"Isn't it? What do you imagine he's up to, this time?"
"Give it up. It must be something important, to go out in this storm, after a hard football game."
"And with an ankle that's on the blink, speaking poetically."
They looked at each other, and in the silence that followed their exclamation after Tom left, they heard the dash of rain on the window, and the howl of the wind as it scattered the cold drops about. For it was a cold November storm that had suddenly descended, not cold enough to snow, yet chilling.
"He said it meant more to him than we thought," spoke Bert, musingly.
"And that's only one thing," said Jack.
"You mean the poison business?"
"Sure."
"Maybe we'd better follow him," suggested Bert. "He may stumble or fall, and get hurt."
"Tom doesn't like anyone to follow him. I guess we'd better stay where we are until he gets back."