At last the hands of the clock stood perpendicular, one over the other, and, having announced that he would remain at his desk a few minutes to speak with any one who wished to have a word with him, Professor Richardson dismissed the scholars. A few of the boys lingered, curious to observe if any one should approach the principal, but all of the fellows who could have cleared up the mystery made haste to get out of the room.
Again Piper was baffled in his effort to speak privately with Shultz, who walked away between two girls, talking and laughing like one who bore no shadow of apprehension in his heart.
“He’s putting up a big bluff,” muttered Billy. “He never troubled himself before to be so jolly sociable with those girls. He can’t carry it off like Osgood; he hasn’t got the natural swing.”
Piper bolted his dinner with such haste that his mother was led to warn him of indigestion, with which he was sometimes troubled.
“As soon as it comes spring,” she said, “you get baseball crazy, Will, and you don’t like to stay home a minute longer than you have to.”
“It’s not baseball to-day, mother,” he answered. “I wonder if anybody has heard anything new about Roy?”
“I haven’t, not a word. I thought perhaps you might at school. You’re always so quick to see through things, haven’t you an idea what happened to him?”
“Do you think I wouldn’t tell if I had?”
“No, but it seems queer nobody knows anything at all about it. Can’t you even guess, Will?”
“No, I can’t,” he answered brusquely, pushing back and jumping up from the table. “It’s never been my habit to guess; I’ve always had something to base my theories on.”