The High School Pitcher Part 2

The little freshman carefully deposited his fifteen pennies on the desk. They were out of the roll. d.i.c.k & Co. had cautioned each investor to break the wrapper, and count the pennies before moving on.

Two of the seniors presently came in. They settled with pennies.

Then came Laura Bentley and Belle Meade. Their pennies were laid on the princ.i.p.al's desk.

"Why, all pennies, so far!" exclaimed Mr. Cantwell. "I trust not many will bring coins of such low denomination."

A look of bland innocence rested on Laura's face.

"Why, sir," she remarked, "you asked us, Friday, to bring pennies.

"Did I?" demanded the princ.i.p.al, a look of astonishment on his face.

"Why, yes, sir," Belle Meade rattled on. "Don't you remember?

You laughed, Mr. Cantwell, and asked each one of us to bring fifteen pennies to-day."

"I had forgotten that, Miss Meade," returned the princ.i.p.al. Then, as the soph.o.m.ore young ladies turned away, a look of suspicion began to settle on the princ.i.p.al's face. Nor did that look lessen any when the next six students to come in each carried pennies to the desk.

Twenty more brought pennies. By this time there was a stern look on the princ.i.p.al's white face.

During the next few minutes after that only two or three came in, for d.i.c.k had thought of a new aspect to the joke. He had sent messengers scurrying out through the street approaches with this message:

"We're not required to be in the a.s.sembly room until eight o'clock.

Let's all wait until two minutes of eight---then go in a throng."

So the princ.i.p.al had a chance to catch up with his counting as the minutes pa.s.sed. So busy was he, however, that it didn't quite occur to him to wonder why so few of the student body had as yet come in.

Then, at 7.58, a resounding tread was heard on the stairs leading up from the bas.e.m.e.nt locker rooms. Some two hundred boys and girls were coming up in two separate throngs. They were still coming when the a.s.sembly bell rang. As fast as any entered they made their way, with solemn faces, to the desk on the platform.

As Mr. Cantwell had feared, the pennies still continued to pour in upon him. Suddenly the princ.i.p.al struck his desk sharply with a ruler, then leaped to his feet. His face was whiter than ever.

It was plain that the man was struggling to control himself against an outburst of wrath. He even forced a smile to his face a sort of smile that had no mirth in it.

"Young ladies and young gentlemen," Mr. Cantwell rasped out, sharply, "some of you have seen fit to plan a joke against me, and to carry it out most audaciously. It's a good joke, and I admit that it's on me. But it has been carried far enough. If you please---_no more pennies_!"

"But pennies are all I happen to have, sir," protested Dave Darrin, stepping forward. "Don't you want me to pay you for the music, sir?"

"Oh, well," replied the princ.i.p.al, with a sigh, "I'll take 'em, then."

As d.i.c.k & Co. had disposed of every one of their little rolls of fifteen, few of the students were unprovided with pennies.

So the copper stream continued to pour in. Mr. Cantwell could have called any or all of his submasters and teachers to his aid.

He thought of it presently, as his fingers ached from handling all the pennies.

"Mr. Drake, will you come to the desk?" he called.

So Submaster Drake came to the platform, drawing a chair up beside the princ.i.p.al's. But Mr. Cantwell still felt obliged to do the counting, as he was responsible for the correctness of the sums.

So all Mr. Drake could do was check off the names as the princ.i.p.al called them.

Faster and faster poured the copper stream now. Mr. Cantwell, the cords sticking out on his forehead, and a clammy dew bespangling his white face, counted on in consuming anger. Every now and then he turned to dump two or three handfuls of counted pennies into his open satchel.

Gathered all around the desk was a throng of students, waiting to pay. Beyond this throng, safely out of range of vision, other students gathered in groups and chuckled almost silently.

Clatter! By an unintentional move of one arm Mr. Cantwell swept fully a hundred pennies off on to the floor. He leaped up, flushed and angry.

"Will the young---gentlemen---aid me in recovering the coins that went on the floor?" he asked.

There was promptly a great scurrying and searching. The princ.i.p.al surely felt hara.s.sed that morning. It was ten minutes of nine when the last student had paid and had had his name checked off.

Mr. Cantwell was at the boiling point of wrath.

Just as the princ.i.p.al was putting the last of the coins into his satchel Mr. Drake leaned over to whisper:

"May I make a suggestion, sir?"

"Certainly," replied the princ.i.p.al coldly. "Yet I trust, Mr. Drake, that it won't be a suggestion for an easy way of acc.u.mulating more pennies than I already have."

"I think, if I were you, sir, I should pay no heed to this joke-----"

"Joke?" hissed the princ.i.p.al under his breath. "It's an outrage!"

"But intended only as a piece of pleasantry, sir. So I think it will pa.s.s off much better if you don't allow the students to see that they have annoyed you."

"Why? Do the students _want_ to annoy me?" demanded Mr. Cantwell, in another angry undertone.

"I wouldn't say that," replied Mr. Drake. "But, if the young men discover that you are easily teased, they are sufficiently mischief-loving to try other jokes on you."

"Then a good friend of theirs would advise them not to do so,"

replied Mr. Cantwell, with a snap of his jaws.

That closed the matter for the time being. The first recitation period of the morning had been lost, but now the students, most of them finding difficulty in suppressing their chuckles, were sent to the various cla.s.s rooms.

Before recess came, the princ.i.p.al having a period free from cla.s.s work, silently escaped from the building, carrying the thirty-six hundred pennies to the bank. As that number of pennies weighs something more than twenty-three pounds, the load was not a light one.

"I have a big lot of pennies here that I want to deposit," he explained to the receiving teller.

"How many?" asked the teller.

"Thirty-six hundred," replied Mr. Cantwell.

"Are they counted and done up into rolls of fifty, with your name on each roll?" asked the teller.

"Why---er---no," stammered the princ.i.p.al. "They're just loose---in bulk, I mean."

"Then I'm very sorry, Mr. Cantwell, but we can't receive them in that shape, sir. They will have to be counted and wrapped, and your name written on each roll."

"Do you mean to say that I must take these pennies home, count them all---again!---and then wrap them and sign the wrappers."

"I'm sorry, but you, or some one will have to do it, Mr. Cantwell."

Then and there the princ.i.p.al exploded. One man there was in the bank at that moment who was obliged to turn his head away and stifle back the laughter. That man was Mr. Pollock, of "The Blade."

Pollock knew now what d.i.c.k & Co. had wanted of such a cargo of pennies.