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"I should say so," nodded Mr. George approvingly.

"Well, there was a chivoo. They held me on their shoulders and I smashed the Principal's windows."

You could see by Jack's face how he had enjoyed breaking those windows.

"What with?" asked Mr. George.

"With a wooden gym club."

"Wanton destruction of property. Prrrh!"

"The boss was frightened. But he raised Old Harry and said he'd go up to town and report us to the council. So he ordered the trap right away, to catch the nine o'clock train. And I had to take the trap round to the front door—"

Here Jack paused. He didn't want to go further.

"And so—" said Mr. George.

"And so, when I stepped away from the horse's head, the Principal jerked the reins in the nasty way he had and the horse bolted."

"Couldn't the fellow pull her up? Man in a position like that ought to know how to drive a horse."

Jack watched their faces closely. On his own face was that subtle look of innocence, which veiled a look of life-and-death defiance.

"The reins weren't buckled into the bit, sir. No man could drive that horse," he said quietly.