"To-morrow should be a very critical day in the campaign," said Macnooder, pensively.
"I suggest that on account of the uncertain state of the weather," said Hickey, wisely, "all window-blinds should be closed and locked."
"I think," said Cheyenne, "that we had better march to chapel in close formation."
"Are there any more arguments left?" said Crazy.
"Quite a number."
"They must be delivered to-night," said Crazy, firmly. "No egg shall be allowed to spoil—in this house."
At eleven o'clock that night, as the head master sat in his room in distant Boston, giving the last touches to the address which he had prepared for the following day on the "Experiment of Self-Government and Increased Individual Responsibility in Primary Education," the following telegram was handed to him:
Come back instantly. School in state of anarchy. Rioting and pillaging unchecked. Another day may be too late. Baldwin's course in political education.
Baronson.
When the Doctor, after a night's precipitous travel, drove on to the campus he had left picturesque and peaceful but a few days before, he could hardly believe his eyes. The circle of houses was stained and spotted with the marks of hundreds of eggs and the softer vegetables. From almost every upper window a banner (often ripped to shreds) or a mutilated proclamation was displayed. Proclamations blossomed on every tree, couched in vitriolic language. Two large groups of embattled boys, bearing strange banners, were converging across the campus, with haggard, hysterical faces, fists clenched and muscles strung in nervous tension, waiting the shock of the approaching clash.