balloonist, parachute jumper. Give exhibitions at county fairs. Leap
for life, and all that sort of thing. I guess you mean my friend. He's
smart enough for a professor. Invented a lot of things. How much is
the damage?"

"No professor?" cried Miss Perkman indignantly. "Why I understood from
Miss Nestor that she called some one professor."

"I was referring to my friend, Mr. Swift," said Mary. "His father's a
professor, anyhow, isn't he, Tom? I mean Mr. Swift!"

"I believe he has a degree, but he never uses it," was the lad's
answer.

"Ha! Then I have been deceived! There is no professor present!" and
the old maid drew herself up as though desirous of punishing some one.
"Young ladies, for the last time, I order you to your rooms," and,
with a dramatic gesture she pointed to the scuttle through which the
procession had come.

"Say something, Tom--I mean Mr. Swift," appealed Mary Nestor, in a
whisper, to our hero. "Can't you give some sort of a lecture? The
girls are just crazy to hear about the airship, and this ogress won't
let us. Say something!"

"I-I don't know what to say," stammered Tom.

But he was saved the necessity for just then several women, evidently
other teachers, came out on the roof.