Tom saw Frank and Miss Harrison on shore beckoning to them.
“Oh, but I say, we haven’t been out long at all,” he protested. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”
Madge shook her head, smiling the while, and, rather against his will, Tom put about, and began to row back to where Frank and his friend waited. As he swung out into the stream he heard voices on shore, and they at once struck him as being familiar. A moment later he had a glimpse of Shambler, talking to a man—the same untidy individual who had been with the student near the gymnasium some time previous. Miss Tyler saw Shambler, at the same moment.
“Look, Tom!” she exclaimed softly.
“Yes, I see him,” was the pitcher’s answer. “I don’t care, now, though. I’m with you.”
“Is that a Randall man with him?” Madge wanted to know.
Tom shook his head, and, the next moment there came floating clearly across the water this scrap of conversation:
“I tell you I’ve got to have more money!” said the shabbily-dressed man.
“And I tell you I won’t have any until after the games—a week from now,” replied Shambler. Then it seemed as if the man made an effort to strike him.