“Afraid of your semi-annual exam?”asked Beecham.
“No. That examination does not bother me. The Little Go, as our English cousins call it, will, I believe, be somewhat of a picnic for me.”
“That's what you think,” said Jack, “but we don't all think that way, do we, Tom?”
“Indeed, no,” answered Tom Shealey grimly. The half-yearly had certain terrors for poor Tom.
He had not shone with particular brilliancy in the examination in minor logic. He assured his friends that the examiners were unanimous that he had not shown any remarkable scintillations of genius in his mathematical trial, and the least said about the opinion entertained of him by his professor in geology and astronomy, the better for Tom's reputation as a hard student.
“Well, then, Roy,” asked Beecham, “if you are not afraid of the semi, why do you look so gloomy?”
“I wish most heartily, Jack, that something would turn up to settle that wretched robbery business. At all events, one great load is off my mind. Yesterday I received a letter from my father. I think I have already told you that he is a pretty stern man. Well, he's all right. He wrote that he had the fullest confidence in me in this money business.”
“Whoopla,” shouted Shealey, “good for the old gentleman. Whoop! Don't you know, old fellow, I was terribly afraid for you from that quarter. He's a brick,”
“He tells me that every effort should be made to discover the culprit. He even said he was willing to bear a good share of the expense of securing a detective and so forth, considering that his son was the one who had the management of the funds.”
“What's the matter with Henning père?”shouted Shealey the irrepressible.