“Of course. I didn’t suppose that was necessary, as you and Miss Clinton and Miss Tyler were all going together. I just told her you’d take her.”
“Well, of all the chumps!” burst out Phil.
“A double-barreled one!” added Tom.
“Why—what’s wrong?” asked Sid wonderingly.
“Everything,” explained Phil. “You ask a pretty girl—and by the way, Sid, I congratulate you on your choice, for she is decidedly fine looking—but, as I say, you ask a pretty girl to go to some doings, and when you find you can’t go, which is all right, of course, for that often happens, why then, I say, you coolly tell her you have arranged for her escort. You don’t give her a chance to have a word to say in the matter. Why, man alive, it’s just as if you were her guardian, or grandfather, or something like that. A girl likes to have a voice in these matters, you know. My, my, Sid! but you have put your foot in it. You should have gently, very gently, suggested that Tom here would be glad to take her. Instead, you act as though she had to accept your choice. Oh, you doggoned old misogynist, I’m afraid you’re hopeless!”
“Do you suppose she’ll be mad?” asked Sid falteringly.
“Mad? She’ll never speak to you again,” declared Tom, with a carefully-guarded wink at Phil.
“Well, I can’t help it,” spoke Sid mournfully. “I’ve just got to go away, that’s all,” and he hastened on in advance of his companions.
“Don’t stay out too late, and get caught by Proc. Zane again,” cautioned Phil, but Sid did not answer.
Tom and Phil lingered in the gymnasium, whither they went for a shower bath, and when they reached their room, to put on clothes other than sporting ones for supper, Sid was not in the apartment. There was evidence that he had come in, hastily dressed, and had gone out again.