The uproar was so great that Professor Strong came to the stateroom to see what was the matter. In the meantime Hockley heard the rumpus and smiled broadly.
“It worked!” he murmured. “Now wait until the finish!”
The finish was not long in coming. There was a tramping of feet before the door and a knock from Professor Strong.
“Yes, sir, coming!” called out Hockley, sleepily.
“Hockley, did you put pitch into the other boys’ shoes?” demanded Amos Strong, sternly.
“Me? Pitch?” asked the lank youth, in pretended astonishment. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“The other boys’ shoes are filled with pitch.”
Hockley walked across the floor and picked up his own shoes.
“So are mine, sir. Somebody has played a trick on me!” He flung the door open. “See here, I ain’t going to stand this!” he roared, in assumed anger. “It’s a jolly shame! This pair of shoes cost me ten dollars!” And he shook his head savagely.
“We’re all in the same boat,” said Mark, helplessly. The fact that Hockley had been treated like the others puzzled him a good deal.