The scow is already anchored in
the mill-dam, freighted with provisions for a three months' voyage.
I have a black flag in my pocket. Why, then, this cowardly delay?"
The two elder youths turned with a slight feeling of awe and shame
to gaze on the glowing cheeks, and high, haughty crest of their
youngest comrade--the bright, the beautiful Bromley Chitterlings.
Alas! that very moment of forgetfulness and mutual admiration was
fraught with danger. A thin, dyspeptic, half-starved tutor
approached.
"It is time to resume your studies, young gentlemen," he said, with
fiendish politeness.
They were his last words on earth.
"Down, tyrant!" screamed Chitterlings.
"Sic him--I mean, Sic semper tyrannis!" said the classical
Golightly.
A heavy blow on the head from a base-ball bat, and the rapid
projection of a base ball against his empty stomach, brought the
tutor a limp and lifeless mass to the ground. Golightly shuddered.
Let not my young readers blame him too rashly. It was his first
homicide.
"Search his pockets," said the practical Jenkins.
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