“What are you going to do, sir?” Joel hung to Sinbad with a tighter grip than ever.
“Never mind; it's not for you to question me,” said the instructor, with great authority.
But Joel edged away. Visions of being expelled from Dr. Marks' school swam before his eyes, and he turned very white.
David plunged through the crowd of boys, absolutely still with the excitement. “Oh Joel,” he begged hoarsely, “let Mr. Parr do as he wants to. Mamsie would say so.”
Joel turned at that. “Don't hurt him,” he begged. “Don't, please, Mr. Parr.”
“I shall not hurt him,” said Mr. Parr, putting the cord about the dog's neck, and holding the other end, after it was knotted fast. “I am going to tie him in the area till morning. Here you, sir,” as Sinbad showed lively intentions toward his captor's legs, with a backward glance at his late master.
“Oh, if you'll let me keep him in my room, Mr. Parr,” cried Joel, tumbling over to the instructor, who was executing a series of remarkable steps as he dragged Sinbad off, “I'll—I'll be just as good—just till the morning, sir. Oh, please, Mr. Parr—I'll study, and get my lessons better, I truly will,” cried poor Joel, unable to promise anything more difficult of performance.
“You'll have to study better anyway, Joel Pepper,” said Mr. Parr grimly, as he and Sinbad disappeared down the stairway. “Every boy get back to his room,” was the parting command.
No need to tell Joel. He dashed through the ranks, and flung himself into his bed, dragged up the clothes well over his stubby head, and cried as if his heart would break.
“Joel—Joel—oh, Joey!” begged David hoarsely, and running to precipitate himself by his side. But Joel only burrowed deeper and sobbed on.