“Fierce,” announced Holly, closing his eyes and pretending to breathe hard. “It tells you how much longer you can sleep in the morning, I guess you mean,” he went on. “The three of you were late for chapel this a. m.”
“That’s because Sid monkeyed with the regulator,” insisted Tom. “He thought he could improve it. But, say, it is getting late. Nearly ten.”
“And Sid isn’t back yet,” went on Phil.
“My bedtime, anyhow,” came from Holly, as he slid from the sofa, and glided from the room. “So long. Sid wants to look out or he’ll be caught. Proc. Zane has a new book, and he wants to get some of the sporting crowd down in it. See you in the dewy morn, gents,” and he was gone.
“Sid is late,” murmured Tom, as he began to prepare for bed. “Shall we leave a light for him?”
“Nope. Too risky,” decided Phil. “No use of us all being hauled up. But maybe he’s back, and is in some of the rooms. He’s got ten minutes yet.”
But the ten minutes passed, and ten more, and Sid did not come back. Meanwhile Tom and Phil had “doused their glim,” and were in bed, but not asleep. Somehow there was an uneasy feeling worrying them both. They could not understand Sid’s action in going off so suddenly, and so mysteriously—especially as there was a danger of being caught out after hours. And, as Sid was working for honors, to be caught too often meant the danger of losing that for which he had worked so hard.
“I can’t understand——” began Tom, in a low voice, when from the chapel clock, the hour of eleven boomed out.
“Hush!” exclaimed Phil.
Some one was coming along the corridor—two persons to judge by the footsteps.