Miss Bailey was so ruffled and disgusted by the course of events that she allowed only the Monitor of the Gold-Fish Bowl to stay with her after school that afternoon. When readers were counted and put upon shelves, charts furled, paint brushes washed, pencils sharpened, and blackboards cleaned, Morris pressed close to his lady and whispered:
"Say, Teacher, I should tell you somethings."
"Well, then, old man, tell it."
"Teacher, it's like this; I ain't tell Ikey, out of Jewish, how you says you should wash out his mouth."
"You didn't tell him? And why not, pray?"
"Well," and Morris's tone, though apologetic, was self-righteous, "I guess you don't know about Ikey Borrachsohn."
"I know he said two very bad things. Of course, I did not understand the Jewish part. What did he say? Did you know?"
"Sure did I, on'y I wouldn't to tell it out. It ain't fer you. It ain't no fer-ladies word."
Miss Bailey patted her small knight's hand. "Thank you, Morris," she said simply. "And so it was bad?"
"Fierce."