class the Theorem assigned you.”

“Yes, sir.” Westby turned and took up the pointer.

“We have here,” he began, “the two triangles I C U and J A Y—with the
angle I C U of the one equal to the angle J A Y of the other.” The class
tittered; Westby went on glibly, bending the lath-like pointer between
his hands: “Let us now erect the angle K I D, equal to the angle I C U;
then the angle K I D will also be equal to the angle J A Y—things equal
to the same thing are equal to each other.”

Westby stopped to turn a surprised, questioning look upon the snickering
class.

“Yes, that will do for that demonstration,” said Irving. He rose from
his seat; his lips were trembling, and the laughter of the class ceased.
“You may leave the room—for your insolence—at once!”

He had meant to be dignified and calm, but his anger had rushed to the
surface, and his words came in a voice that suggested he was on the
verge of tears.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I don’t think I quite understand,” said
Westby suavely.

“You understand well enough. I ask you to leave the room.”

“I’m afraid, Mr. Upton, that my little pleasantries—usually considered
harmless—do not commend themselves to you. But you hurt my feelings very
much, sir, when you apply such a harsh word as insolence to my whimsical