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.”
“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.”