“Oh, you’re going to play welsher, are you?” sneered Bert.  “Humph!  By morning you’ll be a full-fledged mucker!”

“Don’t you worry about that,” argued Bayliss, though rather stiffly.  “I know my family—–­and my caste.”

“I should hope so,” rejoined Dodge, with just a shade more cordiality.

Rather than alight at Gridley, and face the whole High School crowd—–­for scores who had not been able to meet the expense of the trip to Tottenville would be sure to be at the station to meet the victorious team—–­Bert and Bayliss rode on to the next station, then got off and walked two miles back to town.

By Monday morning the punishment of the pair was made complete.

Bert and Bayliss walked to school together.  As they drew near the grounds both young men felt their hearts beating faster.

“I wonder if there’s anything in for us?” whispered Dodge.

“Sure to be,” responded Bayliss.

“Well, the fellows had better not try anything too frisky.  If they do, they’ll give us a chance to make trouble for ’em!”

It seemed as though the full count of the student body, boys and girls, had assembled in the yard this morning.

All was gay noise until the pair of cronies appeared at the gate.

Then, swiftly, all the noise died out.

One could hardly hear even a breath being drawn.

The silence was complete as Bert and Bayliss, now very white, stepped into the yard.

Though not a voice sounded, every eye was turned on the white-faced pair.

Bert Dodge’s lips moved.  He tried to summon us control enough of his tongue to utter some indifferent remark to his companion.

But the sound simply wouldn’t come.

After a walk that was only a few yards in distance, yet seemed only less than a mile in length, the humiliated pair rushed up the steps, opened the great door and let themselves in.

At recess neither Bayliss nor Dodge had the courage to appear outside.  As they left school that afternoon they were treated to the same dose of “silence.”

Tuesday morning neither Dodge nor Bayliss showed up at all at school.

On Thursday morning High School readers of “The Blade” were greatly interested in the following personal paragraph: 

"Bayliss and Dodge, both of the senior class, High School, have severed their connection with that institution.  It is understood that the young men are going elsewhere in search of better educational facilities."

That was all, but it told the boys and girls at Gridley High School all that they needed to know.

“That is the very last gasp of the ‘sorehead’ movement,” grinned Tom Reade, in talking it over with Dan Dalzell.

“Well, they did the whole trick for themselves,” rejoined Dan.  “No one else touched them, or pushed them.  They took all the rope they wanted—–­and hanged themselves.  Now, that pair will probably feel cheap every time they have to come back to Gridley and walk the streets.”