Not one of the boys knew how to act or what to say. All wondered if Job Haskers had heard his name mentioned.
If the ill-natured instructor had heard, he made no mention of it. He looked sharply about the apartment and waved his hand to Luke.
“Watson, how many times have I told you that you make too much noise with your musical instruments?” he said, harshly. “You disturb the students who wish to study.”
“I thought this was the recreation hour, Mr. Haskers,” answered the lad, who loved to play the guitar and banjo.
“True, but I think we get altogether too much of your music,” growled the instructor. He turned to Dave, Roger, and Phil. “So you are back at last. It is high time, if you wish to go on with your regular classes.”
“We told Doctor Clay that we would make up what we have missed, Mr. Haskers,” answered Dave, in a gentle tone, for he knew how easy it 53 was to start a quarrel with the man before him. As Phil had once said, Job Haskers was always walking around “with a chip on his shoulder.”
“And how soon will you make up the lessons in my class?” demanded the instructor.
“I think I can do it inside of ten days or two weeks.”
“That won’t suit me, Porter. You’ll have to do better. I’ll give each of you just a week—one week, understand? If you can’t make the lessons up in that time I’ll have to drop you to the next lower class.”
“Oh, Mr. Haskers!” burst out Roger. He knew what that meant only too well. They would not have a chance to graduate that coming June.