"But some one kicked the ball my way," insisted the principal, with utter sternness. "Don't tell me that no one did! That football could not By through the air without some one propelling it. Now, young gentlemen, who kicked that ball?"
"I did, Mr. Cantwell," admitted Dick, pushing his way through the throng. "And I'm very sorry that anything like this has happened, sir."
"On, you did it, oh?" demanded the principal, eyeing the young man witheringly. "And you actually expect an apology to restore my new and expensive hat to its former pristine condition of splendor?"
"I didn't know you were there, sir," Dick explained. "You didn't appear until just after I had kicked the ball."
"Prescott is quite right, Mr. Cantwell," put in Coach Morton. "None of us knew you were here in the passage until the ball had been kicked—-not, in fact, until the ball was almost upon you."
"Then, when you saw me, why didn't you call out to warn me?" demanded the principal, still fearfully angry, though trying to keep back unparliamentary language.
"I did call out, sir," replied Dick. "There was mighty little time to think, but I called out the two quickest words I could think of."
"What did you call?" demanded the principal.
"I yelled 'low bridge!'"
"A most idiotic expression," snorted the principal. "What on earth does it mean, anyway?"