of flames, and were relieved when no glare met their gaze, though in that rain it would have been a big fire indeed that could have kept on burning.
"The noise was over that way," declared Tom Parsons, pointing toward the gymnasium.
"No, it was over there," and Phil indicated the river. "Maybe it was one of the boathouses."
"I think it was out on the athletic field," asserted Sid.
"Let's go have a look," proposed Holly Cross. "It was a great old crash, whatever it was."
"Yes, it woke me up," said Bert Bascome. "I was dozing over my Latin prose, and I dreamed we were playing Boxer Hall. I was making a touchdown, and smashed into a goal-post—that woke me up—or, rather, the racket did."
"Well, make a real touchdown when we play Boxer, and we'll forgive you," put in Kindlings, joining the group of football players. "Come on, let's investigate."
As the students reached the gridiron they saw, even in the darkness, the cause of the crash. One of the largest grandstands had collapsed. The supports, weakened by the rain, had been unable to stand against the force of the wind, and had tilted over, letting the whole structure come slantingly to the ground, like some cardboard house upon which a heavy weight has fallen.
"For cat's sake, look at that!" cried Phil.
