When it comes to that, the best man, not exactly in the moral sense, but
rather in the material, and more especially the muscular point of view,
is very apt to have the best of it, irrespectively of the merits of the
case. So it happened now. The unfortunate schoolmaster found himself
taking the measure of the sanded floor, amidst the general uproar of the
school. From that moment his ferule was broken, and the school-committee
very soon had a vacancy to fill.
Master Pigeon, the successor of Master Weeks, was of better stature, but
loosely put together, and slender-limbed. A dreadfully nervous kind of
man he was, walked on tiptoe, started at sudden noises, was distressed
when he heard a whisper, had a quick, suspicious look, and was always
saying, "Hush?" and putting his hands to his ears. The boys were not
long in finding out this nervous weakness, of course. In less than a week
a regular system of torments was inaugurated, full of the most diabolical
malice and ingenuity. The exercises of the conspirators varied from day
to day, but consisted mainly of foot-scraping, solos on the slate-pencil,
(making it screech on the slate,) falling of heavy books, attacks of
coughing, banging of desk-lids, boot-creaking, with sounds as of drawing
a cork from time to time, followed by suppressed chuckles.
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