Steve looked fascinatedly at the book for a minute. Then his hand went out and he was once more turning the pages of neat, close writing. Of course, he wouldn't really do a thing like that, but—well, it would solve a mighty big problem! And what a hole that self-sufficient Upton would be in! He couldn't prove that he had left the book in Mr. Daley's study, at least not unless the instructor had seen it there; and somehow Steve was pretty sure he hadn't. Of course a decent chap wouldn't do a trick like that, only—well, it would certainly be easy enough!
Upstairs, Tom was still deep in his Greek, but he looked up as Steve came in. "Find him?" he asked.
Steve shook his head. "No, he was out. I—I'll go down again." Instead of reseating himself at the table, he fidgetted aimlessly about the room, looked out the window, sat down on the seat, got up again, went to the closet, returned to the table and stood looking down on Tom with a frown. Tom closed his book with a sigh of relief and met his chum's gaze.
"Going to tackle that composition now?" he asked encouragingly.
"I guess so," answered Steve carelessly. "Are you through?"
"Yes. I think I'll run over to Harry's a minute. I suppose you won't come."
"Not likely, with this pesky thing to do." Steve sank into his chair, picked up a pencil and drummed irritably on the table. "Maybe, though," he went on after a moment, "I'll get up early and do it. I don't feel much like it to-night."
"Just the same," returned Tom as he picked up his cap, "I'd do it to-night if I were you and get it over with."
"Oh, if you were me you'd had it done a week ago Tuesday," replied Steve with vast sarcasm. "I guess I'll go along."
"How about your math?" asked Tom doubtfully.