“I didn’t mean to,” answered Phil contritely.
“Look at the rug!” went on Tom, as the ink formed a black pool. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
“We’ll get the pattern changed if we keep on,” murmured Sid, without opening his eyes. “There’s the liniment spot, now the ink spot, and the grease spots left by the former occupants. Maybe we ought to get a new rug, fellows.”
“Not this term,” said Tom emphatically. “I’ve run over my money as it is, and I don’t like to ask dad for more.”
“I notice you had some to spend for flowers to-night,” remarked Phil.
On the way home from the game Tom had stopped in a florist’s in Fairview and given an order, while Phil remained outside.
“You don’t mean to say that Tom has been sending flowers to some girl?” demanded Sid, sitting up.
“Well, you can draw your own conclusions,” replied Phil. “He didn’t bring ’em home to decorate our room, that’s sure.”
“Worse and some more, too,” murmured Sid. “What are you coming to, Tom?” He looked reproachfully at his chum. Then he shook his head. “This girl business!” he spluttered. Then, as his eyes gazed about the room, he caught sight of the little flag of Fairview colors which Ruth Clinton had given Tom. The latter had placed it partly behind a picture of a football game. “Where did that come from?” demanded Sid, getting up from the couch with an effort and striding over to the offending emblem.