as he debated this, Perry and Hammond came into the room expressing their distaste for mud in general and one street of Northfield in particular.
"I was just telling Praska that he ought to do something about it," Littlefield broke in. "Look at me!"
"Look at me," said Hammond in disgust.
"Oh, rats," said Perry. "What can Praska do? What can any of us do? It's up to the City Council, and a fat lot they'd care about what some high school students thought."
"How do you know they wouldn't care?" Praska asked absently. The germ of an idea was in his mind, but even as he tried to grasp it, it fled and left him bewildered. Yet, in that instant, he knew that he had seen the way, had lost it—and would see it again.
At noon he left the school building and stood looking at the street. Here and there some of the pools were dry; but the deep ruts still held water, and the mud had been tracked in every direction. He had never noticed before that the street itself spoiled the imposing appearance of the school. "Sloppy," he said, and went back to the building and up the stairs to Room 13. Presently, at his desk, he began to write. Twice he tore up paper, and began again. At length he
