That night was long remembered. Tom’s misadventure was the forerunner of others. Several beds were upset with their contents and “sneakers” were so thick in the air that Dan, cautiously returning from outer darkness into inner gloom, was struck twice between the door and his bunk.
It was almost midnight when the councilors at last secured quiet. And then, just when most fellows were getting drowsy, there was a strange, uncanny noise like that of a man talking through a hundred feet of gas-pipe, a whirring and buzzing, and finally a loud discordant laugh and a jumble of shrill words that sounded as though they were coming from the stove. Somebody in some manner had got hold of Wells’s phonograph and started it going. Up and down the hall fellows sat up in bed and laughed and shouted their applause. Bedlam was loose again!
“Give us ‘Bluebell’!” some one demanded.
“I want ‘Hiawatha’!” called another.
“Cornet solo, please!”
Then Dr. Smith’s voice was heard above the babel.
“Cut it out now, fellows! Wells, stop that noise!”
“I didn’t do it, sir.”
“I don’t care who did it; I want it stopped.”
“Why, Wells, you know you did it!” said some one up the hall.