"Yes, sir."
"And you brought it to school with you?"
"Yes, sir."
The master shook his head in resignation.
"You're quite beyond me, Morton," he said. "You have done a great many odd things since you've been in this school, but this is the oddest. Bringing a fish to school. Your lunch, indeed! Stay in for half an hour after school." Mr. Dowd sniffed. "And throw that fish out."
"Yes, sir."
Chet departed in disgrace, carrying the fish gingerly by the tail, while his classmates tried to stifle their laughter. Half way across the hall the unfortunate Chet met the principal, who spied the fish and demanded explanations. These not being satisfactory, he ordered Chet to write two hundred lines of Latin prose. By the time the jester returned to the classroom, after consigning the fish to the janitor, who put it carefully away with a view to taking it home so his wife could fry it for dinner, he was heartily regretting the impulse that had made him stop at the butcher shop.
For the rest of the morning he was conscious of the smothered snickers of the Hardy boys and his chums.
Just before the recess period a note flicked onto his desk. He opened it and read:
"He laughs best who laughs last."