"We won't dare to say a word to Dr. Clay——"
"Bah! It wouldn't do any good—the doctor is too anxious to keep his students, so long as they pay. No, Chip, we've got to look out for ourselves. You can see how the old man treated you when you went to him."
It took nearly an hour's work to get rid of the molasses and feathers, and by that time the sneak was thoroughly sleepy.
"Come on and go to bed," he yawned. "I'm sick of it all."
As they passed into the hall they heard footsteps in the rear, and in a moment more they were confronted by Andrew Dale.
"Why, boys, what does this mean?" asked the head assistant, pleasantly. "I thought you were in bed long ago."
"We had to get up," answered Gus Plum, smoothly. "Macklin was taken sick—had the nose-bleed, and I went to the bathroom with him."
"I see. And how is the nose now, Master Macklin?"
"It's all right now, sir—but it did bleed dreadfully.
"Did you hit on anything?"
"No, sir, it just started to bleed of itself. It often does that, but not quite so hard as it did to-night."
