But just as the three chums were about to release their hold on the sofa, Mr. Snell, one of the under-janitors of the college, and a sort of scout or spy of the proctor’s, ran into the room.
“There’s no fire! There’s no danger!” he called. “Don’t throw anything out.”
“No fire?” questioned Tom.
“No. Some of the students burned red fire in the halls, that’s all,” went on Mr. Snell. “There’s no danger. The proctor sent me around to explain. It’s only some illuminating red fire.”
Tom, Sid and Phil looked at each other, as they stood at the window, holding their precious sofa. The clouds of smoke were rolling away, and the noise was lessening. Tom looked out of the casement, and, in the semi-darkness below, saw the chair they had thrown out. Just then, from below, a crowd of freshmen, who had perpetrated the trick, began singing “Scotland’s Burning.”
Tom glanced at his chums. Then he uttered one word:
“Stung!”
“Good and proper!” added Phil.
“By a nest of fresh hornets!” commented Sid wrathfully.