“I’ll flog you for telling a lie,” exclaimed the excited teacher.
Julius was about to repeat his disclaimer, but it was made unnecessary. Tom Allen arose quietly in his seat, and said: “Julius is perfectly right, Mr. Slocum; he didn’t draw the picture.”
“Who did, then?” asked the teacher, pausing in his contemplated punishment.{157}
“I did,” said Tom, coolly. “If you want to punish anybody for doing it, you’ll have to punish me.”
This was very disagreeable intelligence for Mr. Slocum. Tom Allen was a stout, broad-shouldered, immensely powerful young fellow, standing five feet ten inches in his stockings. There are few teachers who would not have fought shy of punishing, or attempting to punish, such a formidable scholar. Mr. Slocum was disconcerted at the interruption, and did not care about undertaking such a doubtful job. Neither did he want to release Julius from his clutches. He knew that he could punish him, and he meant to do it. A lucky thought came to him.
“I do not punish him for drawing the picture,” he said, “but for disturbing the order of the school by laughing at it.”
“I couldn’t help laughing at it,” exclaimed our hero.
“Nor could any of the other scholars,” said Tom Allen; and taking the slate from the desk before him, he held it up, and exhibited it to the other scholars. It was recognized at once, and there was a general shout of laughter.
Mr. Slocum looked about him with an angry scowl, and his temper was fairly aroused, so that he became, to a certain extent, regardless of consequences.
“I won’t let you off,” he said to Julius, tightening his grasp on the boy’s collar.{158}