between two aisles of desks to discover the cause of the commotion that seemed to revolve around a six-foot boy who stood importantly in its midst.
"Perry's been telling us about the home room plans," said a voice; "about the dances, and the tournaments and the clam-bakes."
"And what?" the teacher asked.
"Clam-bakes, sir."
"King said that?" Mr. Quirk seemed struggling with something that became a queer sort of strangling cough. "So King said" Again he was seized with that strange attack and went up the room to his desk holding a handkerchief to his face.
"English teachers," Perry said in a guarded voice, "get that way sometimes. It's a disease of the vocal cords from—from practicing too much reading. It's very hard on them."
Perry's conception of the home room swept joyously through the school. All that afternoon as classes gathered for periods it was the rosy topic of conversation. Perry, chuckling, told himself that he had originated just about the greatest hoax ever.
But the deception was short-lived. The hall bell, instead of ringing for the last period of the day, clanged the brassy summons that meant special assembly. The corridors grew noisy with
