Peter. Take care what you say, sir!
George. Come, come, John; don’t quarrel with him. He will get the medal now; and it is a cruel thing too; for I sat up till eleven o’clock, last night, studying; and he knew that my father was coming home from Washington to-night, and how anxious I was to have the medal. But it can’t be helped now.
Peter. Poor fellow! don’t cry! I declare there are great tears in his eyes. Now it is a pity, really.
John. For shame, Peter Sly, to laugh at him! You are a selfish, mean fellow, and every boy in school thinks so.
George. Come, John; I must go and study my lesson as well as I can. I would rather be at the foot of the class, than take such an advantage of anybody.
(Exit George.)
Peter. The more fool you! Now, he will be in such a fluster, that he will be sure to miss in the very first sentence.
John. There is the master, coming over the hill; now if I should just step up to him, and tell him the whole story!
Peter. You know better than to do that. You know he never encourages tale-bearers.
John. I know that, very well; and I would almost as soon be a cheat as a tell-tale; but the master will find you out, yet, without anybody’s help; and that will be a day of rejoicing to the whole school. There is not a fellow in it that don’t scorn you, Peter Sly.