Just then Prof. Babbitt turned up from around the corner of another desk, brought his hand down upon Frank's left hand, and held it there.
"Now, then, Merriwell," he exclaimed in a thundering voice, "I've got you. This will mean your expulsion from Yale, sir, and nothing short of it."
Frank had looked up with a start of surprise at first; now he drew back and looked the professor in the eye, defiantly.
"Don't you say anything to me, sir," exclaimed the professor, sharply.
"I hadn't thought of saying anything," responded Frank, in a dignified way.
"Keep quiet, sir! what have you got in your hand?"
"My pencils."
"You're impudent, sir; I mean, of course, your other hand."
Frank's face turned first pale, and then red, and then pale again; all the students and assistants in the room were looking at him. He knew that the professor suspected him of some low trick, and it cut him deep to think that he should be accused in this public way.
"I've got a piece of blank paper there," he said, slowly, "on which I have been working out the last problem."