Somebody hissed then, but Mr. Horton promptly checked the demonstration.
“You can hardly expect me to believe you, Clark, with the evidence I have here,” he said, pointing to the fly-leaf of the book, on which were the letters “S. C.” Part of the leaf was torn out, leaving only those two letters.
The look of bewildered surprise in Clark’s eyes turned to one of proud disdain as he saw those letters, and he did not open his lips again, not even when Mr. Horton said:—
“I shall give every one of you five a failure for each Latin recitation during the past week, and for the remainder of the month I wish each of you to write at the top of your Latin exercises these words.” He wrote rapidly on the blackboard:—
“Lying lips are an abomination.”
The other four went to their seats with red faces and shamed eyes, but Clark’s face was very white, and his eyes were proudly uplifted, as if he dared his schoolmates to believe him guilty, in spite of the evidence against him.
“He doesn’t act guilty,” thought Mr. Horton uneasily, as he looked at the boy. “I wonder if it is possible that he is innocent.”
“St. Clark won’t be in good odor for a while to come,” chuckled Henderson on the playground at recess, glancing with malicious eyes at the lonely boy pacing up and down the sidewalk.
“I don’t believe he used that pony, anyhow,” said Freeman. “He didn’t need to use it, for he had read Cicero long before he ever came here. It’s just review to him.”
“Hush up, you!” exclaimed Henderson hastily. “If it’s review to him, he’s no business to be marked higher than the rest of us who never took it before. Hold your tongue, youngster, if you know when you’re well off.” He whispered the last sentence in Freeman’s ear.