“That’s so,” agreed Tom, as if he had just thought of it. “That will do first rate. Never mind the note, Phil,” and he hurried off, lest something might occur that would prevent his visit.
He readily obtained permission to go to Fairview Institute, and was soon hurrying along the river road to catch a trolley car. As he crossed a bridge over the stream, he heard voices on the farther end. It was dusk, now, and he could not see who the speakers were. But he heard this conversation:
“Did you hear about Clinton?”
“Yes; he’s laid up with a bad shoulder. Well, it may be just the chance we want.”
“That’s odd,” thought Tom. “I wonder who they can be? Evidently college fellows. Yet how can Phil’s injury give them the chance they want?”
He kept on, and a moment later came in sight of the speakers. He saw that they were Fred Langridge and Garvey Gerhart.
“Good evening,” said Tom civily enough, for, though he and Langridge were not on the best of terms, they still spoke.
“Off on a lark?” asked the former pitcher with a sneer. “I thought you athletic chaps didn’t do any dissipating.”
“I’m not going to,” said Tom shortly, as he passed on.