they went, until they both topped the trees, and began to go down on the other side. Joe's was far in advance of the snowball of Peaches, however, and went higher.
As the balls descended and went out of sight, there suddenly arose from the other side of the trees a series of expostulating yells.
"Stop it! Stop that, I say! How dare you throw snowballs at me? I shall report you at once! Who are you? Don't you dare to run!"
"We—we hit some one," faltered Peaches, his fair complexion blushing a bright red.
"I—I guess we did," admitted Joe.
There was no doubt of it a moment later, for through the trees came running a figure whose tall hat was battered over his head by the snowballs, some fragments of the missiles still clinging to the tile.
"You sure did," added Teeter, stiffling a laugh. "And of all persons in the school but Professor Rodd. Oh my! Oh wow! You're in for it now! He won't do a thing to you fellows! Look at his hat! Here he comes!"
Professor Elias Rodd, one of the strictest and certainly the "fussiest" instructor at Excelsior, was hurrying toward the group of boys.
