"Yes," replied the other unenthusiastically. "It's done, but—but I guess it's pretty rotten. If I get a C on it I'll be doing well. I thought maybe I'd go over it again, but—I guess it'll have to do."
"Where is it?"
"Here somewhere." Tom searched at the far end of the table and drew a blue-book to light. "Want to see it?"
Steve took it and glanced over it, a puzzled frown on his forehead.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom. "Don't you like it? I guess it is pretty punk, though."
"It's all right, as far as I know," answered Steve, returning the book. "Only—I don't understand——"
"Don't understand what? Say, you're as mysterious as—as—Sherlock Holmes!"
"Nothing. By the way, a funny thing happened." Steve wandered toward the window, his back to Tom, "When I went down to find 'Horace' I picked up a blue-book that was on his table and brought it up here. It was Upton's. I—I hadn't any recollection of doing it, but he found it lying on the table. Of course I felt like a fool."
"Oh," said Tom after a moment. "That—that was funny. I didn't see you bring it in with you." There was a note of constraint in his voice that did not escape Steve.
"I don't remember bringing it in," he replied. "I saw it on the table down there and—and looked at it, had it in my hand, but I don't remember bringing it up."