"It wasn't my fault—you shoved me into it," answered Dave.
"It was your fault, and you'll pay the damages. That statue was worth at least fifty dollars. And you'll take your thrashing, too," added the teacher, vindictively.
"Don't you dare to hit Dave," cried Phil, "or me either, Mr. Haskers. You can punish us, but you can't whip us, so there!"
"Ha! Both of you defy me, eh?"
"We are not to be whipped, and that settles it," said Dave.
"I presume you think, because you are two to one, you can get the better of me," sneered the teacher. He knew the two boys were strong, and he did not wish to risk a fight with them.
"I don't want to get the better of anybody, but I am not going to let you whip me," answered Dave, stubbornly.
"If you are willing, we'll leave the matter to Doctor Clay," suggested the shipowner's son.
"You come with me," returned the teacher abruptly, and led the way out of the office to a small room used for the storage of schoolbooks and writing-pads. The room had nothing but a big closet and had a small window, set up high in the wall. The shelves on the walls were full of new books and on the floor were piles of volumes that had seen better days.
