The cheers
were given lustily, with half a dozen tigers.
"Master Dalzell," replied Old Dut, "coming from the boy who, as
the records show, has been disciplined more frequently in the
last year than any other pupil present, I consider that a tribute
indeed."
"I meant it," said Dan simply.
Later the pupils of the five upper grades marched solemnly into
Exhibition Hall, the appearance of the graduating class being
greeted with applause by enthusiastic relatives and friends.
The orchestra played triumphal marches until all had marched in
to their seats.
Then the orchestra paused, only to begin a moment later with the
first measures of the opening chorus, sung by more than three
hundred youthful voices. It was the usual medley, contributed
by pupils who could really sing and by others who really couldn't.
An undertone of varying discord ran along under the truer melody.
Then, after his name had been called by the principal, Dick Prescott
rose. Very stiff and starched, and painfully conscious of the
creaking of his shoes as he went forward in that awesome stillness,
Dick ascended the platform, advanced to the front center, made
an elaborate bow, and then, in an almost scared voice he began
to tell the assembled hundreds of grown-ups why they were there
as though they didn't know already.
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