Bristow was swept back by the surging throng.
He had his handkerchief out, now, at his forehead.
"Some of you young men seize Purcell and march him to my private office," commanded the principal, who had lacked the courage to strike at the young fellow who stood waiting for him.
"Will you fight Purcell like a man, if we do ?" asked another voice.
"Run Cantwell out! He isn't fit to be here!" yelled another voice.
Mr.Drake, the only submaster in the room at the time, was pushing his way forward.
"Calmly, boys, calmly," called Drake.

"Don't do anything you'll be sorry for afterwards." But those who were more hot headed were still pressing forward.
It looked as though they were trying to get close enough to lay hands on the now trembling principal.
Under the circumstances, Mr.Cantwell did the very worst thing he could have done.

He pushed three or four boys aside and made a break across the assembly room.

Once out in the corridor, the principal dove into his private office, turning the key after him.

Secure, now, and his anger once more boiling up, Mr.Cantwell rang his telephone bell.