Jack and his chums awaited rather anxiously the calling of the French and German classes that day, but neither professor made any reference to the happenings of the night previous. All there was to remind a passer-by of it were some shreds of a French flag hanging to the limbs of the tree.
“They must have ripped the flag apart in their struggle with each other,” said Sam as he and Jack passed the place.
Matters at Washington Hall went on the even tenor of their ways for about two weeks. The boys buckled down to study, though there was plenty of time for sport, and the football eleven, of which Jack was a member, played several games.
The weather was getting cold and snappy, and there were signs of an early and severe winter. These signs were borne out one morning when Jack crawled out of bed.
“Whew! but it’s cold!” he said as he pulled aside the window curtains and looked out. Then he uttered an exclamation. “Say, Nat, it’s snowing to beat the band!”
“Snowing?”
“Sure, and I’ve got to go to the village this afternoon. Look!”
Nat crawled out, shivering, and stood beside Jack.
“Why, it is quite a storm,” he admitted. “B-r-r-r-r! I’m going to get my flannels out!”
“No football game to-morrow,” said Jack. “I guess winter’s come to stay.”