He spluttered, the rounded sentence on his lips died down to measly
insignificance, he stammered, stumbled, and sat down with a red face,
his eyes darting rage at poor Bart.

Some of the boys in the crowd "caught on" to the situation, and giggled
and made significant remarks, but the chairman on the platform covered
the colonel's confusion by announcing the national anthem, and Bart
effected his escape.

"He'll never forgive me, now," decided Bart. "The damage to the statue
was bad enough, but breaking him up as my appearance did just now is the
limit. I hope Mr. Leslie doesn't hear of my unfortunate escapade, and I
hope the colonel doesn't undertake to hurt my chances. He's an
irrational firebrand when he takes a dislike to anybody, and Mrs.
Harrington is worse."

Bart had a foundation for this double criticism. The colonel was a
pompous, self-important individual, intensely selfish and domineering,
and his wife a thoughtless devotee of fashion and society.

Mrs. Stirling did some very fine fancy work, and a few months previous
to the opening of this tale the magnate's wife had asked as a favor
that she embroider some handkerchiefs as a wedding present for a
relative.

She never visited the Stirling house but she left some sting or sneer of
affected superiority behind her, and when the work was done took it
home, and the next day sent a note complaining that the handkerchiefs
were spoiled, inclosing about one-fifth the usual compensation for such
labor. But she did not return the handkerchiefs.