“What time is it?” asked Alf.
“Twenty minutes to one,” answered Chambers. “I thought it was about twelve! I’d hate to be seen getting back to the room!”
“Well, I don’t believe it would make much difference,” said Dan. “I fancy our goose is cooked anyway. That old butter-in saw us as plain as daylight.”
“I don’t believe he did,” answered Alf. “Not even as plain as moonlight. It was fairly dark down there in those bushes. The only fellow he might have had a good look at is Gerald, and even he was running away all the time. What the dickens did you run out onto the lawn for, Gerald?”
“I don’t know. I—I just ran anywhere. I think I had an idea of getting out by the gate.”
“I told you the gate was locked, didn’t I? Well, there’s no use crying over spilled milk. There’s one hope for us, fellows, and that is that the old codger may think we were Broadwood fellows out for a lark.”
“Don’t believe Broadwood fellows ever have larks,” responded Roeder, pessimistically.
“That’s so, though,” said Chambers, hopefully. “I hadn’t thought of that. Seems to me it would be a natural supposition, eh? That we were Broadwood chaps, I mean.”
“If we were we wouldn’t have made for the fence,” said Durfee. “We’d have made for the dormitories.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Think he saw you, Gerald?”