“Might as well, I guess, although I don’t suppose I’ll be able to sleep any.”
“Oh, it won’t do any good to stay awake,” replied Spud carelessly as he took up his bag of apples. The others followed his example, whispering good nights in the corridor, and sought their rooms. Ned cleaned out one end of his bottom bureau drawer and emptied the contents of his pillow-case into it, afterwards restoring the case to its rightful place.
“You can have half of these, Cal,” he said.
“Thanks, but I cal’late I ain’t got much appetite for apples,” was the sad reply. “I hate to have to go home just after I’ve got here, Ned. How long do you think he will send us away for?”
“Maybe a month or two; maybe until after Christmas vacation,” answered Ned. “It’s a beast of a note, isn’t it? Whose idea was it, anyway, to go over there tonight?”
“Yours,” said Cal with a wan smile.
“Was it? I dare say. I’m always getting into trouble, hang it all! Well, I’m going to hit the hay. Sufficient unto the day is the trouble thereof. Good night.” And Ned tumbled into bed, drew the sheet up to his ears and was soon fast asleep.
To Cal, however, slumber didn’t come so readily. He was sorely worried. If Doctor Webster sent him home for the rest of the term it would mean that he would miss half a year of school and more than likely be set back just that much in class. Besides which he would have wasted more of his small capital than he could afford. Eventually sleep came to him, after a distant clock in the town had struck twelve, and he passed a restless night disturbed by unpleasant dreams, to awake in the morning unrested and oppressed by a sense of impending misfortune that he couldn’t account for until recollection of the preceding night’s adventure returned to him. The boys gathered in the parlor every morning before breakfast for prayers. They took turns at reading a passage from the Bible and then knelt while Mrs. Linn offered earnest if somewhat rambling invocation. That morning Cal added a little prayer of his own in which a promise of future good conduct was made in return for present escape from punishment. Breakfast was an unusually quiet meal and Mrs. Linn viewed the downcast countenances of her eight boys with deep concern but failed to elicit from any of them a satisfactory description of their symptoms. Only Spud ventured a reason.
“Oh, I’m feeling pretty well, thanks,” he said. “I didn’t sleep extra good, though. Fruit doesn’t agree with me.” And he winked wickedly at Dutch and received a scowl in response.
It was a surprise to them all to find that things looked much the same as usual at School House. Mr. Fordyce, known as Fussy, passed them on the steps, smiled amiably and went on quite as though the world wasn’t filled with tragedy this morning. They went through their recitations in a mazed sort of way, momentarily expecting the sword of Damocles to fall. The worst trial came when they found themselves before Doctor Webster reciting Latin or Greek. They studied his face anxiously, striving to surmise in what depth of disgrace he held them. But nothing was to be learned in that way. The principal treated them the same as the rest of the class. Sandy decided that their fate had already been decreed and that the Doctor was only awaiting the end of the session to acquaint them with it. But the session dragged to its close, twelve o’clock struck, the corridor bell clanged and school was dismissed; and still there had come no summons. They scurried back to West House in a group, discussing the marvel excitedly.