Followin’ the difference an’ my defeat, I’m witless enough to keep goin’ on to school, whereas I should have returned homeward an’ cast myse’f upon my parents as a sacred trust.  Of course, when I’m in school I don’t go impartin’ my troubles to the other chil’en; I emyoolates the heroism of the Spartan boy who stands to be eat by a fox, an’ keeps ’em to myself.  But the views of my late enemy is not to be smothered; they appeals to my young companions; who tharupon puts up a most onneedful riot of coughin’s an’ sneezin’s.  But nobody knows me as the party who’s so pungent.

“‘It’s a tryin’ moment.  I can see that, once I’m located, I’m goin’ to be as onpop’lar as a b’ar in a hawg pen; I’ll come tumblin’ from my pinnacle in that proud commoonity as the glass of fashion an’ the mold of form.  You can go your bottom peso, the thought causes me to feel plenty perturbed.

“’At this peril I has a inspiration; as good, too, as I ever entertains without the aid of rum.  I determines to cast the opprobrium on some other boy an’ send the hunt of gen’ral indignation sweepin’ along his trail.

“’Thar’s a innocent infant who’s a stoodent at this temple of childish learnin’ an’ his name is Riley Bark.  This Riley is one of them giant children who’s only twelve an’ weighs three hundred pounds.  An’ in proportions as Riley is a son of Anak, physical, he’s dwarfed mental; he ain’t half as well upholstered with brains as a shepherd dog.  That’s right; Riley’s intellects, is like a fly in a saucer of syrup, they struggles ’round plumb slow.  I decides to uplift Riley to the public eye as the felon who’s disturbin’ that seminary’s sereenity.  Comin’ to this decision, I p’ints at him where he’s planted four seats ahead, all tangled up in a spellin’ book, an’ says in a loud whisper to a child who’s sittin’ next: 

“‘Throw him out!’

“’That’s enough.  No gent will ever realise how easy it is to direct a people’s sentiment ontil he take a whirl at the game.  In two minutes by the teacher’s bull’s-eye copper watch, every soul knows it’s pore Riley; an’ in three, the teacher’s done drug Riley out doors by the ha’r of his head an’ chased him home.  Gents, I look back on that yoothful feat as a triumph of diplomacy; it shore saves my standin’ as the Beau Brummel of the Bloo Grass.

“‘Good old days, them!’ observes the Colonel mournfully, ‘an’ ones never to come ag’in!  My sternest studies is romances, an’ the peroosals of old tales as I tells you-all prior fills me full of moss an’ mockin’ birds in equal parts.  I reads deep of Walter Scott an’ waxes to be a sharp on Moslems speshul.  I dreams of the Siege of Acre, an’ Richard the Lion Heart; an’ I simply can’t sleep nights for honin’ to hold a tournament an’ joust a whole lot for some fair lady’s love.