“There is danger threatening Phil Clinton. Watch for it.”
“Anything wrong?” asked Sid.
“No—no,” spoke Tom slowly, as he tore the note into bits and tossed them into a basket. “It’s just a tip, that’s all, but I guess it doesn’t amount to anything.”
He walked over to the old sofa and sat down. His brain was in a whirl. What danger could threaten Phil? Whence had come the mysterious warning?
“It doesn’t amount to anything,” thought Tom. “If it had, who ever sent it would have signed his name. It’s meant as a joke. I’ll pay no attention to it. I’ll not tell Phil. It might worry him. Besides, I guess he can look out for himself,” and Tom shrugged his shoulders.
Ah, Tom, would you have said that but for what had happened in the last few weeks? But for the fact that Phil and a certain pretty girl had become fast friends? Tom felt those questions arising in his mind, but he put them resolutely from him. He did not want to answer them. He went over to the basket and carefully picked out the torn bits of the note. He thrust them into his pocket. Sid watched him curiously, but said nothing. He thought the note was from some girl.
Phil came in a little later. Tom was busy studying, and hardly looked up; nor did he say anything about the warning he had so mysteriously received.