"Upstairs, practising. Come and see it any time you like. It really is a peach, Edwards, and it's scarcely worn at all. It—it's a prayer rug, too, and they're scarcer than hens' teeth nowadays!"
But Steve was already yards away and Durkin shrugged his shoulders and turned back into Torrence.
"Wonder what's up," he murmured. "I'd hate to get Sawyer into a scrape. Still, if he will buy that rug——"
CHAPTER XXIV
THE DAY BEFORE THE BATTLE
Tom was attiring himself in his Sunday best. It was almost six o'clock and one of Hoskins' barges was to leave Main Hall at half-past with the members of the second team, for this was the evening of the banquet in the village. Tom didn't feel unduly hilarious, however. He was sorry that the football season was over, for one thing, for he loved the game. And then existence of late had been fairly wearing and mighty unsatisfactory. His quarrel with Steve was a tiresome affair and he didn't see just how it was to end. For his part, in spite of the fact that his chum had hurt him a good deal by his mean suspicion of him, he was ready to make up, only—well, he had some pride, after all, and it did seem as if the first overtures should come from Steve. No, on the whole, Tom wasn't looking forward to the banquet with any great amount of enjoyment. If Steve was going to be there, too——
Someone came hurrying down the corridor, the room door flew open and there stood Steve himself, a radiant and embarrassed look on his face, his gaze searching the room for Tom. His face fell a little as he found the room apparently empty, and then lighted again as his glance discovered Tom at the closet door, Tom half-dressed and with a pair of trousers dangling over his arm. Out went Steve's hand as he turned.
"I'm sorry, Tom," he said simply. "I was a beast."
Tom took the hand that was offered and squeezed it hard.