“Second, why do we hire superintendents and principals, to say nothing of teachers, if they are to have no authority over us that we should respect? And—”
“We don’t hire ’em; our fathers do,” objected one of Jim’s admirers.
“That brings me to my third question: Who pays for the schools?” Billy stopped an instant to think out his argument, and the pause was more effective than he knew. Some of the boys were considering a phase of the school question not often presented to them.
“Nobody’s talking about the cost of schools; it’s us—ourselves we’re talking about. We want—”
Redtop promptly “chucked” the turbulent one.
Billy went on. “At least we don’t pay for them, nor hire the teachers. But they are responsible to those who do hire them for the good name of the schools. If students are lazy or lawless the teachers are called to account.”
“Well, what’s the matter with us? Aren’t we all right?” Jim loomed formidably in front of Billy.
“No! We’re not all right, Jim Barney. If you and your crowd, and the sort of manners toward women and girls you stand for,—if that’s to be the standard for this school, I’m ashamed of it, and ashamed of any principal that will stand for it,—when he knows it.” Billy’s eyes flashed and he shook his hand at Jim.
“You’ll be the tell-tale, I suppose.” Barney lunged forward and reached his long arm for Billy’s leg; but half a dozen hands pulled him back; and more hisses than he had believed possible warned him that he was on the wrong tack.
“It’s because each year Jim Barney has put in his man for class president, and each year his class has made a worse name for itself; and now he wants to boss the whole school and run his man for the new office,—it’s because of this condition that the teachers think it time to interfere.” Billy leaned forward and looked fearlessly into the face of the Kid. “If you’ve any remarks coming, you can make them later to me personally.”