It angered me.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Daniel Arker!" I cried. "The idea of
a boy that comes of good church folks like yours talking that way about
one of the prophets! I'll dally with you no more. The boys shall see
you as you are. It's books!"
I threw the window open and shouted, "Books!" I pounded on the ledge
with my ruler and shouted, "Books!"
For a minute the boys feigned not to see me, and played the harder,
trying to drown my cries in their yells to the runners on the bases. But
the girls took up my call and came trooping schoolward. The little boys
began to break away, and soon the school resounded with the shuffle of
feet, the clatter of empty dinner pails, and the banging of desk tops.
"It's books, William; hurry," I cried to the last laggard.
I knew this boy well. He was the biggest in the school, and to hold his
position among his fellows he had to defy me. As long as I watched him,
he must lag. The louder I called, the deafer he must seem to be. His
post was hemmed around by tradition.
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