"Go to your seat, sir!" thundered the principal, his face turning ghastly white from his suppressed rage.
Bristow wheeled once more, in sullen silence, to go to his seat.
Certainly he did not move fast, but he was obeying.
"You mutinous young rascal, that won't do!" shot out from the principal's lips. In another instant Mr. Cantwell was crossing the floor rapidly toward the slow-moving offender.
"Get to your seat quickly, or go in pieces!" rasped out the angry principal.
Seizing the boy from behind by both shoulders, Mr. Cantwell gave him a violent push. Bristow tripped, falling across a desk and cutting a gash in his forehead.
In an instant the boy was up and wheeled about, blood dripping from the cut, but something worse flashing in his eyes.
The principal was at once terrified. He was not naturally courageous, but he had a dangerous temper, and he now realized to what it had brought him. Mr. Cantwell was trying to frame a lame apology when an indignant voice cried out:
"Coward!"
His face livid, the principal turned.
"Who said that?" he demanded, at white heat.