“Hats off!” shouted Sid.

“Where are my books?” asked Charlie.

“They are probably where they ought to be, young man, in your desk.”

Each boy then proceeded to take an imaginary reader out of an imaginary desk.  Wort, though, had a book.

“All properly supplied with readers?  Open them.  Read, ‘Merry Gentlemen,’ read.  Wort may begin.”

There was no response.

“Read, I say.”

There was silence still.

“Do you mean to disobey me?”

“You haven’t told us what to read,” replied Wort.

“Yes, I have.”

“You haven’t,” stoutly reaffirmed Wort.  “You said, ’Merry gentlemen, read.’”

“I mean the piece called ‘Merry Gentlemen,’ on page—­well, you know.  We have read it in school enough times to know it, and then scholars ought to know their readers well enough to be able to turn to any place and read without a book even.  Who is that speaking?  Tell me.  Haven’t I told you a thousand times that there must be no speaking in this school?  I see the guilty scholar.  Richard Grimes, come this way!”

“I didn’t.”

“No trifling, young man.  Come this way,” and collaring the refractory Rick, Sid led him into the closet.  The governor was not to be wholly suppressed, and kept protruding a red pug-nose into very plain sight.

“Teacher,” called out Wort, “I see a red sugar-plum sticking out.”

“Richard, come this way.  You’re looking out.”

“No, sir; it was my nose.”

“Hold out your hand.  If you flinch, sir, you will receive another.”

The punishment was moodily received, and the governor went back to the closet.  Charlie and Wort were soon consigned to the same spot for disobedience.  Pip was noisily moving about.

“Say,” whispered Sid, “Be good, and take your seat properly.”

“Take your seat properly!” he then roared.

“Pip, you may read about the ‘Caravan,’ on the fifth page.  Take Wort’s book.”

“Jutht thee—­” began Pip.

“Juggie and Tony, you may both go into the closet for giggling,” sharply interposed the teacher.  “Go now!”

There were now five boys inside the closet, five restless immortals with ten restless legs and ten restless arms.

“Read, Pip, about the caravan.”

“Jutht thee, the wild beathth—­”

In harmony with this thought came a loud roar from the closet.

“Now you’ve got to be better,” said Sid, turning to the wild beasts, “or I will resign and I won’t teach.”

“Let me be teacher,” squeaked Pip.

The principal, though, did not resign; but, advancing to the closet or cage door, was about to make an appeal to his infuriated caravan.  They anticipated him.

“Teacher, Charlie is pinching me.”

“Ow! somebody’s on my foot.”

“There isn’t room!  I can’t breathe!” declared a third.