“Say, fellows! I’ve got great news! Baseball news! I know this is a rotten night to talk diamond conversation, but listen. There’s been a new trophy offered for the championship of the Tonoka Lake League! Just heard of it. Dr. Churchill told me. Some old geezer that did some endowing for the college years ago, had a spasm of virtue recently and is now taking an interest in sports. It’s a peach of a gold loving cup, and say——”
“Come on in, Holly,” invited Tom, “Holly” being about all that Holman Cross was ever called. “Come on in,” went on Tom, “and chew it all over for us. Say, it’s great! A gold loving cup! We must lick the pants off Boxer and Fairview now!”
Holly started to enter the room, Phil and Tom reaching out and clasping his hands.
“Where are you bound for?” asked Holly, looking at Sid, attired in the raincoat.
“I’ve got to go out,” was the hesitating answer.
“Wait until you hear the news,” invited Holly. “It’s great! It will be the baseball sensation of the year, Sid.”
“No—no—sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’ll be back—soon—I guess. I’ve—I’ve got to go,” and breaking away from the detaining hand of Holly, the strangely-acting boy turned down the corridor, leaving his roommates, and the newcomer, to stare curiously after him.
“Whatever has gotten into old Sid?” inquired Holly.
“Search us,” answered Phil. “He got a note a little while ago; seemed quite put out about it, tore it up and then tore out, just as you saw.”
“A note, eh?” mused Holly, as he threw himself full length on a rickety old sofa, much patched fore and aft with retaining boards—a sofa that was a fit companion for the ancient chair. It creaked and groaned under the substantial bulk of Holly.