I fetched a broom and swept them out. The janitor came along and asked
what was the matter.

"Damn the matter! Where in thunder are the fools who keep grasshoppers
in bed! You pumpkinhead!"

The janitor answered by explaining that he did not know anything about
it. "You can't get away with Did-not-know," and I followed this
thundering by throwing away the broom. The awe-struck janitor shouldered
the broom and faded away.

At once I summoned three of the students to my room as the
"representatives," and six of them reported. Six or ten made no
difference; I rolled up the sleeves of my night-shirt and fired away.

"What do you mean by putting grasshoppers in my bed!"

"Grasshoppers? What are they?" said one in front, in a tone disgustingly
quiet. In this school, not only the principal, but the students as well,
were addicted to using twisted-round expressions.

"Don't know grasshoppers! You shall see!" To my chagrin, there was none;
I had swept them all out. I called the janitor again and told him to
fetch those grasshoppers he had taken away. The janitor said he had
thrown them into the garbage box, but that he would pick them out again.
"Yes, hurry up," I said, and he sped away. After a while he brought back
about ten grasshoppers on a white paper, remarking:

"I'm sorry, Sir. It's dark outside and I can't find out more. I'll find
some tomorrow." All fools here, down to the janitor. I showed one