On the way to the morning devotions Tom pulled out the wallet.
“I guess I’ll send this over to Skeel’s house, instead of taking it myself,” he said to Jack. “It might raise a row if I went there.” And, requesting one of the assistant janitors to do the errand, Tom proceeded to chapel. Thus the wallet was returned to its owner, but minus a certain bit of paper.
“Well, you fellows certainly cut things loose!” exclaimed Bruce Bennington admiringly to Tom, as he met our hero later. “You won hands down. I wish I could do things as easily as you seem to do,” and he sighed. Tom noticed that the look of worry and trouble on the Senior’s face was deepened.
“Look here, Bruce!” exclaimed Tom. “I wish you would tell me exactly what your trouble is. Maybe I can help you.”
“No you couldn’t.”
“I think so,” and there was a peculiar note in Tom’s voice. “Tell me,” he urged. The two were walking by themselves over a deserted part of the snow-covered campus. The storm had ceased, and the day, though clear, was quite cold. The weather was crisp and fine.
“Hanged if I don’t tell you!” burst out Bruce. “I don’t know why it is, but I took a liking to you the first time I saw you. I had half a notion to tell you then, but I didn’t. I haven’t told anyone—I wish, now, I had. Now I’m going to tell you. It’s come to a show-down, anyhow. I was just on my way to see Professor Skeel. He’s at the bottom of my trouble, as you may have guessed. He has sent for me. The jig is up.”
“I’ll go with you,” volunteered Tom. “I fancy I know part of your trouble, at least.”
“You do?” burst out Bruce in amazement.
“Yes. Look at that,” and Tom held out a bit of paper.