“But what was the necessity of getting cold?” went on Mr. Simond, and Tom became aware that others were listening to the talk, for he could hear doors down the hall cautiously opened, and faint snickers of laughter here and there.
Tom was in a quandary. He did not want to tell the real object of coming upstairs as he had, for it would only make trouble for Sid.
And yet if he kept silent he would be put down for having tried to play some prank on his own account. Still if Sid had “gotten away” with whatever he had attempted, and it seemed so, for no sound came from the neighborhood of the room he had entered—in that case Tom could not bring him into the game.
“I guess I’ve got to take my medicine,” thought Tom.
“Well?” demanded Mr. Simond in a cold voice.
“I—I just came up here for a—for a walk,” explained Tom. “I—er—I couldn’t sleep, and——”
“I see. You thought if you came and waked me up that you could sleep; is that it?”
“Oh, not at all, Mr. Simond.” He could be funny when he wanted to, thought shivering Tom. “I—er—I was just going back to bed,” he explained lamely, for that was true enough.
“Very well, then you’d better go now,” concluded Mr. Simond. “And don’t knock on any more doors, or I shall have to look further into the matter. Good-night!”