Head.—I will only say to my tow-headed colleague from Misery Swamp, that if his insulting personalities were not entirely out of place on such an occasion as this, I would stop and settle with him on the spot [shaking his fist.]
Several Boys.—Order! order! order!
Another Boy.—That’s right, Johnny—stand up for your honor! Form a ring, boys, and let ’em fight it out!
Boys.—Order! Shame! (with hisses.)
Head.—Some of you called me to order—I should like to know why.
A Boy.—It isn’t parliamentary to shake your fist at a fellow.
Head.—I don’t care for that. We’ve nothing to do with parliamentary rules, here—we are governed by Congressional usage; and it’s Congressional to shake your fists, and use them, too, if you choose. Does anybody deny that?
A Boy.—Enough said—go on with your speech, Johnny.
Head.—Well, as I was saying, we have passed through the fiery trial of another examination, and the magnificent series of prizes—the total cost of which to our beloved teacher, as I learn from good authority, could not have been less than one dollar and twenty-five cents—have all been awarded. As is apt to be the case, I believe, on such occasions, some three or four scholars who are supposed to be brighter than their fellows, have carried away all the prizes, leaving absolutely nothing for the great body of the school. Now it has seemed to some of the more philanthropic members of the class that this is hardly fair; and to equalize in some degree this unjust scale of awards, it was suggested that we all unite and purchase an appropriate offering for the poorest scholar in the class. Though it was my fortune, or misfortune, whichever you choose to regard it, to take the highest prize offered to this class, consisting of a touching account of a dear little girl who never was naughty, and died young—
A Boy.—O my! Lend it to me, Johnny, wont you?