Mr. Bright took a small piece of blank paper from his table, a
rectangular slip about four inches long by two inches wide, cut
expressly for the purpose for which he proceeded to use it, and went
down to the desk where "Dodd" sat sulking and defiant.

"Please write your name and age on this slip of paper," he said to the
boy.

"I can't write!" grumbled "Dodd," with a surly sneer and a wag of his
head.

"I see! You have no pencil," returned Mr. Bright. "You can use mine,"
and he slipped that article into "Dodd's" hand as he spoke.

As soon as he had done this, he went to the rear part of the room and
began looking over some work upon the blackboard. He did not look
toward the boy to see if he obeyed, but his ears were on the alert.

For a little while "Dodd" sat unmoved, and made no sign that he
intended to write at all, but as Mr. Bright kept working at the board,
the boy gradually relaxed his unyielding mood, and after a few minutes
wrote his name in a very neat hand. He even added a little flourish in
one corner of the paper.

Mr. Bright heard the pencil moving on the desk and his blood ran
quicker in his veins, though he showed no outward sign of the fact. He
felt that in the first crossing of swords he had won. That was all.
He heard the pencil drop upon the floor, where "Dodd" let it lie. But
he still devoted himself to his work on the board. He knew that the
name was written. It was all he had asked.