BY THE FISHING-POLE ROUTE
Another half hour went by, and the boys confined in the room on the third floor of the school building became more and more impatient.
“Perhaps they won’t give us any breakfast at all,” said Phil Franklin presently.
“If they don’t there’ll be war,” declared Andy. “I won’t stand for being starved.”
“None of us will stand for that,” put in Gif grimly. “But I don’t believe Duke will dare do it. You must remember he will have all the other teachers to contend with. They have the same rights here as he has.”
“Yes, but Professor Grawson turned this affair over to Duke,” was Fred’s comment.
“That was because old Duke was the only one to really suffer through what we did,” answered Jack.
Another fifteen minutes passed, and then those in the room heard footsteps outside. The door was unlocked and Professor Duke appeared, followed by Pud Hicks and Bob Nixon and two of the mess-room waiters.
“Well, did you behave yourselves during the night?” demanded the teacher, as he glanced sharply from one to another of the cadets, all of whom eyed him curiously.
“We did, sir,” answered Phil, who was nearest to the door.