"No wonder it blew the tower down," observed Ned. "Let's take a look at the wreck." They walked around to the other side of the school. There, prone on the ground, though but a confused mass of bricks and mortar, was what had been the tower. "There's the clock!" exclaimed Frank, as he saw the dial of the timepiece some distance from the big mass of masonry. "See, it stopped just at ten." There were four dials to the clock, one for each side of the tower. The dials were of sheet iron with big gilt hands which were worked simultaneously by the one set of wheels and springs. This dial, to which Frank called attention, had fallen from its place, with the hands still attached to it, the rods to which they were fastened, and which served to turn them, having been cut off close to the back of the face. "I'm going to take it home for a souvenir," Frank said. "If they want it back they can have it." He picked up the dial, which was painted white with black numerals on it. As he did so he uttered an exclamation. "What's the matter?" asked Ned. "It's all mud, or something black," Frank replied. "I've got it all over my hands." "Better let it alone," advised Bart. "The wind will blow it away, and you with it, if you try to carry it." "I guess I can manage," Frank responded, and though the gale did get a good purchase on the flat surface of the dial which was two feet in diameter, Frank clung to it and took it home with him. "See you to-morrow!" called Fenn to Frank, as the latter turned off on a street that led to his uncle's house. The others went in the opposite direction. "We'll come and take a look at the ruins by daylight," suggested Frank. "Good-night." "Good-night," called his chums, and the girls. "Queer sort of a relic he's got," observed Bart. "It's just like him," Ned rejoined. "Frank's a queer chap anyhow." "I think he's nice," remarked Alice. "So do I," chimed in Jennie. "Who said he wasn't?" demanded Bart. "Can't a fellow make a remark about his chum without being found fault with?" "I don't think it's nice to say he's queer," Alice said. "Why he admits it himself," her brother put in. "He doesn't care what we say about him. We call him queer about twice a week; don't we fellows." "Sure," replied Ned, coming to his chum's support. "Well, never mind," Alice rejoined. "Let's hurry home or we'll be blown into the next county." It was such a cold blustery night, with the wind seeming to increase in violence rather than diminish, that all were glad when they reached their houses. "It's a pretty fierce gale," remarked Mr. Keene, when his son and daughter had told him what had happened, "but I wouldn't think it was strong enough to blow the tower down. Must have been weak somewhere." "The janitor said some of the chimneys needed new mortar in the cracks, and maybe the tower did also," Bart said.