“Not Haddonfield.”
“Where?”
“I’ll bet he’s going to see some girl!” exclaimed Sid. “He’s got perfume on his handkerchief, and he never wears that tie unless there’s a damsel in the offing.”
“Well, I don’t mind admitting that there is a young lady in the case,” spoke Phil. “I’m going to call on my sister, and you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, you hard-shelled old misogynist!”
“I thought so!” cried Sid. “I knew it. But tell that yarn about your sister to your grandmother. It’s somebody else’s sister you’re going to see. You’d never tog up like this for your own sister.”
“Maybe,” admitted Phil coolly as he finished dressing.
As he stooped over to lace his shoes an envelope fell from his pocket. Tom picked it up and handed it to him. He could not help seeing the address, and, with something like a start, he noticed that it was in the handwriting of Madge Tyler. He handed it to Phil without a word, and he noticed that a dull red crept up under the bronze skin of his chum’s face. But Phil shoved the note into his pocket and made no comment.
“He’s going to see her—Madge,” thought Tom, and he tried to struggle against the bitter feeling that seemed to well up in his heart.
“Leave the door unlocked,” was Phil’s parting injunction as he went out. “I’ll be in early.”
“Girls, girls, girls!” grumbled Sid as he rolled over to a more comfortable position. “I’ll be hanged if I room with you fellows next term if you don’t go a bit easier on this dame question. You don’t give me any attention at all. It’s all football and the ladies.”