“Did he say that?”
“He did.”
“Well, he knows a thing or two,” laughed Higgins. “My mother thinks it makes my head ache to study; and in fact it does when the lessons are hard.”
“I dare say. Are they hard to-day?” I asked.
“Not so very hard; but, to tell the truth, I thought there was to be some fun going on here and I wanted to be on hand. My mother wrote to the principal that she did not wish me to study very hard, for something ailed my head.”
“I’m afraid the jar of the dummy will hurt your head,” I suggested.
“Oh, no, it won’t,” protested the candid Higgins. “It feels better now than it did this morning; in fact, it always feels better after school begins.”
“But I’m really afraid it will injure you to ride on the dummy, with all the excitement of the highly responsible position of conductor,” I added, gravely. “I think I had better mention the matter to Major Toppleton when I see him.”
“Oh, no; don’t do that,” pleaded Higgins, plaintively. “Between you and me and the smoke-stack of the dummy, I am as well as you are.”
“Precisely so; and I think the major understands your malady, if the principal does not.”