And so Jeff made his last rounds of the undertaking establishments, visited Memorial Hospital for the last time, looked in at Concordia Hall, and came back to the editorial rooms, to pound the old typewriter for the last time.
After his copy had been turned in he purposely stayed around the noisy editorial rooms for some time, for despite the fact that he was glad to be going back to Pennington in the morning, he was loath to leave that noisy, paper-littered room with its many busy typewriters, its array of desks, its battery of clicking telegraph instruments and the many busy men who were working feverishly to get out the first morning edition.
But when a lull came in the press of work he said good-by to his friends on the staff and shook hands again with Boss Russell.
“Good-by, my boy. Be a good kid and make the team. Stop in at the cashier’s office and get your envelope. There will be ten dollars extra in it for your part in last night’s scoop—shush—not a word—you earned it.” He held up his hand in protest as Jeff thanked him.
Then he gripped Jeff’s hand again, very heartily.
“So long, my boy. Don’t let any one put anything over on you.” And Jeff left the editorial rooms with Boss Russell’s last words for some reason reoccurring in his mind.
“Don’t let any one put anything over on you,” he mused. “Well, now, I wonder if any one will try. Shouldn’t be surprised if Gould and Pell tried to get back at me for a certain unpleasant affair, but I don’t think they can put much over on me if I keep my eyes open. Then, again, maybe I’m too suspicious. Bet they are both good fellows when you know ’em.” And dismissing the idea he hurried home and to bed so as to be up and abroad early in the morning.
It was not a long trip by trolley from New City, across Wading River bridge and out to the suburbs of Montvale where Pennington Institute was located, but Jeff Thatcher, all eagerness to go back to the old school, was up betimes and off on an early trolley car. He arrived while chapel was still in session, and waited patiently in Dr. Livingston’s office until the Headmaster returned to his desk.
“Hello, Thatcher,” was the cheery greeting when he saw Jeff as he entered his office. “Heard you were coming back. That’s simply bully of Mr. Davidson. Fine work you did, too, Thatcher. Er—of course, you realize that you still have a penalty hanging over you. No special privileges this term and you cannot leave the school grounds for two weeks without special permission.”
“Yes, sir, I realize it. I’ll take my medicine, sir,” said Jeff.