as sour as he could. "Sit down. Now, then, who ever knows who put that ram in my room last night, stand up."
Not a boy arose.
"Will anybody answer?" stormed the teacher.
There was utter silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Dave looked at Gus Plum and Nat Poole, but neither budged.
"I shall call the roll, and each boy must answer for himself," went on Job Haskers. "Ansberry!"
"I can tell you nothing, Mr. Haskers," was the reply, and the pupil dropped back into his seat.
"Humph! Aspinwelll"
"I can tell you nothing, Mr. Haskers."
"Babcock!"
"I can tell you nothing, Mr. Haskers."
"This is—er—outrageous! Beggs!"
"Sorry, but I can tell you nothing, Mr. Haskers," drawled the fat youth.
After that, one name after another was called, and every pupil said practically the same thing, even Plum and Poole stating that they could tell nothing. When the roll-call was finished, the teacher was fairly purple with suppressed rage.
"I shall inquire into this at some future time!" he snapped out. "You are dismissed to your classes." And he turned away to hide his chagrin.
"Do you think we are safe?" whispered Phil to Dave, as they hurried to their room.
