of the Shorter Catechism, he was put in the infant class, along with gorgeously appareled little girls of six and seven, and squirming little boys who still wore dresses and sailor collars.
This was too much for Lonely O'Malley, who had nursed visions of standing up beside the Superintendent, and eloquently telling the entire school the full and truthful history of his conversion, and the depths of crimes and wrong-doing from which he had been rescued. During this recountal, he thought, he would sway the multitude with the force of his eloquence, and little girls would gasp and cry to be taken out, and little boys would wag their heads knowingly at each iniquitous detail from the pages of his past life, and after that all the teachers would shake hands with him, and the prettiest one of them all would invite him home to tea, where they would have cheese-cakes and hot muffins and pop-overs and strawberry jam in abundance.
That was the vision which had floated before the self-effacing Lonely O'Malley's eyes; when, in reality, he found himself thrust down into the lowest depths of the lowest class,
