"Foster's here, that's all."
Slowly Peter John arose from his hiding-place and peered anxiously about him. "It's all right. Come on!" called Will encouragingly. Thus bidden, Peter John stepped forth, still holding tightly in his grasp his precious carpet-bag. Will Phelps did not even laugh nor did he have any inclination to do so as he perceived how genuine was the suffering of the terrified boy.
"You needn't be afraid now, Peter John," he said soothingly. "You're all right."
"That was a close call."
"Call for what?" demanded Foster sharply. Will turned and looked in surprise at his room-mate, for the tone of his voice was very unlike that which he had used when he had insisted that they should go to the aid of their classmate.
"I tell you they were after me!" said Peter John, wiping his brow with a huge handkerchief as he spoke."Who were after you?" demanded Foster still more sharply.
"The sophomores."
"Don't you believe it!"
"Why, they'd have got me if I hadn't put in my prettiest."
"Nobody would have paid any attention to you if you hadn't run. You drew it all on yourself and have no one else to blame."