llows had better not try anything too frisky. If
they do, they'll give us a chance to make trouble for 'em!"

It seemed as though the full count of the student body, boys and
girls, had assembled in the yard this morning.

All was gay noise until the pair of cronies appeared at the gate.

Then, swiftly, all the noise died out.

One could hardly hear even a breath being drawn.

The silence was complete as Bert and Bayliss, now very white,
stepped into the yard.

Though not a voice sounded, every eye was turned on the white-faced
pair.

Bert Dodge's lips moved. He tried to summon us control enough
of his tongue to utter some indifferent remark to his companion.

But the sound simply wouldn't come.

After a walk that was only a few yards in distance, yet seemed
only less than a mile in length, the humiliated pair rushed up
the steps, opened the great door and let themselves in.

At recess neither Bayliss nor Dodge had the courage to appear
outside. As they left school that afternoon they were treated
to the same dose of "silence."

Tuesday morning neither Dodge nor Bayliss showed up at all at
school.

On Thursday morning High School readers of "The Blade" were greatly
interested in the following personal paragraph:

_"Bayliss and Dodge, both of the senior class, High School, have
severed their connection with that institution. It is understood
that the young men are going elsewhere in search of better educational
facilities."_

That was all, but it told the boys and girls at Gridley High School
all that they needed to know.

"That is the very last gasp of the 'sorehead' movement," grinned
Tom Reade, in talking it over with Dan Dalzell.

"Well, they did the whole trick for themselves," rejoined Dan.
"No one else touched them, or pushed them. They took all the
rope they wanted---and hanged themselves. Now, that pair will
probably feel cheap every time they have to come back to Gridley
and walk the streets."

"All they had to do was to be decent fellows," mused Tom. "But
the strain of decency proved to be too severe for them."

In the High School yard that Thursday morning there was one unending
strain of rejoicing.

Some of the other late "soreheads," who had escaped the full meed
of humiliation---Davis, Cassleigh, Fremont, Porter and others---actually
sighed with relief when they found what they had escaped in the
way of ridicule and contempt.

"The whole thing teaches us one principle,"