“You will form your own conclusion as to that, sir; this is the condition of the room when Mr. Moehler called me in. Will you look at the blackboards, sir?”
In a moment the commandant was startled by the scurrilous sentence on Ralph’s board.
“Who is Mr. Osborn?” he inquired.
“A third classman, sir; he stands number one in mathematics in his class.”
“Did he write that?”
“It looks like his handwriting and it’s on his board. Mr. Moehler can tell you the circumstances better than I can.”
“Tell me about it, Mr. Moehler.”
“Sir, at the end of the recitation hour Mr. Osborn and several of his section had not yet recited and were still standing at their boards when the dismissal alarm rang. I ordered the section to march out when the bell rang, and I followed the last man out and stood in the doorway of my room while they got their caps, formed and marched away. As I entered, the colored man, Carroll, came in with me, and asked me if he should rub out. I told him to wait a moment; the next instant I saw what was written on Mr. Osborn’s board, and then I sent for Professor Scott. I think that is all I know about the matter, sir.”
“That’s enough,” rejoined the commandant, sententiously; “enough to dismiss Mr. Osborn,” he grimly added. “Let me see; you have had some trouble with Mr. Osborn, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir, twice and I was in the wrong each time. But I can’t feel that Mr. Osborn had occasion to write such a thing on the board.” Mr. Moehler showed his indignation and wounded feelings as he spoke.