Dave Porter and His Classmates. Stratemeyer Edward

I don't see why I ought to pay."

      "He may claim you had no right to fight him off."

      "He had no right to attack me with the whip. I don't think Doctor Clay will stand for that."

      "If he does, he isn't the man I thought he was."

      The two youths walked around the little room, gazing at the rows of books. Then Dave stood on a pile of old books and looked out of the small window.

      "See anything worth looking at?" asked his chum.

      "No, all I can see is a corner of the campus and a lot of snow. Nobody is in sight."

      "Wonder how long old Haskers intends to keep us here?"

      "I'm sure I don't know."

      With nothing to do, the boys looked over some schoolbooks. They were not of great interest, and soon it grew too dark to read. Phil gave a long sigh.

      "This is exciting, I must say," he said, sarcastically.

      "Never mind, it will be exciting enough when we face Doctor Clay."

      "I'd rather face him than old Haskers, Dave."

      "Oh, so would I! When will the doctor be back?"

      "I don't know."

      An hour went by, and the two prisoners heard a muffled tramping of feet which told them that the other students had assembled in the dining hall for supper. The thought of the bountiful tables made them both more hungry than ever.

      "I'd give as much as a dollar for a couple of good sandwiches," said the shipowner's son, dismally. "Seems to me, I'm hollow clear down to my heels!"

      "Wait, I've got an idea!" returned Dave.

      He felt in his pocket and brought forth several keys. Just as he did this they heard footsteps in the hallway, and Dave slipped the keys back in his pocket.

      The door was flung open and Job Haskers appeared, followed by one of the dining room waiters, who carried a tray containing two glasses of milk and half a dozen slices of bread and butter.

      "Here is something for you to eat," said the teacher, and directed the waiter to place the tray on a pile of books.

      "Is this all we are to have?" demanded Dave.

      "Yes."

      "I'm hungry!" growled Phil. "That won't satisfy me."

      "It will have to satisfy you, Lawrence."

      "I think it's a shame!"

      "I want no more words with you," retorted Job Haskers, and motioned the waiter to leave the room. Then he went out, locking the door and pocketing the key as before.

      "Well, if this isn't the limit!" growled Phil. "A glass of milk and three slices of bread and butter apiece!"

      "Well, we shan't starve, Phil," and Dave grinned to himself in the semi-darkness.

      "And no light to eat by – and the room more than half cold. Dave, are you going to stand this?"

      "I am not," was the firm response.

      "What are you going to do?"

      "Get out of here – if I possibly can," was Dave's reply.

      CHAPTER VIII

      A MOVE IN THE DARK

      Dave took the bunch of keys from his pocket and approached the door. He tried one key after another, but none of them appeared to fit. Then Phil brought out such keys as he possessed, but all proved unavailable.

      "That is one idea knocked in the head," said Dave, and heaved a sigh.

      "I am going to tackle the bread and milk," said Phil. "It is better than nothing."

      "It won't make us suffer from indigestion either," answered Dave, with a short laugh.

      Sitting on some of the old schoolbooks the two youths ate the scanty meal Job Haskers had provided. To help pass the time they made the meal last as long as possible, eating every crumb of the bread and draining the milk to the last drop. The bread was stale, and they felt certain the teacher had furnished that which was old on purpose.

      "I'll wager he'd like to hammer the life out of us," was Phil's comment. "Just wait and see the story he cooks up to tell Doctor Clay!"

      "Wonder what the other fellows think of our absence, Phil?"

      "Maybe they have asked Haskers about it."

      Having disposed of all there was to eat and drink, the two lads walked around the little room to keep warm. Then Dave went at the door again, examining the lock with great care, and feeling of the hinges.

      "Well, I declare!" he cried, almost joyfully.

      "What now, Dave?"

      "This door has hinges that set into this room and are held together by little rods running from the top to the bottom of each hinge. If we can take out the two rods, I am almost certain we can open the door from the hinge side!"

      This was interesting news, and Phil came forward to aid Dave in removing the tiny rod which held the two parts of each hinge together. It was no easy task, for the rods were somewhat rusted, but at last both were removed, and then the boys felt the door give way at that point.

      Now that they could get out, Phil wanted to know what was to be done next.