"I didn't have any," muttered Steve.
"Well." Mr. Daley cleared his throat. "I—I must think it over. I—I scarcely know what to say, Edwards. I'm sorry, very sorry." He arose and moved to the door. "Come and see me to-morrow noon, please. We—er—must talk this over again. Good-night, Edwards."
"Good-night, sir." Steve stood up until the door had closed and then sank back into his chair again, a very miserable look on his face.
"What a crazy place to hide it!" he murmured.
The door opened and Tom came in, Tom with an expression half troubled and half humorous. "What's up?" he asked in a low voice.
"Oh, nothing," replied Steve carelessly, avoiding Tom's eyes. "He jumped me because I hadn't done my comp. Says I must turn it in by noon to-morrow."
"Is that all?" Tom heaved a sigh of relief. "When he asked me to get out I thought it was something pretty serious."
"Isn't that old composition serious enough?" asked Steve with a laugh that didn't sound quite true.
"Yes, I suppose so. Look here, Steve, if you'll tackle it now, I'll help you all I can with it. It won't take long. What time is it?"
"Have you done yours?" asked Steve.