“You’ll have to ask him,” replied Phil, with significant glances at his chums.
“Not much!” exclaimed the visitor. “I have a notion he has a hasty temper. But aren’t any of you coming to town for a lark?”
No one was, evidently, and Shambler soon took his leave. It was some time before Tom returned, and he had no letters. His chums did not bring up the subject of his going out.
Tom, in preparation for the examinations, had permission that night to spend some time in the rooms of a senior who had volunteered to coach him on some points wherein our hero was a bit behind in his class. The senior’s room was in another dormitory from where Tom and his chums roomed, being across the campus.
It was after midnight when the tall pitcher was on his way back to his own particular part of the college, and, as he was about to open the dormitory main door, with a pass key with which he had been provided, a dark figure hurried up the steps from the shadow of a statue on the campus, and stood at his side.
“I say!” came in a cautious whisper. “Let me in with you, will you? I overstayed in town, and I don’t want to be caught.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Tom, wondering for a moment who was speaking, and then he recognized Shambler’s voice.
“It’s Parsons!” whispered the new student, evidently much relieved. “I’m in luck! I’ve been waiting here half an hour hoping Zane’s light would go out, and that I could bribe one of the janitors, or a monitor, to let me in. But the old Proc. is staying up infernally late. But it’s all right now. You have a key; haven’t you.”
“Yes,” answered Tom shortly, as he inserted it in the lock.