“No; not exactly,” spoke Tom slowly.
“That’s the way they all say it,” she went on. “If you are not a relative you can send her no message.”
“But can’t you tell her what I’ve told you?” asked the ’varsity pitcher. “She may worry about her brother, and he wants her to have this letter from her father.”
“How do I know she has a brother?” asked Miss Philock sternly.
“I am telling you.”
“Yes, I know,” frigidly. “Other young men have called here to see the young ladies under my charge, and they often pretend to be brothers and cousins, when they were not.”
“I am not pretending.”
“I don’t know whether you are or not, sir. It has been my experience that you can never trust a young man. I shall have to bid you good evening, though I do you the credit to state that your plan is a very good one. Only, I am too sharp for you, young man. You can send no message to Miss Clinton or any other young lady student under my charge.”
The door was almost shut. Tom was in despair. At that moment he caught sight of a girlish figure in the hall behind the preceptress. It was Madge Tyler.
“Oh, Madge—Miss Tyler!” he cried impulsively, “will you tell Miss Clinton that her brother is not badly hurt. That is, in case she hears any rumors. His shoulder is dislocated, but he’s all right.”