“And we’ll have to pull our belts in a few holes if this sort of grub keeps up long,” commented Jack.
“Yes, a fine sort of strike this is!” sneered Sam Heller. “I never agreed to starve, Tom Fairfield.” He glared at his rival.
“You can starve with the rest of us,” spoke our hero, grimly. “Besides, you can live a long time on bread and water. I forget the exact figures, but I think it is something over a month.”
“A month!” cried Jack. “I’ll never last that long.”
“Neither will the strike,” answered Tom, coolly. “I have something up my sleeve.”
“What is it?” clamored half a dozen.
“I’ll tell you later. Now to get what amusement we can. Come on up to my room, and we’ll talk it over.”
They did talk it over, from all standpoints, but they could not agree on what was best to be done. It was a cold, blowy, blustery day outside, the storm being not far short of a blizzard.
The dormitory was warm, but soon the healthy appetites of the lads asserted themselves, and they felt the lack of their usual good breakfast. Still, save for Sam Heller, no one thought of giving in. All stuck by Tom.
During the morning, groups of students from other dormitories, the Senior, Junior and Sophomore, came past Opus Manor, and cruelly made signs of eating, for of course the story of the imprisonment of the Freshman class was known all through the college.