There is a
gracious bigness about the Englishman forgetting the cold respect with
which he has been treated and offering a mailed hand in farewell. But
Perry buttons his Prince Albert, waves his brown derby under the very
vizor of the departing guest, rests easily on his right leg, bends the
left knee slightly, folds his arms and speaks. "Burned Marmion's swarthy
cheek like fire." Little wonder! If Perry Thomas spoke to me like that
I'd cleave his head. But Marmion spares proud Angus. He beards the
Doogulus in his hall. He dashes the rowels in his steed, dodges the
portcullis, and gallops over the draw. And Perry Thomas is left standing
with folded arms, gazing through the chalk-dust haze into the solemn,
wide open eyes of the children of Six Stars.
[Illustration: Perry Thomas stands confronting the English warrior.]
IX
Perry's head was close to mine, over my table. The school was studying
louder than ever, and our voices could not have gone beyond the
platform; but my friend was cautious. The scholars might well have
thought that the whispered conference boded them ill; that the new
teacher and the old teacher were hatching some conspiracy against them.
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