“I can’t imagine what has become of it,” said Tom, as he proceeded to get into some lounging clothes.
“Well, now for some boning, and maybe we’ll forget our troubles,” went on Phil, as he scattered a pile of books, looking for his own.
“Are you going to the football meeting to-night?” asked Tom, as he finished a hurried toilet, for a session of the squad had been called late that afternoon to consider the loss of Kerr and Molloy.
“I may come over later,” spoke Phil. “I think the best thing we can do is to——”
He paused suddenly, and glanced quickly toward the shelf that served as a mantle. The gaze of his chums followed. The room seemed suddenly to become oppressively still. They could almost hear each other breathing. Then the same thought came to all three.
“The clock!” they exclaimed in a tragic chorus.
“It’s gone!” gasped Tom.
“Vanished!” added Phil, staring at the vacant space as though unable or unwilling to believe the evidence of his eyesight.
“Another mysterious disappearance,” exploded Sid, and then Tom remarked in significant tones:
“I guess we’ll have to chain the sofa if we want to keep that!”