“Why! I forgot to tell you about that,” returned 17 Lance, quickly, while the two girls cast enquiring glances at each other. “Old Dimple is certainly an odd stick.”
“As odd as Dick’s hat-band,” agreed Chet.
“And no-end forgetful. He’s been worse than ever lately. There certainly is something worrying him.”
“You boys,” laughed Jess.
“Something worse than boys,” Lance returned. “It’s a shame how forgetful he is. Say! did you hear what he did at Mr. Sharp’s the other night?”
“No,” said the others, in chorus.
Lance began to chuckle. Mr. Franklin Sharp was the principal of Central High, and was very much admired by all the pupils; while Professor Dimp, because of his harshness and his queer ways, was the butt of more than a few jokes.
“It was night before last when it rained so hard,” resumed Lance. “He was there going over Latin exercises or something, with the Doctor. Mrs. Sharp asked him to stay all night, when it came on so hard to rain, and the old Prof thanked her and said he would.
“Mr. Sharp went into his office to do something or other and left Old Dimple in the library for a while. The family lost track of him then. Right in the middle of the hardest downpour, about 18 eleven o’clock, the front door bell rang, and Mr. Sharp went to the door.
“There was Old Dimple, under a dripping umbrella, his pants wet to the knees, and his pajamas and toothbrush under his arm––”