“My brother is waiting for you in the library,” said Miss Klopper, and Jack noticed that she was excited over something. “Maybe it’s bad news about the folks,” the boy thought, but when he saw that the professor had no cablegram, he decided it could not be that. “Jack,” began the aged teacher, “I have a very serious matter to speak about.” “I wonder what’s coming now?” thought the boy. “Do you recall the night you disobeyed me, and, sneaking out of your window like a thief, you went to a--er--a theatrical performance without my permission?” asked the professor. “Yes, sir,” replied Jack, wondering if his guardian thought he was likely to forget it so soon. “Do you also recollect me asking you where you got the money wherewith to go?” “Yes, sir.” “I now, once more, demand that you tell me where you obtained it, and, let me warn you that it is serious. I insist that you answer me. Where did you get that money?” “I--I don’t want to tell you, Professor Klopper.” “Are you afraid?” “No, sir,” came the indignant answer, for there were few things of which Jack Allen was afraid. “Then why don’t you tell me?” “Because I don’t think you have a right to know everything that I do. I am not a baby. I assure you I got that money in a perfectly legitimate way.” “Oh, you did?” sneered the professor. “We shall see about that. Come in,” he called, and, to Jack’s surprise the door opened and Miss Klopper entered the library. “I believe you have something to say on a subject that interests all present,” went on the professor, in icy tones. “She knows nothing of where I got the money,” said Jack. “We shall see,” remarked Mr. Klopper. “You may tell what you know,” he added to his sister. “I saw Jack just as he got down out of his window,” Miss Klopper stated, as if she was reciting a lesson. “He had a bundle with him. I asked what it was and he would not tell me.” “Is that correct?” inquired the former teacher. “Yes, sir,” replied Jack, wondering how the professor could be interested in his catching glove, which was what the bundle had contained. “What was in that package?” went on the professor. “I--I don’t care to tell, sir.” “I insist that you shall. Once again, I warn you that it is a very serious matter.” Jack could not quite understand why, so he kept silent. “Well, are you going to tell me?” “No, sir.” Jack had no particular reason for not telling, but he had made up his mind that the professor had no right to know, and he was not going to give in to him. “This is your last chance,” warned his guardian. “Are you going to tell me?” “No, sir.” “Then I will tell you what was in that package. It was my gold loving cup, that the teachers of Underhill College presented to me on the occasion of my retirement from the faculty of that institution!” “Your loving cup?” repeated Jack in amazement, for that cup was one of the professor’s choicest possessions, and quite valuable.