“I didn’t stop to figure it out, professor.”
“Of course not. Nor did you stop to think that for fifty cents you might have bought some useful book. And you did not stop to consider that you were disobeying me. I shall attend to your case. Do you still refuse to tell me where you got that money?”
“I—I’d rather not.”
“Very well, I shall make some inquiries. You may retire now. I never make up my mind when I am the least bit angry, and I find myself somewhat displeased with you at this moment.”
“Displeased” was a mild way of putting it, Jack thought.
“I shall see you in the morning,” went on the professor. “It is Saturday, and there is no school. Remain in your room until I come up. I wish to have a serious talk with you.”
Jack had no relish for this. It would not be the first time the professor had had a “serious talk” with him, for, of late, the old teacher was getting more and more strict in his treatment of the boy. Jack was sure his father would not approve of the professor’s method. But Mr. Allen was far away, and his son was not likely to see him for some time.
But, in spite of what he knew was in store for him the next morning, Jack slept well, for he was a healthy youth.
“I suppose he’ll punish me in some way,” he said, as he arose, “but he won’t dare do very much, though he’s been pretty stiff of late.”
The professor was “pretty stiff” when he came to Jack’s room to remonstrate with his ward on what he had done. Jack never remembered such a lecture as he got that day. Then the former college instructor ended up with: