“You may be right; I shouldn’t wonder at all if there was a second shock coming to you soon,” said Irving, and the subdued chuckle that went round the class told him he had scored. “You may now demonstrate to the class the Theorem assigned you.”
“Yes, sir.” Westby turned and took up the pointer.
“We have here,” he began, “the two triangles I C U and J A Y—with the angle I C U of the one equal to the angle J A Y of the other.” The class tittered; Westby went on glibly, bending the lath-like pointer between his hands: “Let us now erect the angle K I D, equal to the angle I C U; then the angle K I D will also be equal to the angle J A Y—things equal to the same thing are equal to each other.”
Westby stopped to turn a surprised, questioning look upon the snickering class.
“Yes, that will do for that demonstration,” said Irving. He rose from his seat; his lips were trembling, and the laughter of the class ceased. “You may leave the room—for your insolence—at once!”
He had meant to be dignified and calm, but his anger had rushed to the surface, and his words came in a voice that suggested he was on the verge of tears.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I don’t think I quite understand,” said Westby suavely.
“You understand well enough. I ask you to leave the room.”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Upton, that my little pleasantries—usually considered harmless—do not commend themselves to you. But you hurt my feelings very much, sir, when you apply such a harsh word as insolence to my whimsical humor—”
“I’ll hold no argument with you,” cried Irving; in his excitement his voice rose thin and thrill. “Leave the room at once.”