“He’s off,” remarked Tom.
“Yes, and it’s mighty queer business,” remarked Phil. “But come on, we’ll get an early grub, tog up, and go get the girls.”
“What about Miss Harrison?”
“Hanged if I know,” answered Tom. “I’d be glad to take her, of course, but I’m not going to mix up in Sid’s affairs.”
“No, of course not. Well, come on.”
In spite of hearty appetites Tom and Phil did not linger long at the table, and they were soon back in their room, where they began to lay out their dress suits, and to debate over which ties they should wear. Tom had managed to borrow a dress shirt, and so did not have to buy one.
“I say, Phil,” remarked the pitcher, as he almost strangled himself getting a tight fifteen collar to fit on the same size shirt, “doesn’t it strike you as queer about Sid—I mean his chasing off this way so suddenly?”
“It sure does. This is the second time, and each time he scoots off when he’s had a note from some one.”
“Remember when he came back last night, smelling so strong of tobacco?”