CHAPTER XI
TOM FREES HIS MIND
The party in Number 25 did not break up until some time after midnight, and all present declared that they had had the time of their lives. Only one interruption had come, made by a good-natured monitor who had begged them to make less noise, and this fellow, well known to Tom, had been bought off with several sandwiches and a bottle of ginger ale.
"And how do you fellows feel this morning?" asked Tom, who was the first to get up after a sound sleep.
"Oh, I'm first rate," announced his younger brother. "I thought I'd dream, with so much chicken salad and sandwiches and cake in me, but I slept like a log."
"I didn't sleep extra well," came slowly from Songbird. "But I don't think it was the feast kept me awake."
Tom walked over to where the would-be poet of Brill sat on the edge of a cot and dropped down beside him.
"Songbird, you take the loss of that money too much to heart," he said kindly. "Of course we all know it was a great loss. Yet it won't do to grieve over it too much. And besides, there is hope that some day the authorities will catch that Blackie Crowden and get at least part of the money back."
"It isn't the money alone, Tom; it is the way Mr. Sanderson has treated me. And besides that, I'm worried over that mortgage. I'd like to know just what old Grisley and his lawyer are going to do."
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Songbird. If you wish me to, I'll call on Mr. Sanderson and tell him what we are willing to do, so that he can rest easy about paying the mortgage off if he has to."