“Talk about luck!” exulted Shambler, as he slipped in ahead of Tom, who stood back to let him pass in first. “It’s great, isn’t it?”
Tom did not answer. A wave of revulsion against this lad seemed to sweep over him, and he recalled a certain day in the woods when he had seen the fellow with Madge Tyler.
Shambler, not seeming to notice the grouchiness of his companion, passed hurriedly along the dark corridor toward his room. Tom walked more slowly, having made sure that the door was locked after him. He had not gone half a dozen steps, before the door of the proctor’s office opened, and Mr. Zane stepped out.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Parsons,” replied our hero. “I had permission. I was studying with Morrison.”
“Oh, yes, I recollect. Who came in with you, Parsons?”
“In with me?” repeated Tom, for he had hoped that this question would not be asked.
“Yes, I heard the footsteps of two, and you were the only one in this dormitory who had permission to be out to-night. Who came in with you?”
“I—er—that is—I don’t wish to tell, Mr. Zane.”