True a monitor did hear the unusual and forbidden noise in the rooms, but, being both wise and sympathetic, he said nothing, and no report reached the proctor. Demosthenes Miller, the studious janitor, was a guest at the farewell supper, and made a speech in what he said was Latin, but—well, he is such a good chap, and was such a friend to the students, that I’m not going to say anything unpleasant about him.
And so, after all, in spite of Tom’s sad heart, he could not help feeling a little better as he was a witness to the love of his classmates.
“Well, it’s good-bye, old man!” exclaimed Jack a bit solemnly the next morning, as the time for parting came. Several others, deeming their farewell of the night before not enough, also came in to shake hands.
“I’ll see you again—some time,” faltered Tom.
He went to bid good-bye to Doctor Meredith, and his own particular professors, and then hurried on to the station, with Jack Fitch as his only companion.
They parted with a handshake, and with moist eyes, and lumps in their throats.
“Good—good luck!” stammered Jack.
“Thanks,” murmured Tom, and then his train pulled out, and Tom had started on his long journey.
A week later found him in San Francisco, the trip across the continent having been without special incident. He had stopped in New York, to see Jack’s father, and Mr. Fitch had given him some good advice, and letters to his agent in Sydney.
“And now to hunt for a ship that will take me where I want to go,” mused Tom, as he left his baggage at a hotel and started for the waterfront.