“What’s the matter with going into town, and seeing a moving picture show.”
“We may be nabbed.”
“What of it? Might as well be killed for a sheep as a lamb. If we go into this strike business we’ll get in bad with the powers that be, anyhow. And if we don’t, why I’ll feel so good at the change in Skeel, that I won’t mind a little rigging for being out after hours.”
“All right. I’m with you.”
The two chums went, with some other of their friends, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves at the show, for the pictures were of a high class. Coming back the boys were almost at their dormitory, when a friendly Senior warned them that some of the proctor’s scouts were on the watch.
“Go around by Skeel’s house, cut through his garden, and you can get in through the cellar, I think,” the Senior advised them.
“Thanks,” called Tom, as he and his chums moved off in the darkness. As they passed the residence of the disliked instructor, they saw a light in his study. The shade was drawn, but the shadow of two figures could be seen on the shade. And, as the lads came opposite it they made out one figure, which plainly was that of the professor, shaking his fist at the other.
“He’s laying down the law to some one,” murmured Jack. “Looks like he’d be in a sweet temper to-morrow.”
“I’m going to see who it is,” whispered Tom. “The shade is up a crack.”
“Better not,” advised Bert Wilson, but Tom was daring. He crept up to the window, and saw that it was Bruce Bennington who was with the professor.