“I’m not quite ready to tell yet, but it will be something rather new, I think. Now let’s get at this Latin. We don’t want to give him an excuse to bullyrag us any more.”
“No, that’s right.”
While his students were working hard, and denying themselves well-earned recreation, in order to complete the unjustly imposed tasks, Professor Skeel was in his study, poring over the printed exercises turned in.
“I can’t seem to identify any of the hands with the one that made up the insulting and threatening letter,” he murmured, as he stared at the papers. “I thought surely Fairfield was the guilty one, and yet his printing is totally different from that in the note.”
He compared the two papers—Tom’s and the letter—and shook his head.
“Unless Fairfield purposely disguised his print this time!” the professor exclaimed. “I wonder if that could be it? I must get another sample from him—a natural sample. Let me see; how can I do it?” and he fell to scheming.
“There’s that Bennington, too,” continued the professor. “I must put the screws on him more strongly before he begins to suspect. And if I should be found out——”
The professor looked guiltily at the windows as if to make sure the shades were drawn, and, finding that they were, he listened as if fearful of hearing approaching footsteps.
He rather hoped his class would not be prepared in the unusual task he had set for them, and he was not disappointed. Few students could have prepared so much Latin in one day, with their other tasks, and many failed.
“Just as I expected!” sneered the professor. “Well, you may all remain in one hour and a half after the last lecture today, and study. Remember, the entire class remains ninety minutes after the last lecture, no matter by whom. You may go now, but return here to remain after hours.”