You know the saying about little pitchers, Dickey ?" "Well, I'm not going out, so you can talk or not as you like." "Oh, yes, you are going out, Dickey.

Politeness requires it, and I shall see that you maintain that delightful courteousness for which you are noted.

Now, Dickey!" West indicated the door with a nod and a smile.
Sproule bent his head over his book and growled a response that sounded anything but polite.

Then West, still smiling, seized the unobliging youth by the shoulders, pinioning his arms to his sides, and pushed him away from the table and toward the door.

Joel rescued the lamp at a critical moment, the chairs went over on to the floor, and a minute later Sproule was on the farther side of the bolted door, and West was adjusting his rumpled attire.
"I'll report you for this, Outfield West!" howled Sproule through the door, in a passion of resentment.
"Report away," answered West mockingly.
"And if I miss my Latin I'll tell why, too!" "Well, you'll miss it all right enough, unless you've changed mightily.
But, here, I'll shy your book through the transom." This was done, and the sound of ascending feet on the stairway reaching Sproule's ears at that moment, he grabbed his book and took himself off, muttering vengeance.
"Have you looked ?" asked West.
"Yes; it's not there.