"I wish the re-play were to-day, Roger," said Dick, earnestly. "It would take my mind off the—the other thing."
"Agreed. We're both of us trying, with poor success, not to look as miserable as we feel."
"I shall get a special 'exeat' to-morrow, Roger, and go down to tell that printer chap how things are."
"Quite the soundest policy, dear old chum. I heartily approve. Here, let's go to the Common-room and have a bit of music. Nero fiddled while Rome was burning—we'll bang the piano and trust to luck, too. Are you game, Captain?"
His begone-dull-care manner, so unusual with Roger, lifted Dick up responsively.
"Cheerio!" he cried. "Lead the dance, Sir Roger de Coverley!"
CHAPTER IX
Luke Harwood in the Picture
British weather is notorious for its very quick changes. Thus, the day after the fruitless burglar hunt, the Captain of Foxenby was sitting in warm sunshine on the verge of the Shrubbery when the Prefect of Holbeck's House strolled across to condole with him.
"At the risk of seeming to rub it in, Forge, I want to tender my sincere sympathy," said Harwood, sitting beside him. "In your shoes I'd be puzzled what to do."