“Nice way for one of Randall’s old stand-bys to treat a stranger, in a strange land,” commented Phil.
“Oh, he won’t be a stranger long,” declared Tom. “He has brass enough to carry him anywhere. He’ll get along. I don’t believe we want him in our crowd, anyhow.”
“All right,” assented the others and then, as the last bell, for “lights out” resounded through the dormitory, they leaped into bed.
If Jake Shambler, or any others who tried to “run the guard” that night were caught, it did not come to the notice of our friends. They awoke betimes the next morning, and, as usual hastened to chapel, making the last of their simple toilets on the way, for, somehow, neck scarfs never did seem to lend themselves to quick tying, in the early hours of dawn.
“Well, I hear you lads had a grand time last night,” remarked Holly Cross to the “inseparables,” as they paused on the chapel steps. “Saved fair maidens in distress, and all that sort of thing.”
“Oh, we were on the job with the bob,” laughed Tom. “Where were you?”
“Doing the virtuous—boning Latin.”
“Like Cæsar!” exploded Sid.
“No, Cicero,” said Holly gravely. “Vandal, to doubt the word of your betters!”
“Oh cheese it, Holly. You——” began Phil, but the warning bell ushered them into the sacred precincts of the chapel, over the exercises of which Dr. Churchill presided with his usual solemnity.