“What’s the row?” asked Gerald.
Tom explained, stating what he had heard from Ketch of the trick the boys had played him; and Charley’s absence. Gerald, who really was not cognizant of it in any way, listened eagerly, making his own comments, and enjoying beyond everything the account of Ketch’s fast in the supper department. Both he and Tom exploded with mirth; and Tod, who said nothing, but listened with his hands in his pockets, dancing first on one leg, then on the other, nearly laughed himself into fits.
“What did they take out the cloister keys for?” demanded Gerald.
“Who’s to know?” said Tom. “I thought Tod was sure to be in it.”
“Don’t I wish I had been!” responded that gentleman, turning up the whites of his eyes to give earnestness to the wish.
Gerald looked round at Tod, a faint suspicion stealing over him that the denial was less genuine than it appeared. In point of fact, Mr. Tod’s had been the identical trencher, spoken of as having watched the effect of the message upon old Ketch. “I say, Tod, you were off somewhere to-night for about two hours,” said Gerald. “I’ll declare you were.”
“I know I was,” said Tod readily. “I had an appointment with Mark Galloway, and I went to keep it. If you skinned me alive, Channing, I couldn’t tell you where Miss Charley is, or where he’s likely to be.”
True enough in the abstract. Tom Channing stopped talking a short time longer, and then ran home. “Is Charley in yet?” was his first question.
No, Charley was not in; and the household now became seriously concerned. It was past ten. By leaving his lessons half done, and his pen inside his exercise-book—of which exercise he had not left many words to complete; but he had other studies to do—it was evident to them that he had not gone out intending to remain away. Indeed, if he wanted to go out in an evening, he always asked leave, and mentioned where he was going.
“Haven’t you found him?” exclaimed Judith, coming forward as Tom entered. “Where in the world can the child be?”