We four oldest scholars breakfasted with the professor and Mrs. Stuffemwell. Plug usually waited. We knew he wouldn’t this morning—couldn’t—and every minute we expected to hear cries and calls of murder; but nothing of the sort happened.
We dragged Decker up, and dressed him, and he went down with us, the worst-looking object you ever saw; but the professor didn’t notice his looks, Mrs. Stuffemwell, either, until when he said: “Will you be helped to steak, Decker?” he answered.
“Heaven forgive me! No.”
Then naturally says he:
“Decker, are you going crazy?”
We didn’t know what was coming now, but Brown up and answered:
“If you please, I think Decker is very sick, and a little out of his mind since the nightmare.”
“I thought it was Sprat who had the nightmare,” said Mrs. Stuffemwell.
“We made a mistake in the dark. It was Decker,” said Brown.
“Decker will do the ten extra problems, then, instead of Sprat,” said the professor.