He kicked impatiently at a stone in the path and wheeled around just as a voice exclaimed:
“Ah, Parsons, admiring the windows? The color effects are never so beautiful as early morning and the evening. The garish light of day seems to make them common. But—er—are you going to recitation? If so, I’ll walk along with you,” and genial Dr. Churchill, with a friendly nod of his head and a twinkle in his deep-set eyes, came closer to the lad.
Tom wondered if the good doctor knew of the punishment that had just been meted out. If he did not he soon would have the report of the proctor for confirmation.
“I’ve been suspended,” blurted out Tom. “I was going to my room to study.”
“Suspended, Parsons! This is the second time, isn’t it?” There was surprise and dismay in the doctor’s voice.
“Yes, sir, but——” Tom paused. How much should he tell, how much leave unsaid?
“How did it happen?” asked the head of the college, and he placed his arm on Tom’s shoulder in a friendly fashion. Tom said afterward that it was just as if he had been hypnotized. Before he knew it he was telling the whole story.
“But I never mentioned the name of Langridge,” he protested to Sid, to whom later he related all the events. “I never even hinted at it, but for all that I believe Moses knew. He’s a regular corkscrew.”
Dr. Churchill was silent after the recital, a recital rather brokenly made, but containing all the essential facts.