Bristow! You're acting like a rowdy!"

Principal Cantwell uttered the order sharply.

Fully half the student body had gathered in the big assembly room
at the High School. It was still five minutes before the opening
hour, and there had been a buzz of conversation through the room.

The principal's voice was so loud that it carried through the
room. Almost at once the buzz ceased as the students turned to
see what was happening. Bristow had been skylarking a bit.
Undoubtedly he had been more boisterous with one of the other
fellows in the assembly room than good taste sanctioned.

Just as naturally, however, Bristow resented the style of rebuke
from authority. The boy wheeled about, glaring at the principal.

"Go to your seat, sir!" thundered the principal, his face turning
ghastly white from his suppressed rage.

Bristow wheeled once more, in sullen silence, to go to his seat.
Certainly he did not move fast, but he was obeying.

"You mutinous young rascal, that won't do!" shot out from the
principal's lips. In another instant Mr. Cantwell was crossing
the floor rapidly toward the slow-moving offender.

"Get to your seat quickly, or go in pieces!" rasped out the angry
principal.

Seizing the boy from behind by both shoulders, Mr. Cantwell gave
him a violent push. Bristow tripped, falling across a desk and
cutting a gash in his forehead.

In an instant the boy was up and wheeled about, blood dripping
from the cut, but something worse flashing in his eyes.

The principal was at once terrified. He was not naturally courageous,
but he had a dangerous temper, and he now realized to what it
had brought him. Mr. Cantwell was trying to frame a lame apology
when an indignant voice cried out:

"_Coward_!"

His face livid, the principal turned.

"Who said that?" he demanded, at white heat.

"_I_ did!" admitted Purcell, promptly. Abner Cantwell sprang at
this second "offender." But Purcell threw himself quickly into
an attitude of defence.

"Keep your hands off of me, Mr. Cantwell, or I'll knock you down!"

"Good!"

"That's the talk!"

The excited High School boys came crowding about the principal
and Purcell. Bristow was swept back by the surging throng.
He had his handkerchief out, now, at his forehead.

"Some of you young men seize Purcell and march him to my private
office," commanded the principal, who had lacked the courage to
strike at the young fellow who stood waiting for him.

"Wi