“I don't want to,” he replied stubbornly. He meant, “I will not,” but he had learned the disadvantage of contradicting his mother flatly.
“William,” said his mother sternly, “go up-stairs and put on those trousers this instant.”
He climbed the stairs slowly. He hoped he would be late to school. He would be so leisurely in donning them that his mother would make him stay at home to avoid the greater disgrace of being tardy. He thought of playing sick, but decided such an illness would be too sudden to excite his mother's sympathy. If only the schoolhouse would burn down, or word come that the teacher was dead! But neither came to pass, and his mother's voice sounded from the hall, bidding him hurry.
With his load of shame, he slunk out of the gate and crept to school, hugging the fences and making himself as insignificant and small as possible, walking with short steps to avoid the endless “whist—whist” of the corduroy. He sniffled as he thought of the wo the day still held for him. Some men, going back to business, glanced at him to see the cause of his whimpering. He imagined they were thinking cruel things of his breeches.
He heard the tardy bell ring, and then he ran in and hurried to his seat. As he hastened down the aisle the corduroy spoke louder than before, but if Red Head heard, he made no sign, and as Willie sidled on to the bench beside him he kept his nose buried in his book.
Willie did not go to the playground at the afternoon recess. He would have died rather, and for once he saw the advantage of the rule that the tardy scholar must lose that half hour of play.
When school ended for the day, Willie hoped the teacher would keep him in. He was willing to be whipped rather than meet Red Head again, but he was dismissed with the rest. He paused in the doorway, gathering his breath to make a run for liberty, as he had often run to escape his persecutors. As he waited, he saw Red Head approaching, and he drew back; but Red Head stepped up to him and took him by the arm.
“You let me alone now!” whimpered Willie.
“Aw, shut up,” said Red Head roughly. “I ain't goin' to hurt you. You shut up an' don't be a cry-baby. Come along an' I won't let 'em hurt you.”
Fighting and scuffling were not allowed in the entry. Willie put his thumb in his mouth and gazed at Red Head doubtfully. Such friendliness was unnatural. It savored of a plot to entice him forth to be slaughtered. It was not easy to believe that the Red Head who had drubbed him a hundred times, and who scorned him as a cry-baby, should seek to defend him.