“And it was him whom the professor was shaking his fist at,” thought Tom, as he stole back to his comrades with the information. “I wish I could find out what is up between those two, and what is troubling Bruce.”
Our friends managed to get to their rooms without being caught, though one or two of them had narrow escapes.
Tom’s thoughts, as he dropped off to sleep, were on what might happen the next day. Would it be necessary to strike? He imagined that it would, for it could hardly be expected that Professor Skeel would change his nature in a day.
It was not without a little feeling of nervousness that Tom and his associates filed into their Latin recitation the next morning. There was a grim smile on the face of Professor Skeel as he looked over the lads in their seats, and there was grim menace in the manner in which he opened his book, prepared to go on with the doubly-imposed task.
“Well,” he began, omitting the usual “young gentlemen,” with which jolly Professor Hammond, and the others of the faculty, used to greet their students. “Well, I trust you are all prepared; for if you are not, I warn you all that it will go hard with you.”
There was a subdued murmur. Clearly there was to be no let-up in the manner of conducting the Latin class.
“Silence!” snapped Mr. Skeel. “I have had enough of this insubordination.”
“You’ll have more before we’re through with you,” thought Tom.
“You may recite, Fitch,” spoke Professor Skeel. “And I want a perfect recitation from you to-day.”