“It is,” said Arden.
The dean flashed a look and a gleam of light on her but said nothing, nor did she ask how Arden knew.
“I’ll have to run back and get a board—or something,” said Anson. “A stretcher is what we need, but——”
“We can pull a door off the old tool-shed!” suggested Tom Scott.
“Do that,” advised the dean. “Lose no time.”
Tom Scott hurried off in the darkness, before Anson could make up his mind what to do, and soon came back with a light door. On this Dr. Bordmust was carefully rolled, Sim pulling off her sweater to make a pillow for his head, and then the gardener and his assistant started on the melancholy journey to the college hospital.
Having seen this procession on its way, the dean spoke sharply to the nervous girls.
“Go at once to your rooms,” she ordered. “We shall have something to say about this in the morning.”
Realizing that they could do nothing more, and feeling that they must have excited the dean’s curiosity by all being dressed at that hour of the night, Arden and the others hurried into the dormitory and dispersed to their various rooms.
Meanwhile Dr. Bordmust, who had recovered consciousness, was taken to the infirmary, where Anson and Tom carefully undressed him and put him in bed, with an elderly teacher, who was also a nurse, to look after him. A physician was hurriedly summoned from town and set the broken leg. This much the girls guessed from observation and rumors that floated along the corridor’s grapevine route. For none of those engaged in the raid felt like going to bed at once.