Chapter XVI: Tom’s Daring Proposal

“Silence!” proclaimed Professor Skeel, as he heard the indrawn breathing. “Not a word!”

No one seemed likely to utter it under the circumstances, but the lads were doing some hard thinking.

“As I stated, you will print this lesson,” went on the instructor. “I want to see if you can _print_ as well as you _write_,” he added with a mocking smile.

In a flash it came to Tom and the others what the object of the queer task was. It was to gain some evidence, or clew, to the printing in the threatening letter. All eyes were turned on Tom, and then, as if aware that this might implicate him, the lads looked in various directions.

Fortunately Professor Skeel was at the board setting down the sentences he wished copied, or he might have noticed the glances turned toward our hero, and have guessed the secret. Then he would have been at no pains to try his little trick. As it was he proceeded with it, chuckling to himself as he thought that it would give him the information he desired.

But Tom was wise in his day. It was not the first time he had matched his wits against some unfair instructor, and he at once resolved on his plan.

He had printed the threatening letter in the usual, straight up and down characters. As he now began to print out the Latin exercise he used, in part, letters that sloped forward, and others that sloped backward. Not once did Tom use an upright character.

“There,” he thought, as he neared the end of the short exercise, “if he thinks he can compare any of the words in this, with the words in the letter I handed him on the end of the stick, he’s a good one.”

Tom noticed, as did some of the others, that the words in the exercise were, in many cases, the same ones used in the letter. The professor had been enough of a detective to think of this, and he chuckled to himself many times as he thought of his cuteness. But it was not to avail him.

“You may hand in your papers as you finish,” he said, “and leave the room. Don’t forget--to-day’s lessons, and two additional ones for to-morrow.”

One by one boys filed up to his desk, laid their papers down, and passed out.

“Humph!” exclaimed Professor Skeel, as Tom passed over his exercise. “Is this your usual style of printing, Fairfield?”

“I am not used to such work, and I have no decided style. I vary it, I suppose, not having had much practice at it.”

“So I see,” remarked Professor Skeel, with a sharp glance at our hero--a glance that Tom returned unabashed.

“Say, what do you think of it?” asked Jack of his chum a little later, when both were in their room.

“Think of it? That it’s getting worse and worse,” remarked Tom bitterly. “I’ve had about all I can stand. Elmwood would be a perfect school, and a most jolly one, if it wasn’t for Skeel.”

“That’s what we all think, I guess. But what’s to be done?”

“Something, and that pretty soon,” declared Tom with energy. “I’m not going to stand it much longer.”

“Neither am I. Say, he wanted us to print that lesson so he could compare the letter with it.”

“Of course. But I fooled him,” and Tom told of his scheme.

“Good! I was afraid you’d be caught. We all ought to have printed part of that ultimatum, and then the responsibility would have been divided.”

“Oh, I don’t mind that. But if things don’t turn for the better soon we’ll either burn Skeel in effigy, or----”

“What?” asked Jack, as Tom paused.

“I’m not quite ready to tell yet, but it will be something rather new, I think. Now let’s get at this Latin. We don’t want to give him an excuse to bullyrag us any more.”

“No, that’s right.”

While his students were working hard, and denying themselves well-earned recreation, in order to complete the unjustly imposed tasks, Professor Skeel was in his study, poring over the printed exercises turned in.

“I can’t seem to identify any of the hands with the one that made up the insulting and threatening letter,” he murmured, as he stared at the papers. “I thought surely Fairfield was the guilty one, and yet his printing is totally different from that in the note.”

He compared the two papers--Tom’s and the letter--and shook his head.

“Unless Fairfield purposely disguised his print this time!” the professor exclaimed. “I wonder if that could be it? I must get another sample from him--a natural sample. Let me see; how can I do it?” and he fell to scheming.

“There’s that Bennington, too,” continued the professor. “I must put the screws on him more strongly before he begins to suspect. And if I should be found out----”

The professor looked guiltily at the windows as if to make sure the shades were drawn, and, finding that they were, he listened as if fearful of hearing approaching footsteps.

He rather hoped his class would not be prepared in the unusual task he had set for them, and he was not disappointed. Few students could have prepared so much Latin in one day, with their other tasks, and many failed.

“Just as I expected!” sneered the professor. “Well, you may all remain in one hour and a half after the last lecture today, and study. Remember, the entire class remains ninety minutes after the last lecture, no matter by whom. You may go now, but return here to remain after hours.”

There were gasps of dismay, for many lads had formed pleasure-plans for the afternoon. Now they could not be carried out. More than this, there were one or two students, Tom among them, who, by remaining up late the night before, and studying unusually hard, and by cutting a safe lecture, had recited perfectly. Yet they were punished with the others.

“Fellows, we’ve reached the limit of endurance!” exclaimed Tom to his classmates, as they filed out on the campus, and got a safe distance away from the listening ears of Professor Skeel.

“That’s right!” came in a chorus.

“But what’s to be done?” asked Jack.

“Hang him in effigy, and burn the scarecrow afterward!” suggested Bert Wilson.

“Can you do both?” asked George Abbot.

“Dry up, Why!” came from several.

“Let’s hear from Tom,” suggested Jack.

“Hear! Hear!” came the shout.

“Fellows, we’ve stood all we’re called on to stand from Skeel,” went on Tom. “I’m sick and tired of being bullyragged.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Strike! Rebel!” declared Tom daringly. “I suggest that we demand better treatment from him, or we’ll all go on a strike, and refuse to recite to him any more, or enter his classroom!”

“Good!”

“Great!”

“That’s the stuff!”

“Hurray for Fairfield!”

“Are you in earnest, Tom?” asked Jack, who stood near his chum.

“I surely am. I’ve stood more from him--and so have all of us--than I would from anyone else. I say let’s strike!”

“And we’re with you!” came in a chorus.

“All of you?” asked Tom, looking around on the Freshman Latin class. “Remember a strike is no good unless we’re all in it.”

“We’re all with you!” came the cry.

Tom looked around, and saw Sam Heller sneaking off.

“Here, come back, Heller!” he cried, and Sam turned, facing Tom with a sneer on his face.