“It will soon be over,” murmured Tom.
“Which; football or the ladies?”
“Football,” was the answer, given with a laugh.
Sid was asleep when Phil came quietly in, but Tom was wide awake. Still, he said nothing as Phil went about, getting ready for bed, and when his chum came close to him, Tom shut his eyes and feigned slumber. There was something coming between Tom and Phil. Both realized it, yet neither liked to broach the subject, for it was a delicate one.
“Well, how was your sister?” asked Sid pointedly of Phil the next morning.
“Very well,” replied Phil calmly. “By the way, Tom, she was asking for you.”
“Yes,” answered Tom, and there was coldness in his tones. He did not wait for Phil to go to lectures with him after chapel, but hurried off alone, and Phil, feeling humiliated, wondered if he had done or said anything to hurt Tom’s feelings. Tom took care to keep out of Phil’s way all that day, and when the last practice was over, save for some light work the morning of the game, the left-end hurried to his room. As he entered it he saw a note thrust under the door. He picked it up. It was addressed to him, and an odd feature of it was that the letters were all printed.
“Who brought this here?” he asked of Sid, who was studying his biology.
“Didn’t know anybody had brought anything.”
“Some one shoved this note under the door for me,” went on Tom, ripping open the missive. He could not repress a start as he read, in the same printed letters that were on the envelope, this message: