what kick can he have? We
fellows have just as much right to----"

"You'll wish you hadn't," said Clint. "See if you don't!"

Clint's prophecy proved true, and Amy did wish he hadn't, but that was
some days later, and just now he was far too absorbed in planning his
little joke to trouble himself about what might happen as a result. As
soon as study hour was over he departed precipitately from Number 14.
Torrence and Clint saw no more of him until bedtime. Then his questions
met only with more chuckles and evasion.

The result did not appear until two days later, which brings our tale to
the forenoon of that unlucky Thursday preceeding the Southby contest.
Mr. Moller's class in Physics 2 met at eleven o'clock that morning.
Physics was an elective course with the Fifth Form and a popular one,
many of the fellows taking it only to fill out their necessary eighteen
hours a week. Mr. Moller, attired as usual with artistic nicety, sat in
his swivel chair, facing the windows, and drummed softly on the top of
the desk with immaculate finger-tips and waited for the class to
assemble.

Had he been observing the arriving students instead of the tree-tops
outside he might have noticed the peculiar fact that this morning, as
though by common consent, the students were avoiding the first two rows
of seats nearest the platform. But he didn't notice it. In fact, he
didn't turn his head until the gong in the lower hall struck and,
simultaneously, there sounded in the room the carefully-timed tread of
many feet. Then "The Conqueror" swung around in his chair, felt for the
black ribbon which held his tortoise shell glasses and, in the act of
lifting the glasses to his well-shaped nose, paused and stared.

Down the side aisle of the room, keeping step, grave of mien, walked
nine boys led by the sober-countenanced Amy Byrd. Each was attired in as
near an approach to Mr. Moller's style as had been possible with the
wardrobes at command. Not all--in fact, only two--wore frock coats, and
not all had been able to supply themselves with light grey trousers, but
the substitutions were very effective, and in no case was a fancy
waistcoat wanting. Wing collars encircled every throat, grey silk
scarves were tied with careful precision, stick-pins were at the proper
careless tilt, spats, some grey, some tan, some black, covered each
ankle, a handkerchief protruded a virgin corner from every right sleeve
and over every vest dangled a black silk