"A good serviceable stove," said Mr. Atherton Bell.
Bang! went something in the stove; boom! crack! bang!
The top of the stove rose and danced about in an angular manner. The pipe came down and covered Deacon Crockett and Willy Flint impartially with soot. Legs went here and there. The door bounced off, followed by ashes and coals, and smote Mr. Cummings sorely on the foot. Then the stove settled down, propped only by one leg plainly showing and declaring itself the most disreputable stove in the town of Hagar; and the school resolved itself into anarchy, which proves just what all wise men say, that nihilism results in anarchy.
"Who done that?" shouted Mr. Cummings, angrily. Deacon Crockett said nothing, but glared. Willy Flint, being also covered with soot, looked in every respect like the down-trodden victim of conspiracy. Mr. Pollock wiped his glasses, which meant that he intended to maintain his presence of mind; and Mr. Atherton Bell, whom neither soot had touched nor flying missile smitten anywhere, seeing the misfortunes of his colleagues, immediately saw also the humor of the thing in a broad and liberal manner, thumped his sides and laughed loudly.
"Now, Harvey, tut, tut! Now, deacon—"
Then Bobby Bell, who greatly admired his father, joined in shrilly; then the rest of the school saw the humor of it too. Mr. Cummings, polishing his toe, smiled feebly. Mr. Pollock's eyes, as he brushed the Deacon's back with the broom, twinkled behind his glasses. The only persons who seemed really chagrined were Deacon Crockett and Willy Flint. Such it is to have an eye for the humor of a thing.
"Why—why," gasped Mr. Atherton Bell, "Pollock—Pollock—you don't mean to tell me it acts like this—I might say—customarily?"
Mr. Pollock wiped his glasses slowly. "No," he said, "I never saw it act just like that before—not so badly as that."
And all the school agreed that it had never acted so badly as that before.