“I do, usually,” answered Birdie. “Sometimes I forget.”
“For the rest of the term you are on probation,” continued the instructor, severely. “At the next faculty meeting I shall report your case and ask that a notice be sent to your parents that unless you can come back to live an orderly, quiet life in the dormitory, we do not wish you back at all.”
Overcome by a deep sense of injury, Birdie next morning confided his troubles to Sam. In consequence, feeling that the fuel for Mr. Alsop’s ire must have been provided by the ball game in which they had had a share, and grasping at a vague hope of bettering the condition of the luckless boy, Sam and Taylor visited the teacher and tried to deflect to themselves some share of Birdie’s punishment.
“Which of you was the one that forced himself into Fowle’s room and broke his fire brush?”
“Neither of us,” said Sam.
“But you both played with bat and ball in his room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you may both write out for me before Saturday night ten pages of French. I ought to put you on probation, but I will reduce the punishment in consideration of your confession.”
Sam and Taylor withdrew in gloom. “That’s what you get for being honest!” groaned Taylor. “Write out ten pages! That means five hours’ work!”
“And we didn’t help Fowle any, either,” commented Sam, sadly.