The descending ball was in straight line with that elegant hat.
Bump! The pigskin struck the hat full and fair, carrying it from the principal's head.
On sailed hat and football for some three feet, the hat managing to run upside down.
R-r-r-rip! The force with which the football was traveling impaled the hat on a picket at the side of the stand. Then, as if satisfied with fits work, the football struck and bounded back, landing at the principal's feet.
For one moment Mr. Cantwell was dumb with amazement.
Then he saw his impaled hat and realized the extent and tragedy of his loss. The angered man went white with wrath.
"What ruffian did that!" he roared.
But the boys, unable to hold in any longer, had let out a concerted though half-suppressed "whoop!" and now came running to the spot.
"Who kicked my hat off?" demanded the principal, pointing tragically to the piece of headgear, through the crown and past the rim of which the picket now stood up as though in triumph.
"You—-you got in the way of—-the ball, sir," explained Drayne, trying hard to keep from roaring out with laughter.