“Well, this gets me!” confessed Tom, blankly.
“Then it’s the second time you’ve been gotten at this night,” declared Frank. “For Simond had you first.”
“Oh, he was decent about it,” Tom said. “I don’t believe anything will come of it. I’m going to get to bed. It’s as cold as Greenland here,” and he made a dive for his room.
“What time is it, anyhow?” asked Sid with a yawn. “Did we take the toothpick out of the alarm clock, I wonder?”
The three of them glanced toward the table where the timepiece was wont to tick. It was the custom to wind and set it before going to bed, the last one to retire being charged with the duty of removing the toothpick, which was used to silence the ticking that annoyed the chums when they were studying.
“Why—why—it’s gone—gone!” gasped Tom, halting on his way to his room.
“That’s right!” chorused the others.
“Tom Parsons, is this your joke?” demanded Sid, sternly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean did you take that clock away for a joke, and then, when you got caught, made up that fake story about chasing me?”