“I guess there’ll be some real soreness in some heads this morning,” laughed Tom’s father.

“Won’t there!” ejaculated Tom, and hurried out into the street.  It did not take him long to find some of his chums and other High School boys.  Those who had not seen “The Blade” read the two marked portions eagerly.

Bert Dodge had “The Blade” placed before him by his sister.  Bert read with reddening cheeks.

“That’s what comes of letting a fellow like Dick Prescott write for the papers,” Bert stormed angrily.  “That fellow ought to be tarred and feathered!”

“Why don’t you suggest it to the ’soreheads’?” asked his sister, quizzically.  Grace Dodge was an amiable, democratic, capable girl who had gone through college with honors, and yet had not gained a false impression of the importance conferred by a little wealth.

“Grace, I believe you’re laughing at me!” dared the young man exasperatedly.

“No; I’m not laughing.  I’m sorry,” sighed the young woman.  “But I can imagine that a good many are laughing, this morning, and that the number will grow.  Bert, dear, do you think any young man can hope to be very highly esteemed when he sets his own importance above the good name and success of his school?”

Bert did not answer, but quit the house moodily.  He encountered some of “his own set,” but they were not a very cheerful-looking lot that morning.  Not one of the “soreheads” could escape the conviction that Dick Prescott held the whip hand of public opinion over them.  What none of them appreciated, was the moderation with which young Prescott had wielded his weapon.

Dodge, Bayliss, Paulson and Hudson entered the High School grounds together, that morning, ten minutes before opening time.  As the quartette passed, several of the little groups of fellow students ceased their talk and turned away from the four “soreheads.”  Then, after the quartette had passed, quiet little laughs were heard.

All four mounted the steps of the building with heightening color.

Before the door, talking together, stood Fred Ripley and Purcell, whom the “soreheads” had endeavored to enlist.

“Good morning, Purcell.  Morning, Ripley,” greeted Bayliss.

Fred and Purcell wheeled about, turning their backs without answering.

Once inside the building the four young fellows looked at each other uneasily.

“Are the fellows trying to send us to coventry?” demanded Dodge.

“Oh, well,” muttered Bayliss, “there are enough of us.  We can stand it!”

Yet, at recess, the “soreheads” found themselves extremely uncomfortable.  None of their fellow-students, among the boys, would notice them.  Whenever some of the “soreheads” passed a knot of other boys, low-toned laughs followed.  Even many of the girls, it proved, had taken up with the Coventry idea.