During the next few minutes after that only two or three came in, for Dick had thought of a new aspect to the joke.  He had sent messengers scurrying out through the street approaches with this message: 

“We’re not required to be in the assembly room until eight o’clock.  Let’s all wait until two minutes of eight—–­then go in a throng.”

So the principal had a chance to catch up with his counting as the minutes passed.  So busy was he, however, that it didn’t quite occur to him to wonder why so few of the student body had as yet come in.

Then, at 7.58, a resounding tread was heard on the stairs leading up from the basement locker rooms.  Some two hundred boys and girls were coming up in two separate throngs.  They were still coming when the assembly bell rang.  As fast as any entered they made their way, with solemn faces, to the desk on the platform.

As Mr. Cantwell had feared, the pennies still continued to pour in upon him.  Suddenly the principal struck his desk sharply with a ruler, then leaped to his feet.  His face was whiter than ever.  It was plain that the man was struggling to control himself against an outburst of wrath.  He even forced a smile to his face a sort of smile that had no mirth in it.

“Young ladies and young gentlemen,” Mr. Cantwell rasped out, sharply, “some of you have seen fit to plan a joke against me, and to carry it out most audaciously.  It’s a good joke, and I admit that it’s on me.  But it has been carried far enough.  If you please—–­no more pennies!”

“But pennies are all I happen to have, sir,” protested Dave Darrin, stepping forward.  “Don’t you want me to pay you for the music, sir?”

“Oh, well,” replied the principal, with a sigh, “I’ll take ’em, then.”

As Dick & Co. had disposed of every one of their little rolls of fifteen, few of the students were unprovided with pennies.  So the copper stream continued to pour in.  Mr. Cantwell could have called any or all of his submasters and teachers to his aid.  He thought of it presently, as his fingers ached from handling all the pennies.

“Mr. Drake, will you come to the desk?” he called.

So Submaster Drake came to the platform, drawing a chair up beside the principal’s.  But Mr. Cantwell still felt obliged to do the counting, as he was responsible for the correctness of the sums.  So all Mr. Drake could do was check off the names as the principal called them.

Faster and faster poured the copper stream now.  Mr. Cantwell, the cords sticking out on his forehead, and a clammy dew bespangling his white face, counted on in consuming anger.  Every now and then he turned to dump two or three handfuls of counted pennies into his open satchel.

Gathered all around the desk was a throng of students, waiting to pay.  Beyond this throng, safely out of range of vision, other students gathered in groups and chuckled almost silently.