This promise renewed Frank’s energy, and he picked up the stocking and pulled it on. Then he slipped on his shoes and announced that he was ready to call on his rescued schoolmate.
They stepped out into the hall and walked several doors toward the farther end. Hal’s door was slightly ajar, and Mr. Frankland pushed it wide open and they walked in.
Hal was still asleep. Frank stepped forward, like one in a trance, and placed one hand on the face of the sleeper. Suddenly Hal’s eyes opened wide and he sat up in bed. He recalled everything immediately, as his first words indicated:
“Hello, Bad; I’m all right. Why, what’s the matter?”
And no wonder! Frank had fallen forward on the bed and buried his face in the counterpane. The relief of the truth was too much for him.
Mr. Frankland had not realized the tenseness of the nervous strain under which the boy was laboring, or he would have proceeded more carefully.
“Frank, what is the matter?” repeated Hal, himself half alarmed.
The other boy sobbed on for a minute or two, and Hal threw off the bed clothes and sat on the edge of the bed. Then he shifted his gaze from Frank to the instructor and back to the boy again.
But finally Frank got sufficient control of himself to choke down his sobs, and he arose and wiped his eyes with his fists and said:
“I——I thought sure you was dead, Hal. How—in the world did you get out?”