I put up my hand, trying to get my teachers attention, but she never called on me. In those days, you had to have permission to speak, let alone get up and leave the room. So..... it happened. I spent the rest of the morning hoping no one would notice. At lunch time I threw my coat, mitts and hat on and just before I could make a clean (though dampish) get away towards home, the teacher called me over to my desk. As I remember, she was very nice about it, even though I denied any knowledge of how "that" got there or what "that" even was, and insisted it wasn't of my doing. I walked the 5 blocks home with a note for my Mother pinned to my jacket.
Yes, that is an ink bottle and dip pen on my desk! I can hardly believe it myself but when I started this sketch, I could picture the desks in our school. Beautiful hard wood, with Ink wells carved into the tops of the desk, chairs attached to the scrolled cast Iron base and legs, the seat that tilted up and down, like in the movie theatre. (The teacher would hand out blotter paper every morning, you had to make the 1 sheet last all day:)