“I beg your pardon, strangers!” he exclaimed, in a full, rich voice. “I sure didn’t see you coming, nor yet hear you. I guess I’m in the wrong pew.”
Tom and his chums saw confronting them a tall, well-built lad—big would be the more proper term, for he was big in every way. Six feet if he was an inch, and broad in proportion. He stood regarding them without a trace of embarrassment, a stranger in a strange place, evidently.
For a moment Tom had a wild idea that the mystery of the chair and clock was about to be solved. He had not seen the youth before, and he might be a clever thief who had sneaked into the college.
“What did you want?” asked Phil, quickly.
“And who are you?” demanded Tom.
“I beg your pardon,” went on the stranger. “I’ve just arrived at Randall, and Mr. Zane showed me to my room. I left it and went outside, but when I came in again, either someone took my apartment, or, as I said, I’m on the wrong front stoop. Simpson is my name, Frank Simpson. I’m from California, and I’ve been attending Leland Stanford University, but father’s business called him East permanently, and so I decided to come to Randall. I’ve just arrived,” he concluded.
“Simpson,” murmured Phil, wondering where he had heard the name before.
“With a capital ‘S’,” put in the strange student, with a whimsical smile.
“Oh, you’re the fellow Jerry Jackson was speaking of,” exclaimed Tom, recalling the Jersey twin’s reference to some new students who were due to arrive at Randall.
“Much obliged to Mr. Jackson, whoever he may be,” spoke the tall youth, “but I haven’t the honor of his acquaintance.”