“I solved the problem you gave me correctly,” said Crawford.
“I know you did,” said Mr. Horton.
“Well then,” persisted Crawford, “I don’t see why I should have a failure.”
“If you have anything more to say you can come to me after school,” said Mr. Horton.
“I call that right down mean,” said Crawford, in a tone that all about him could hear, “and I won’t stand much more such treatment.”
“Crawford, you may go to Professor Keene’s office,” said Mr. Horton, gravely.
Muttering something half aloud, Crawford arose and swaggered across the room, turning at the door to make an elaborate bow, first to Mr. Horton and then to the class. He did not go to the office, however, but straight to his rooms, where he ordered his ponies brought around, and then driving back to the school, sent in a note to Henderson.
Henderson read it, and then passing it to Coyle, he went to the desk and said, “Mr. Horton, I’ve just had word that my father has been taken suddenly ill. Can I be excused?”
Mr. Horton looked at him sharply, but Henderson’s face was grave and troubled, and after a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Yes, you may go.”
He did not see the wink and grimace with which Henderson favored his classmates as he turned away and left the room.