"Don't talk back to me!" burst out the angry teacher.

"I think your request is a fair one, Ranger," went on Dr. Mead. "I
will give you twenty-four hours in which to prove that you had no
hand in this. That is all now; you may go."

Dr. Mead was a man of few words, but Jack knew he would be absolutely
fair. So, bowing to the head of the school, and without a glance at
his accuser, Jack left the office.

"Whew!" exclaimed the youth, as he got outside. "I seem to be up
against it harder than ever. Twenty-four hours to prove something
that may take a week. Well, I've got to get busy, that's all."

"Hello!" exclaimed a voice as Jack was walking along the corridor
toward his room. "Whasmatternow? Betcher Ic'nguess!" and the voice
evolved itself into a good-natured looking lad, who stretched a big
wad of gum from his mouth, and slowly got it back again by the simple
but effective process of winding it about his tongue.

"Hello, Budge Rankin!" exclaimed Jack, as he saw the queer, bright
lad who had lived near him in Denton, and for whom Jack had secured
the place of second janitor at the school. "So you think you know
what the trouble is?"

"Betcherlife," replied Budge, who had a habit of running his words
together, a habit which his gum-chewing did not tend to relieve.

"What is it?"