Professor Strong looked into Hockley’s shoes. True enough each contained pitch, although not very much and what there was did not stick very fast.
“This is certainly mysterious—” began the professor, and at that moment Darry came up, he having gone to the dining room to look for them.
“Why don’t you come to breakfast,” he said. “I’m as hungry as a bear.”
“Have you pitch in your shoes?” came from the other boys.
“Pitch? What do you mean?” queried Darry, innocently.
“We’ve all got pitch in our shoes, and it hurts like creation!” spluttered Frank, and began to work at the foot coverings once more, while Mark and Sam did the same.
“Pitch,” repeated Darry, and then as the humor of the situation dawned on him he laughed loudly. “Well, this is rich! All stuck, eh, like flies on flypaper. Ha! ha! ha! You won’t get your shoes off for a week!” And he burst into another fit of laughter.
“I’ll bet he did it,” cried Hockley. “If I can prove it I’ll make you buy me a new pair of shoes!” And he shook the shoes in Darry’s face.
Darry was in particularly good humor that morning, and he could hardly control himself. He gazed at one and another, tugging at the refractory foot coverings, and fairly shook with laughter. In the midst of this Professor Strong caught him by the arm.
“Is this some of your work, Dartworth?” he questioned.