For a moment neither Tom nor Phil answered. There was an embarrassed silence, but it only affected the three chums, for all about them was a rollicking, shouting crowd of students intent on arranging for a celebration in honor of the nine, and Sid—the player who had done so much to help win.
“Have you got to go?” asked Tom, in a low voice. “Can’t you put it off, Sid?”
“I’ve got to go. I can’t put it off,” was the reply, as Sid turned and limped away.
“Oh, I say! Where’s he going?” demanded Snail Looper. “We want to form a procession and carry him.”
“Oh, he’ll be back—later,” answered Phil, for both he and Tom wished to conceal, as long as possible, the growing mystery that seemed to be enveloping their chum.
There was no time for longer talk with Sid, as he had hurried off as fast as his injured foot would let him, though Mr. Leighton had advised him to stay in his room for a couple of days.
“Where do you s’pose he’s going?” asked Tom of Phil.
“Give it up, unless he’s going to call on Miss Harrison, and it doesn’t seem very likely. He’d be more cheerful if it was that. As it is he acts as if he was going to a funeral.”
“That’s right. He got another one of those queer letters, and, as usual, when he does, he scoots off somewhere. Do you know what I think?”
“You think of so many things, Tom, I can’t be sure.”