Why the boys should have been amused at this speech, the new scholar could not tell—the joke was neither new nor witty—only impudent and coarse. But the little boys about the door giggled.
“It’s a pity something wouldn’t eat you, Will Riley—you are good for nothing but to be mean.” This sharp speech came from a rather tall and graceful girl of sixteen, who came up at the time, and who saw the annoyance of the new boy at Riley’s insulting words. Of course the boys laughed again. It was rare sport to hear pretty Susan Lanham “take down” the impudent Riley.
“The bees will never eat you for honey, Susan,” said Will.
Susan met the titter of the playground with a quick flush of temper and a fine look of scorn.
“Nothing would eat you, Will, unless, maybe, a turkey-buzzard, and a very hungry one at that.”
This sharp retort was uttered with a merry laugh of ridicule, and a graceful toss of the head, as the mischievous girl passed into the school-house.
“That settles you, Will,” said Pewee Rose. And Bob Holliday began singing, to a doleful tune:
“Poor old Pidy,
She died last Friday.”
Just then, the stern face of Mr. Ball, the master, appeared at the door; he rapped sharply with his ferule, and called: “Books, books, books!” The bats were dropped, and the boys and girls began streaming into the school, but some of the boys managed to nudge Riley, saying:
“Poor old creetur,
The turkey-buzzards eat her,”