“Say, old man, you look as if you were about ready for your downey,” he grinned.
“I am,” he confessed. “Sitting around this way, doing nothing, always sends me off.”
“I don’t feel any too wide awake myself,” the other remarked. “As soon as we finish this game, we’ll strap up that ankle of yours, and then all of us can hit the pillow.”
The others being of the same mind, they presently put up the cues. The Yale man’s ankle was treated with iodine, freshly bandaged, and everyone trouped upstairs.
The entire second floor of the clubhouse was divided into a series of small single rooms opening off a long hall. Most of the club members who stayed there regularly, had quarters on the third floor, where the rooms were larger and where there would be less need to shift around to accommodate a large number of guests.
The Yale men had been assigned four of these rooms nearest the stairs, and there were only two other rooms on that floor occupied, one by Roger Clingwood, who was spending the night there on account of his guests, and the other by a friend of Jack Niles.
Clingwood went before them, switching on the lights in each room, and, having seen that they were provided with everything, he bade them good night.
Bouncer Bigelow betrayed no interest in anything, save his overweening desire to get to bed, and, closing his door at once, he proceeded to disrobe in haste.
Tucker, however, wide awake and lively as usual, skipped into Buckhart’s room where Dick had stopped for a minute’s talk.