bringing down his own broad right
hand on Dick's unprotected body.

A few flashing eyes there were in the young audience, and a few
sympathetic glances from the girls, but, for the most part, the class
was now in a loud roar of laughter.

"That's the story," announced Old Dut, gently restoring Dick Prescott to
his feet. "I think you all see the point to it. Perhaps there's a moral
to it, also. I really don't know."

Pallor due to a sense of outraged dignity now struggled for a place in
the red that covered Dick Prescott's face.

"You may go to your seat, Master Prescott."

Dick marched there, without a glance backward.

"Now, that we've had our little indulgence in humor," announced Old Dut
dryly, "we will all return to our studies."

There was silence again in the room, during which the rain outside began
to come down in a flood.

"I'll get the fellows to-night--for that--and we'll carry Old Dut's
front gate off and throw it in the river!" ran vengefully through Dave
Darrin's mind.

"Old Dut needn't look for his late posies to bloom until the frost comes
this year," reflected Greg Holmes, while he pored, apparently, over the
many-colored map of Asia. "I'll get some of the fellows out to-night,
and we'll make a wreck scene in Old Dut's flower beds."

Dick said nothing, even to himself, as he picked up his much-thumbed
book on physiology and turned the pages. He was smarting not only from
the indignity to which he had been treated, but quite as much from the
masterful way in which Old Dut had punctuated that "funny story" with
his broad right hand.

Once in a while Old Dut cast a sly glance in Dick's direction.

"That young man will bear watching," mused the principal, as he caught a
sudden flash in Prescott's eye, as the latter glanced up.

The recitation in arithmetic soon came along. This was one of Dick's
favorite studies, and, wholly forgetting his late experience, so it
seemed, he covered himself with glory in his blackboard demonstration of
an intricate problem in interest and discount.

Then the class settled down to twenty minutes' more study.

"Master Prescott," broke in Old Dut's voice, at last, "did you think my
story a funny one?"

"Pretty fair, sir," answered Dick, looking up and straight into the eyes
of the principal.

"Only 'pretty fair,' eh? Could you tell me a funnier story?"

"I'm pretty sure I could, yes, sir," answered Dick, with great
promptness. "Only--_I don't believe I'm