“Good-night!” gasped Tom, surprised to be let off thus easily. “It was all a mistake, I assure you,” he added, as he glided away.
“Well, don’t repeat the mistake,” was the grim injunction of the instructor, as he closed his door, and Tom vowed that he would not—at least that night.
“I’m a chump!” he told himself as he hurried back to his room. “I might better have let Sid grind out his mushy poetry in peace, and gotten my sleep. Now I may be in for a lecture to-morrow.”
As he entered the room he saw, grouped in the middle of the apartment, his three chums. The sight of Sid, with Phil and Frank, caused Tom to halt.
“Where in thunder have you been?” demanded Phil. “We were just going to get up a searching party for you.”
“That’s right,” came from Sid. “What do you mean by chasing out at this hour?”
“What do you mean, I guess it is!” exclaimed Tom. “I’ve been chasing you, Sid.”
“Chasing me? What rot is that?”
“It’s all right. I woke up when I heard you moving about in here, followed you out to the corridor. You were going to write a poem, you know.”