“My mother is quite ill, and they will have to operate on her to save her life,” said Phil slowly.
[CHAPTER IV]
FOOTBALL PRACTICE
There was a moment of silence in the room. No one cared to speak, for, though Tom and Sid felt their hearts filled with sympathy for Phil, they did not know what to say. It was curiously quiet—oppressively so. The fussy little alarm clock, on the table piled high with books, was ticking away, as if eager to call attention to itself. Indeed, it did succeed in a measure, for Tom remarked gently.
“Seems to me that sounds louder than it did in the other room.”
“There are more echoes here,” spoke Sid, also quietly. “It will be different when we get the things up.”
The spell had been broken. Each one breathed a sigh of relief. Phil, whose face had become strangely white, stared down at the telegram in his hand. The paper rustled loudly—almost as loudly as the clock ticked. Tom spoke again.
“Is it—is it something sudden?” he asked. “Was she all right when you left home to come back to college?”