“Alsop’s gone to Boston to-day to tell the Modern Language Profs how to do it. He won’t get back until to-morrow night.”
“What of it?” asked Sam, calmly.
“I’m going to take a holiday. I’m going to see the surf, that’s ‘what of it’!”
“You’d better not. You can’t get permission; and if any of them see you, they’ll report you, and it’ll be all up with you.”
“I’m not going to stay cooped up here all the time. I did nothing to be put on probation for, not as much as John Fish, and he was let off a week ago. I’m going to see the surf!”
“Supposing they see you?”
“They won’t see me. I’ll get something to eat early down at McLane’s; then I’ll take the one o’clock car outside the town. Nobody would leave as early as that, and if they do, Brucie, who’s got permission to go, will take the same car in town, and signal me at the right place if there’s any danger. Then I’ll jump off at Leavitt’s, skip over to the rocks, have a look at the waves, and take the same car back. I’ll be here by three.”
“It’s risky,” said Sam, thoughtfully.
“I’ll take the risk!”
All that morning, Duncan’s foolhardy scheme troubled Sam’s mind. There was danger in it—a danger quite out of proportion to the pleasure to be gained. The boy who leaves town without permission goes permanently. That was a rule to which the faculty rarely made exceptions. It was useless to expostulate with Duncan; he had made up his mind, and the resolution of a boy who had studied the ins and outs of Academy discipline for four years could hardly be expected to yield to the objections of a newcomer. And yet there was an objection which appeared to Sam to be serious.