Poodles was a boy of no principle; he was notorious as a liar; and the boys regarded it as an outrage upon themselves and upon me that he should be believed, while my story appeared to have no weight whatever.
Mr. Parasyte trembled, not alone with rage, but with fear. The startling event then transpiring threatened the peace, if not the very existence, of the Parkville Liberal Institute. I folded my arms,—for I felt my dignity,—and endeavored to be calm, though my bosom heaved and bounded with emotion.
"Boys—young gentlemen, I—" the principal began.
"Throw him over! Put him out!" yelled the students, excited beyond measure.
"Young gentlemen!" shouted Mr. Parasyte.
"Three cheers for Ernest Thornton!" hoarsely screamed Bob Hale, my intimate friend and longtime "crony."
They were given with an enthusiasm which bordered on infatuation.
"Will you hear me, students?" cried Mr. Parasyte.
"No!" "No!" "No!" "Throw him over!" "Put him out!"
The scene was almost as unpleasant to me as to the principal, proud as I was of the devotion of my friends. I did not wish to be vindicated in such a way, and I was anxious to put a stop to such disorderly proceedings. I raised my hand in an appealing gesture.