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Chapter XXI
OLD DUT GIVES WISE COUNSEL
Boys attired in their best tip-toed about in creaking new shoes,
resplendently polished for the occasion. Every boy had a flower
in his upper button-hole.
Exhibition Hall, usually so bare and barnlike in appearance, was
now a jungle of potted plants and ferns, with clumps of bright
flowers everywhere.
Over the broad stage hung a fourteen-foot American flag. Flags
of other nations, in smaller bits of bunting, trailed off on either
side. The piano stood before the center of the stage, down on
the floor. Grouped near were the music stands and chairs for
other members of the orchestra on this festal day of graduation.
Here and there women teachers still superintended little squads
of girls who were putting on the last bright touches of ornamentation.
One teacher was drilling a dozen much-dressed-up boys of the
seventh grade, who were to act as ushers on this great Thursday
afternoon. It was half an hour before the doors were to be opened.
Curiously enough, there were no eighth-grade pupils present.
These were assembled in Room 1, on the floor below, seated behind
the desks that had been theirs during the school year.
"Young ladies and gentlemen," began Old Dut, rapping on his desk
and rising.
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