The non-commissioned officers reluctantly withdrew, and the professor was left alone with the visitors.
CHAPTER IX.
IN THE HANDS OF THE MOB.
“Dutchy is a hard-hearted old wretch,” said Corporal Arkwright indignantly. “He never asked if any of our boys were wounded.”
“Of course he didn’t,” replied Bert. “He took it for granted. If the fight was as desperate as those men say it was, we shall soon have a sorrowful report from Hamilton. I ought to write to my mother at once, but I haven’t the courage to do it.”
The boys waited outside, as they were told to do, but they used their best endeavors to overhear what passed between the professor and his visitors. They had their trouble for their pains, however. The men talked in low tones, and beyond an occasional ebullition of wrath from Mr. Odenheimer, who invariably spoke in German, they could hear nothing. Presently the door opened, and the three came out and hastened toward the academy.
“It is fully as serious as we thought, Sam,” said Sergeant Gordon. “They are going in to tell their story to the superintendent.”
Bert never slept a wink that night. He was at the gate at daylight, and was the first to purchase a paper when the newsboys came around. As he opened the sheet with trembling hands, his eye fell upon the following paragraph: