the carpenter. The room was beginning to fill with students, and he went back to his desk; all the high hopes of the night before vanished. Presently he looked up to find Littlefield standing beside him.
"How's the secret?" the end asked. His good humor had returned. The mud of the street in front of the school had dried, the water was gone; and as the condition that had aroused his antagonism was no longer before his eyes his resentment had evaporated. It would not uncover itself again until the next storm, and then it would disappear again with dry weather.
"I was going to ask the school to send a petition to the City Hall," Praska told him, "but it's off."
"Why?" Littlefield was only mildly interested.
"Mr. Banning thinks petitions don't amount to much."
"Well" Littlefield was moving away.
"He usually suggests something better, doesn't he?"
Suddenly Praska sat bolt upright. By and by the discouragement that marked him began to melt away. The first period bell rang, but instead of following the crowd to the door he walked to Mr. Banning's desk.
"We have an assembly period to-morrow," he
