“I—er—I—that is—I think I would prefer to straighten matters out myself,” said Mr. Zane hesitatingly. It was as though he was in a daze. “You—you young gentlemen may go to your rooms,” he added, softly.
“What!” cried Professor Emerson Tines. “Aren’t you going to——”
Then he realized that he was infringing on the prerogatives of the proctor, and he kept still.
“You may go,” said Mr. Zane, softly, and Dutch and his mates went.
It was not long before the news buzzed in every dormitory of the college.
“Served Dutch right,” declared Tom. “He ought to have known better.”
“Yes, but if Zane and Pitchfork take him and Holly and the twins off the team,” suggested Phil, “then we will be in the soup, for further orders.”
It was a direful thought, and no one liked to dwell on it. There was a lot of talk, and much speculation as to how “Pitchfork” had managed to get back unobserved. There were also guesses as to what would be done with the culprits.
Then something new developed. It concerned the excitement in the freshman ranks. There had been considerable horseplay, it was said, and Mr. Zane had indignantly ordered it stopped. To his surprise, the students not only obeyed him, but his pardon was formally asked in the name of the class, and he was given a ringing round of cheers.