“No, Father, he’s brought nothing but his swimming suit.”
“Exactly; he’s brought his trunks along. Think about it, Brother, and you’ll see I’m right.”
The good Brother has thought about it many a time since that day. He does not see it yet.
When, a few moments later, the President of Campion College stepped into the parlor, he, too, prepared though he had been, was startled beyond measure. He did not, however, manifest any sign of his feelings. Long experience in boarding schools had given him the power of preserving stoical immobility under circumstances no matter how extraordinary.
It was not, as he had expected, a boy in a bathing suit that confronted his gaze, but a creature wrapped from head to foot, Indian-like, in a table covering, predominantly red, appropriated, as was evident, from the center-table of the parlor.
CHAPTER XII
In which Clarence relieves the reader of all possible doubts concerning his ability as a trencherman, and the Reverend Rector of Campion reads disastrous news.
Throwing up the window-shades, the President hurried over to the boy, who had arisen at his entrance, and took a sharp look at the blue lips and the pallid face.
“Sit down,” he said, “and wait till I come back.”
Father Keenan, who at that time happened to be President of Campion College, bolted from the room—a most undignified thing for a Rector to do. On his way out, he detected hanging on a chair in the obscurest corner of the parlor the dripping “trunks” which were still puzzling the good porter. That much-perturbed man was standing outside in anticipation of further orders.