There was no repentance manifest in Brightly’s voice; the spirit indicated by it was still unyielding.
Colonel Silsbee looked up sharply at the boy. “Has your mother made a complaint to you on account of the appointment?” he asked.
“N—no, I can’t say that she has. I don’t think she would do me an injustice like that.”
The emphasis was too plain to be misunderstood. The stern look came back into the principal’s face.
“You may go now,” he said. “And you may consider yourself suspended from office until such time as an order to that effect shall be published.”
Brightly bowed, and left the room somewhat haughtily. His punishment was to be greater than he had anticipated. He had expected to receive discredit marks enough to cut deeply into his standing in deportment; but he had not thought that he should be reduced to the ranks, even for a short time. He felt that his sentence was unnecessarily severe; that it was unjust and uncalled for. It bruised his pride, it awakened animosity in his mind, and roused rebellion in his heart.
It was not long after Brightly had taken leave of the principal that Brede was also summoned to the office. He arose, walked across the schoolroom with his accustomed swagger, and passed in through the office-door with the usual supercilious smile upon his lips. The entire school wondered what he had been summoned for, but only Belcher and Brightly guessed aright. They knew instinctively that his visit had to do with Belcher’s awkward excuse for his own fault.
When Brede returned to the schoolroom some fifteen minutes later, he had lost something of his swagger; the curl on his lips was less pronounced, and his face was more than usually pale. Every one who saw him knew that his interview with Colonel Silsbee had not been a pleasant one.