He was in a position where he could not answer back, any more than a private in the army can give back talk to his captain. Mr. Shrugg had the whip hand, and he knew it. His petty nature delighted in punishing the lad who had unwittingly affronted his dignity. It is probable that Garry might have had some redress had he appealed to Mr. Allen, the principal, and laid the matter before him. He could have easily been backed up by the testimony of his fellow classmates, who shared his indignation at the way he was treated. "It's a shame the way that fellow is treating you," snorted Bill on one occasion when Trompet Shrugg had been especially tyrannical "He isn't fit to be a teacher. He ought to be thrown out of the school on his head." "I wish that football had been filled with pig iron when it struck him!" declared Ted, with a vicious gritting of his teeth. "You ought to carry the matter up to Mr. Allen," suggested Rooster. "Nothing like that," returned Garry gloomily. "I won't peach on him. But I wish that he was a fellow of my size and age so that I could get a crack at him." Trompet Shrugg learned that Garry had been chosen a member of the scrub football team. This was his opportunity. He had not a drop of sporting blood in his veins anyway, and regarded athletic games as a waste of time. He had an especial antipathy to football, which had been strengthened by his experience on that fateful day in the open lot. He knew that the practice took place after the lessons of the day were ended. Then the boys were off with a whoop that was discord to his ears. What could be a sweeter morsel under his tongue than to keep Garry from the game in which he delighted? So when he had caused Garry to fail on some unfair question he did not content himself with a sarcastic remark, but gave the boy as a penalty long compositions to write that detained him in the building after hours. He knew that he could not do this too often without bringing on an investigation of his methods. But he did it as often as he dared, and on several occasions Garry sat within toiling and listening to the shouts that came from his companions on the field. More than once Garry was goaded to such desperation that he came almost to the point of open defiance. But by a great effort he mastered his anger. A flare-up would do him more injury than benefit. He knew that in such cases the teacher was supposed to be right and the pupil wrong. The discipline of the school had to be maintained at all hazards. For the time he was the under dog. But even at that he comforted himself by the adage that every dog has his day. When would his day come? When he did get out on the field after some such exasperating session he would find the practice half over or nearing its end. His place would have been taken by some one else, and at times he could not get into the game at all.