his cap on his head
and literally hurled himself across the room and through the door,
leaving the others to gaze at each other amazedly.

"Well, what's wrong with him?" gasped Tim.

"He's got something in that crazy head of his," answered Tom uneasily.
"Don't let him start that petition business, Tim, will you? I don't want
to seem mean or anything, you know, but I'd rather let things be as they
are. Come up again, fellows. And maybe today's showing doesn't mean
anything, Tim, just as you said. We'll hope so, eh?"

Faculty conferences took place on Monday evenings at half-past seven in
the faculty meeting room in Main Hall. At such times, with the
principal, Mr. Fernald, presiding at the end of the long table and all
members of the faculty able to attend ranged on either side, all and
sundry matters pertaining to the government of the school came up for
discussion. The business portion of the conference was followed by an
informal half-hour of talk, during which many of the students were
subjected to a dissection that would have surprised them vastly had they
known of it. Tonight, however, the executive session was still going on
and Mr. Brooke, the secretary, was still making notes at the foot of the
table, when there came a rap at the door.

Mr. Fernald nodded to Mr. Brooke. "See who it is, please," he said.

The secretary laid down his pen very carefully on the clean square of
blue blotting-paper before him, pushed back his chair and opened the
door a few inches. When he turned around his countenance expressed a
sort of pained disapprobation. "It's Byrd, sir," announced Mr. Brooke in
a low, shocked voice. "He says he'd like to speak to you."

"Byrd? Well, tell him I'm busy," replied the principal. "If he wants to
wait I'll see him after the conference. Although"--Mr. Fernald glanced
at the clock--"it's only four minutes to eight and he'd better get back
to his room. Tell him I'll see him at the Cottage at nine, Mr. Brooke.
As I was saying," and Mr. Fernald faced the company again, "I think it
would be well to arrange for a longer course this Winter. Last year, as
you'll recall---- Eh? What is it?"

"He says, sir, that it's a faculty matter," announced Mr. Brooke
deprecatingly, "and asks to be allowed to come in for a minute."

"A faculty matter? Well, in that case----All right, Mr. Brooke, tell him
to come in."

As Amy entered eight pairs of eyes regarded him curiously; nine, in
fact, for Mr. Brooke, closi