CHAPTER XVI

A COLLISION

Astonishment and chagrin were plainly written on the faces of the midnight revelers. The proctor stood looking at them with a mocking smile. It had been some time since he had made such a “haul” as this--captured so many violaters at once.

For themselves the boys said nothing. There was nothing they could say. They had been “caught with the goods,” and there had been so little warning that none of the food could be slid under beds or desks--gotten out of the way in the fashion best adapted to the circumstances.

“Remember, Slade, Baker, Hopkins--report to me directly after chapel in the morning,” the proctor went on. “I have the names of the others, and their cases will be considered separately. Leave now!”

Ingloriously the guests slunk away, the proctor watching them go. Then, with a curt nod to Bob, Ned and Jerry, he left them to clear away the remains of the feast--though there was not much uneaten, as may well be imagined.

As the echoes of the proctor’s feet died away down the corridor, Jerry shut the door and turned to face his companions.

“Well, what do you think of that?” he asked.

“I think mighty little of it,” Ned remarked, sarcastically. “Mighty little.”

“How’d he get in on us so quickly?” Bob demanded, as he stood with spoon in hand over the chafing dish containing the second smoking Welsh rarebit, almost ready to be spread on the toast. “Wasn’t the door locked?”

“Sure it was!” Jerry answered. “But he opened it with a key as soon as he knocked. Only for that we might have had time to get the lights out and some of the stuff hid.”

“That’s right,” agreed Ned. “It was tough luck, all right.”

Puzzling over how their natural enemy had thus been able to steal such a silent march upon them, wondering what the outcome would be, and not a little abashed at the inglorious outcome of their first entertainment, the three boys cleared away the remains of the feast and tumbled into bed.

But with all their troubles their sleep was not interfered with, and they awoke as usual in the morning with just a few minutes left in which to slip, somehow, into their clothes and rush to chapel, getting in with a number of other latecomers, just as the doors were closing.

It is to be feared that the minds of Bob, Ned and Jerry were very little on the devotional exercises and singing, this state of feeling being shared by the other culprits, who did not have a very pleasant prospect before them.

“Wonder what proxy will do to us,” mused Bob, as, with his two chums, he walked toward the office of the proctor.

“He’s pretty fierce, I hear,” remarked Ned.

“I like the looks of him,” declared Jerry. “He’s got a good eye, and he must remember that he was young once himself.”

“It doesn’t take some of ’em long to forget it,” said Bob. “Well, I guess we can take our medicine.”

The proctor received them gravely, grimly and with a half smile at their predicament. Beyond a cool “good-morning!” he said nothing as he accompanied them to the office of Dr. Cole, a white-haired, scholarly looking gentleman, the ideal college president.

Jerry fancied there was a commiserating look on Dr. Cole’s face as he glanced at the boys. He must have known what they were there for, and if he did not the proctor was not slow in giving the information.

“Hum, yes. More midnight lunches, eh?” said Dr. Cole musingly. “Yes, you are right, Mr. Thornton, the practice must be stopped. I am sorry, young gentlemen, but you know the rules. You will be deprived of liberty for a week, and do the usual number of extra lines of Virgil. And don’t let it happen again.”

Jerry fancied there was a smile under the beard of the president, but perhaps he was mistaken.

Being deprived of liberty meant that the luckless ones would not be allowed off the college grounds, not allowed to go to the village, to go boating--in short to be prisoners of a sort. And the writing of the extra Latin lessons was a task in itself. It was “stiff” punishment, and the boys realized it. The proctor smiled grimly at them.

“What did you fellows get?” asked Bob of some of their guests, when they were comparing notes later in the day.

“Just lines,” answered Chet Randell, meaning that they had only to write out some extra Latin. The givers of the feast were thus punished more than the guests, which perhaps was worked out on the theory that those who provided the entertainment had put temptation in the way of others.

“Say, I wonder how he happened to hear about what we were doing?” asked Bob. “I’m sure no one saw me smuggle the eats in.”

“And we had everything dark,” added Ned.

“Oh, I guess Thorny has his own ways of finding out,” contributed Jerry. “What gets me, though, is how he happened to have the key to my room. I thought I had the only one there was, and it’s a patent lock. An ordinary key wouldn’t open it. Did he ever do that before when he busted up a spread--open the door and walk in?”

