‘Gee-rusalem! ain’t Jo got a thirst?’ whispered Dick when the spasm had passed.

‘My oath, ain’t he!’ replied Jacker, ‘but he was drunk up afore twelve.’

It is necessary to explain here that the school committee, in electing Mr. Ham to the position of schoolmaster, compelled him to sign a formal agreement, drawn up in quaint legal gibberish, in which it was specified that ‘the herein afore-mentioned Joel Ham, B.A.,’ was to be limited to a certain amount of alcoholic refreshment per diem, and McMahon, at the Drovers’ Arms, bound himself over to supply no more than the prescribed quantity; but it was understood that this galling restriction did not apply to Mr. Ham on Saturdays and holidays.

The noises above subsided into the usual school drone, and the boys under the floor resumed their game.  It was an extremely interesting game, closely contested.  Each player watched the other’s actions with an alert and suspicious eye, and this want of confidence led directly to the boys’ undoing; for presently Dick detected Jacker in an attempt to deceive, and signalled ‘Down!’ with an emphatic gesture.  ‘Gerrout!’ was the word framed by the lips of the indignant Jacker.  Haddon gesticulated an angry protest, and McKnight’s gestures and grimaces were intended to convey a wish that he might be visited with unspeakable pains and penalties if he were not an entirely virtuous and grievously misjudged small boy.

‘It’s a lie,’ hissed Dick; ’it was down!

’You’re another—­it wasn’t!

‘’Twas, I tell you!’

’Twasn’t!

‘Gimme my knife; I don’t play with sharps an’ sneaks.’

‘Won’t!’

Gimme it!

All caution had been forgotten by this time, voices were shrill, and eyes spoke of battle.  Dick made at Jacker with a threatening fist, and Jacker, with an adroitness for which he was famous, met him with a clip on the shin from a copper-toed boot.  Then the lads grappled and commenced a vigorous and enthusiastic battle in the dirt and amongst the cobweb curtains.

In the schoolroom above Joel Ham, startled from a dreamy drowsiness, heard with wonder fierce voices under his feet, the sounds of blows and of bumping heads, and saw his scholars all distracted.  The master divined the truth in a very few minutes.

‘Cann, Peterson, Moonlight,’ he called, ‘follow me.’

He selected a favourite cane from the rack, and strutted out with the curious boys at his heels.

‘Now then, Peterson,’ he said, and he paused with artful preoccupation to double his cane over and under, and critically examine the end thereof, ’you are a very observant youth, Peterson; you will tell me how those boys got under the school.’

‘Dunno,’ said Peterson, assuming the expression of an aged cow.

The master seized him by the collar.

’Peterson, you have the faculty of divination.  I give you till I have counted ten to exert it.  I am counting, Peterson.’