"Great Scott! How do I know? I just gave a spring on here, and—"
"Your spring was too much for the bed spring, I suppose," remarked Frank, laughing when he saw that Andy was all right. "Here, give me your hand, and I'll pull you out."
With his brother's help the younger lad was soon on his feet again. Ruefully he surveyed the tangle of bed and bed clothes.
"Say, this is like a lot of other things around this school," remarked Andy. "It's got the dry rot. I never thought a bed wouldn't stand at least one handspring. Why the side pieces have cracked right in the middle." He bent over to look at the wrecked bed, which was one of the old-fashioned, wooden kind.
"You sure have put it out of commission," said Frank. "And what a racket you made! They must have heard it out on the campus. It's a wonder Mrs. Stone hasn't come up to know if we're trying to tear down the dormitory."
"Well, I didn't mean to do it," returned Andy, which was his usual excuse when any of his jokes or tricks went wrong. "I was just trying to see—"
He was interrupted by hearing some one hurrying along the corridor. Then came an imperative knock at their door.
"Who is in there?" demanded a sharp voice.
"We—we are," answered Andy, while he helped Frank to pick up the scattered clothes.
The portal swung open, disclosing to the lads the form and features of Professor Thorndyke Callum. There was a stern look on his face, and he fairly glared at them through his big glasses.