“I’ll not argue the point, Morr. I’ll give you a week, starting to-morrow. When you come to the classroom I will show you just what you have to make up.” Job Haskers looked around the room. “Now, then, remember, I want less noise here.” And so speaking, he turned on his heel and walked away.
For a moment there was silence, as the boys looked at each other and listened to the sounds of Mr. Haskers’s retreating footsteps. Then Phil made a face and punched one of the bed pillows, savagely.
“Now, wouldn’t that make a saint turn in his 54 grave?” he remarked. “Isn’t he the real, kind, generous soul!”
“He ought to be ducked in the river!” was Buster’s comment. “Why, how can anybody make up the lessons you’ve missed in a week? It’s absurd! Say, do you know what I’d do if I were you? I’d complain to the doctor.”
“So would I,” added Sam Day. “Two weeks would be short enough.”
“I’ll not complain to the doctor,” returned Phil. “But I know what I will do,” he added, quickly, as though struck by a sudden idea.
“What?” came from several.
“Never mind what. But I’ll wager he’ll give us more time.”
“I guess I know what you think of doing,” said Dave. “But take my advice and don’t, Phil.”
“Humph! I’ll see about it, Dave. He isn’t going to run such a thing as this up my back without a kick,” grumbled the shipowner’s son.