Just as Henning had finished the rendering of the sentence, “That where the lion's skin fell short he eked it out with the fox's,” there was heard from the far right-hand corner of the hall a loud, distinct sound—one word. Clear and resonant, every one in the hall and the actors on the stage heard it distinctly. As nearly as letters will represent the sound
it was “UGH,” The intonation of the one syllable was such as to convey without doubt to the hearers that the perpetrator regarded the words of the cardinal as practically applicable to the actor himself.
Many heads were momentarily turned in the direction whence the sound had come. Henning himself gave a rapid glance to the corner of the hall. As he did so, he saw his cousin Garrett drop his head and look fixedly at the floor.
Boys at a Christmas play do not usually fix their gaze on the floor. Henning felt that, for some reason or other, his cousin had made the interruption. For what purpose? Roy could not imagine. That it was Garrett there was no shadow of a doubt, for the actor plainly recognized the blue sweater his cousin wore constantly. Perhaps after all this time, thought Roy, his cousin was now trying to “get even” with him, as he had promised, for refusing to accompany Garrett to that carpet dance during the summer. Roy loyally put this thought out of his mind, but in doing this he was more mystified than ever, as it left him without a motive which could explain the curious action.
Fortunately for the success of the play the intended interruption, and probably intended insult, did not sufficiently distract Henning to the extent of spoiling the scene. There was a pause but for a moment. "A great statesman, Joseph, that same Lysander," he repeated, and thus recovering himself, the play went on without further interruption to a most successful finish.
The next day the attempted spoiling of the scene was the general subject of conversation. Many boys were uncertain who made the attempt. Henning did not refer to the matter when Garrett approached him. He accepted the many congratulations without
evidence of either pleasure or displeasure, merely politely bowing. He appeared indifferent to praise or blame from his cousin. When, however, among his own special coterie of friends he was by no means passive.
After breakfast the Philosophers met in their own classroom, which, as we have before stated, was a sort of clubroom for them. Everybody crowded around Roy. Some shook his hand vigorously, others patted him patronizingly on the shoulders, assuring him that he was “the stuff” without deigning to explain their use of that word; others, in their enthusiasm, thumped him on the back, and Ernest Winters, who because he had taken part in the play, had been allowed to come up to the classroom, presented him, amid the profoundest salaams, with a bouquet of paper flowers surrounded by cabbage leaves which he had purloined from the kitchen.
“Ye done rale good, an' this is fer yees,” said the young rascal.
“He did that,” said Jack Beecham, and turning to Roy he continued: “If I knew who it was who tried to rattle you, I would——”