“Don’t you think he has nerve, to tell us to report to him, after what we did?” asked Tom, when, following a rather restless night, he and his chums were on their way to services the next morning. The chapel was not so badly burned, but that it could be used.
“Zane? Oh, he’s all nerve!” declared Sid. “I almost wish we’d let it burn!”
“Shut up, you anarchist!” cried Phil. “We’ll take our medicine.”
But there was none to take. The proctor met them on their way to chapel, and smiled as genially as was possible for him.
“Young gentlemen,” he said, “you need not report at my office. Personally, I wish to thank you for the service you rendered to Randall College last night—or, rather, this morning,” and he smiled grimly. “Had it not been for you, we should have had no chapel in which to worship to-day. I thank you most sincerely,” and then Proctor Zane did an unheard-of thing. He shook hands with Tom and his chums.
“Well, what do you know about that?” gasped Phil, when the proctor had passed on.
“He didn’t say a word about our being out late,” came from Sid.
“Pinch me—I think I’m dreaming!” begged Tom, but they were all too interested in other matters to comply with his request.
Dr. Churchill referred to the fire in his remarks that morning, and the words of praise he bestowed on our heroes made them wish they were sitting over the hole in the floor, that they might sink through out of sight, and so hide their blushes.
Dutch Housenlager started to whistle, “See, the Conquering Hero Comes,” when he saw the four approaching, but Tom upset him with a quick tackle, and Dutch subsided.