Palmer Davis was standing up
to read a paragraph when the class first heard something.
"Drip! drip! drip!" went a soft little tapping noise.
Miss Mason heard it, too. She thought the pipes in the cloak room had
sprung a leak perhaps.
"Teacher!" Tim Roon's hand waved wildly. "Teacher, your desk's
leaking!"
Tim, for once, did not have a guilty conscience in connection with a
piece of mischief, and he was delighted to have an opportunity to call
attention to the fact.
"It's leaking all over!" he volunteered.
"That will do, Tim," said Miss Mason calmly.
She raised her desk lid and peered in. Then she closed it and surveyed
her class. Bobby could feel his face getting red. He looked down at
his book.
"Robert Blossom," said Miss Mason, "come here to me."
Bobby went up the aisle which seemed at least two miles long. Miss
Mason did not ask him if he had put the snow in her desk. She merely
raised the lid again and pointed to the half melted snowballs.
"Take those out," she commanded coldly. "Throw them out of the window.
Then get a cloth and dry the inside of this desk and mop up the floor.
And you may stay an hour after school to-night."
Bobby had to make a separate trip for each mushy snowball, the eyes of
the class following him from the desk to the window and back again with
maddening interest. When he came back from a trip to the cellar to get
a cloth from the janitor, for Miss Mason refused to help him, and began
to dry the inside of the desk, they snickered audibly; but when he got
down on his hands and knees and mopped the floor under the desk, they
seemed to think it was the biggest kind of joke.
Pages:
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78