gossip. Let them stand right up before us, in token of
protest, here--and--now! or otherwise hold their peace!"

So well trained to the authority of schoolmasters were the students of
Plato, including Carl Ericson, that they sat as uncomfortable as
though they were individually accused by the plump pedant who was
weakly glaring at them, his round, childish hand clutching the sloping
edge of the oak reading-stand, his sack-coat wrinkled at the shoulders
and sagging back from his low linen collar. Carl sighted back at
Frazer's pew, hoping that he would miraculously be there to confront
the dictator. The pew was empty as before. There was no one to protest
against the ousting of Frazer for saying what he believed true.

Then Carl was agitated to find that Carl Ericson, a back-yard boy, was
going to rise and disturb all these learned people. He was frightened
again. But he stood up, faced the president, affectedly folded his
arms, hastily unfolded them and put his hands in his pockets, one foot
before the other, one shoulder humped a little higher than the other.

The whole audience was staring at him. He did not dare peep at them,
but he could hear their murmur of amazement. Now that he was up he
rather enjoyed defying them.

"Well, young man, so you are going to let us know how to run Plato,"
teetered the president. "I'm sure everybody will feel much obliged to
you."

Carl did not move. He was aware of Genie Linderbeck rising, to his
left. No one else was up, but, with Genie's frail adherence, Carl
suddenly desired to rouse every one to stand for Frazer and freedom.
He glanced over at the one man whom he could always trust to follow
him--the Turk. A tiny movement of Carl's lips, a covert up-toss of his
head, warned the Turk to rise now.

The Turk moved, started to rise, slowly, as though under force. He
looked rather shamefaced. He uncrossed his legs and put his hands on
the pew, on either side of his legs.

"Shame!" trembled a girl's voice in the junior section.

"Sit down!" two or three voices of men softly snarled, with a rustle
of mob-muttering.

The Turk hastily crossed his legs and slumped down in his seat. Carl
frowned at him imploringly, then angrily. He felt spiritually naked to
ask support so publicly, but he _had_ to get the Turk up. The Turk
shook his head beseechingly. Carl could fancy him grunting, "Aw,
thunder! I'd like to stand up, but I don't want to be a goat."

Another man rose. "I'll be da