“I never heard of it,” said Newt Ackerson, a senior. “He always knocked and demanded admission. Then there was time to slip the stuff away and jump into bed.”

“I have an idea how he _might_ have got hold of a key,” said George Fitch, “and also how he happened to know all about what was going on.”

“How?” inquired Jerry.

“Well, you know Frank Watson used to have the room where you are, Jerry. He chummed with Bart Haley and they each had a key.”

“What’s that got to do with the proctor?” asked Jerry.

“Well, Frank doesn’t like you fellows any too well, though why I can’t see for the love of sour apples. Anyhow, he’s got a grudge against you. Now what was to hinder him from dropping a hint to the proctor that there was something doing in your rooms last night? And, also, what was to stop Frank from slipping the proc the extra key so he could get in and catch you with the goods?”

Silence followed the pronouncement of this ingenious theory, and then Ned burst out with:

“That’s it! That’s how it happened! The sneak!”

“Now go a bit easy,” advised Jerry. “I’d want pretty good proof before I’d believe any fellow would squeal on another in that way--and slip a key to the proctor.”

“Well, I believe Frank did it,” declared Ned.

“So do I,” concurred George. And while some expressed their belief to that effect, others were doubtful. Ned, however, was firm in his belief that Frank was guilty.

“And I’m going to tell him so to his face, and offer to punch it for him,” he declared.

“Better be careful,” advised Jerry.

“So had he,” murmured Ned.

The more the three chums thought of what George had told them, the more they became convinced (Jerry and Bob, for Ned was already satisfied) that Frank must have reported them.

“It was a mean trick!” declared Ned. “Keeping us in bounds for a week!” he continued.

“Well, a week will soon pass, and we did have a good feed,” returned Bob philosophically.

The idea spread through the college, as such ideas will, that Frank was the informer, and he did not take the trouble to deny it. The three Cresville chums learned more about him than they had known before. For one thing, they found out that Frank was studying zoology under Professor Snodgrass, though the student confided to his friends that he fairly hated the study.

“Then what makes him take it?” asked Jerry.

“Well, it seems his stepfather wanted him to. Frank is very fond of his stepfather, and does everything he asks, even to that. He’s quite a different boy since his mother married again. It was a good thing for Frank.”

“Well, I’m glad he likes somebody, even if it’s a stepfather,” said Ned.

The punishment week passed, though it was the longest our three heroes had ever known, and finally they were restored to liberty.

“And now for a trip on the lake!” exclaimed Ned. “We’ll make the old _Neboje_ hum!”

“Let’s go down to Simpson’s and have a good feed!” proposed Bob. “Thorny can’t molest us there.”

And once again Bob’s chums found no fault with his proposal to eat. The boys hurried down to the boathouse, and soon had their craft out on the sparkling lake, inviting a few of their friends to go with them.

Simpson’s was another boathouse some miles from the college, and a recognized students’ rendezvous. Ned, Bob, Jerry and their guests found several gay parties gathered at the resort, and one of the parties was made up of Frank Watson, Bart Haley and Bill Hamilton.

“There’s the sneak now,” murmured Ned. “I’ve a good notion to tell him what I think of him.”

“No, you won’t,” said Jerry calmly. “Don’t make a scene.”

As the _Neboje_ was approaching the college boathouse after the spread Ned, who was steering, saw the _Avis_, which was Frank’s boat, also heading toward the landing place.

“Look out you don’t run into him,” cautioned Jerry.

“It’s his place to look out,” returned Ned. “I’m on the right course.”

The motor boats came closer together, and it was seen that the _Avis_ was headed directly for the _Neboje_.

“Look out where you’re going!” cried Bob.

Frank, who was steering, gave no sign that he heard. He kept on his course.

“Steer out, Ned,” ordered Jerry. “He’s too headstrong to give in.”

Ned was angry, but not foolish, and he swung the wheel over. But it was too late. The _Avis_, which had not swerved, came swiftly on, and her sharp bow struck the _Neboje_ squarely amidships, cutting a deep gash and dangerously careening the craft of our heroes.