“A note for you, Mr. Henderson,” he said. “A fellow just brought it.”
Sid snatched it eagerly, a hopeful look showing on his face. Then, as he saw the writing, there seemed to come into his eyes a shadow of fear.
“All right, Wallops,” he replied kindly, and he closed the door.
“Again,” he exclaimed. “Oh, will this never end? Must I carry this secret all through college?” and he tore the note to bits. Then he slipped on another coat, pulled a cap down over his eyes and went out.
“Why, Sid isn’t here!” exclaimed Phil, when he and Tom, bubbling over still, with the spirit of the dance, came back to their apartment, after having escorted the girls home.
“That’s right,” agreed the pitcher, “and he’s not allowed any more passes since that affair with the pocket flask. He’s taking chances to slip out. Zane will be almost sure to catch him, and a few turns like that and Sid will be expelled. I wonder what’s gotten into him lately?”
“Give it up,” responded Phil. “Let’s hope that he won’t be nabbed.”
It was a vain hope, for Sid, coming into college about three o’clock that morning, was detected by the proctor. There was quite a stir over it, and Sid came mighty near expulsion. Only his fine scholarship saved him, but he was warned that another offense would be fatal to his chances.
Sid said nothing to his chums, but maintained a gloomy reserve, which wore off in a few days, but still left a cloud between them.
Meanwhile Tom was kept busy with his studies and his interest in the nine, while Phil was “boning” away, seeking a scholarship prize, and devoting as much time as he could to practice on the diamond.