The boys were not long in finding out this nervous weakness, of course.

In less than a week a regular system of torments was inaugurated, full of the most diabolical malice and ingenuity.

The exercises of the conspirators varied from day to day, but consisted mainly of foot-scraping, solos on the slate-pencil, (making it screech on the slate,) falling of heavy books, attacks of coughing, banging of desk-lids, boot-creaking, with sounds as of drawing a cork from time to time, followed by suppressed chuckles.
Master Pigeon grew worse and worse under these inflictions.

The rascally boys always had an excuse for any one trick they were caught at.

"Could n' help coughin', Sir." "Slipped out o' m' han', Sir." "Did n' go to, Sir." "Did n' dew't o' purpose, Sir." And so on,--always the best of reasons for the most outrageous of behavior.