“Thank you, Mr. Washburn,” answered Wilkins, “but I do not expect to be here to be called upon.”
“You are not going to leave the institute, are you?”
“I shall write to my father in what manner I have been treated, and let him understand how the principal manages the school, and I feel sure he will withdraw me.”
“Ditto for me!” said Ben Platt. “Old Sock’s partiality for his nephew has been carried too far, and now that the only decent teacher is going—Mr. Crabb—I don’t mean, to stay here if I can help it.”
The boys, upon their return to the school, sought out the principal.
“Well, boys,” he said, “have you come to confess?”
“No, sir,” answered Ben, “but we have come to give you some information about your money.”
“I was sure you knew something about it,” said Socrates, with a sneer. “I am glad you have decided to make a clean breast of it.”
“You are mistaken, sir.”
“Well, out with your information!” said the principal, roughly.