“That reminds me,” said Henning, aside to Ambrose Bracebridge, “that I forgot to take that money out of the table-drawer and place it with the treasurer. I intended to do it every day for several days past, but every time I put more money in I forget all about it.”
A shade of vexation passed over Bracebridge's bright features. He said:
“I am sorry you forgot. It would be much safer with the treasurer of the college. But I suppose it's all right, anyway.”
“I have seven dollars in my pocket now belonging to the fund. Let us go over to the playroom, boys, and I will unlock the drawer and take the money to the treasurer for safe-keeping.”
The group of boys left the classroom and went diagonally across the yard to the playroom, which was situated under a large study-hall, and was a half-basement room.
There were about two dozen boys in the playroom when our friends entered it. As Roy passed up the long room, first one and then another complimented the Richelieu of the previous evening on his fine acting. Roy's cheeks flushed with pleasure. There was some of that semiconscious gentleness of perfect success about him. He was experiencing some of the pleasantest moments he had ever spent at St. Cuthbert's.
Jack Beecham took the key from Roy and unlocked the door of the sports-committee room. The
group that had recently left the classroom entered, those in the playroom paying little attention to them. Boys were accustomed to see various groups enter the small room for the purpose of discussing various sporting events and conditions of the college games.
“How much have you collected, Roy?”asked Tom Shealey.
“About seventy-two dollars—seventy-nine with this in my pocket. Wait; we'll see in a minute.”