"Good idea," spoke Jack. They made good time back to the academy, and arrived a little before eleven. "Dr. Mead says I'm to mark down just the time you come in," said Martin, the monitor. "That's right," agreed Jack. "Is the doctor in his study?" "I believe he is." "We want to see him," went on Jack. "Been fighting." said Martin to himself. "My, my! What boys they are! Always into something!" "Come in!" called the head of the Academy in answer to Jack's knock on his door, and the three lads entered. "Ah, Ranger! And Smith and Anderson. Well, what can I do--Ha! Fighting, eh!" and the tone that had been a genial one became stern. "Yes, sir," admitted Jack boldly. "I came to tell you all about it, before you heard a garbled report from some one else." Then he related exactly what had happened, Nat and John confirming what he said. The boys' stories were so evidently true that Dr. Mead could but believe them. "That's enough," he said when Jack had finished. "I believe you. Don't let it--well, there, I don't suppose it was your fault. Fighting is a bad business--but then--well boys, now get to bed. You have plenty of hard work before you go in the next week with all the examinations. Good night!" "Good night!" echoed the lads. "That was the best way out," agreed Jack, when they were in the corridor. "Now I've got to get some vinegar and brown paper for this optic or I'll look a sight to-morrow." Examinations held sway for nearly a week thereafter. But "it's a long lane that has no turning" and, at last there came a time when the boys could say: "To-morrow's the last day of school." The term was at an end, and the whole academy was in a ferment over it. The students were busy packing their belongings, the graduates had already departed, and there was almost as much excitement as at the annual football or baseball games with a rival institution. The night before the day of the closing exercises, Jack's room was a gathering place for all his chums. Fred Kaler was so excited he tried to played a mouth organ, a jews'-harp and a tin flute, all at the same time, with results anything but musical, while Will Slade stuttered as he never had before. "What will we do for a final wind-up?" asked Sam. "Let it be something worthy of the name of Washington Hall," exclaimed Jack. "We ought to work Professors Garlach and Socrat into it somehow," suggested Bony. "They're more fun than a bunch of monkeys." "Get 'em to fight another duel," put in Sam. "They'd suspect something leading up to that," spoke John Smith. "Let's see if we can't make one outdo the other in politeness." suggested Jack. "I have a sort of scheme." "Trot it out!" demanded Sam. "I'll get Garlach to write Socrat a note," said Jack. "Where's the fun in that?" asked Bony. "Then I'll have Socrat send a little missive to Garlach." "What's the answer?" demanded Nat.