How strange that henceforth little White was the champion of Jean
Poquelin! In season and out of season--wherever a word was uttered
against him--the Secretary, with a quiet, aggressive force that
instantly arrested gossip, demanded upon what authority the statement or
conjecture was made; but as he did not condescend to explain his own
remarkable attitude, it was not long before the disrelish and suspicion
which had followed Jean Poquelin so many years fell also upon him.
It was only the next evening but one after his adventure that he made
himself a source of sullen amazement to one hundred and fifty boys, by
ordering them to desist from their wanton hallooing. Old Jean Poquelin,
standing and shaking his cane, rolling out his long-drawn maledictions,
paused and stared, then gave the Secretary a courteous bow and started
on. The boys, save one, from pure astonishment, ceased but a ruffianly
little Irish lad, more daring than any had yet been, threw a big
hurtling clod, that struck old Poquelin between the shoulders and burst
like a shell.
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