, innocently.
"I don't believe you've been paying any attention whatever." The master ran round the class with a rapid cross-fire of questions, but the answers were unsatisfactory. He frowned, and coughed. "Here, Patch, you come out and read the account aloud," he commanded.
"Here, back with those boots," said Patch, frantically. But the boots had arrived at the other end of the room, and seemed likely to remain there.
"Do you hear me, boy?" demanded Mr. Salmon. "Come out at once. I never saw such indolence!"
With a groan Patch got up, and, amid the chuckles of the class, stepped forward to the dais where Mr. Salmon stood. But he had barely set foot on the stage, when he began a series of extraordinary antics.
"Ouch!" he howled, leaping four feet in the air, and bouncing with a thud. He danced about the dais on one foot, upsetting globes and maps, and tipping over one of the front desks upon its unfortunate occupant. "Take it out—take it out!"