"Huh! It doesn't seem to me much like it is in the stories. Say, we forgot about the papers, Tom!"
"What papers?"
"The New York papers, with the account of the thrilling rescue at Oakdale, with your picture——"
"He didn't get any picture of me," said Tom grimly.
"He made you talk, though," laughed Steve.
"He'd make anyone talk," Tom grunted.
"By Jove!" He jumped suddenly to his feet, and with more animation than had been displayed in Number 12 for a half-hour hurried to the closet.
"What's up?" asked Steve in surprise.
"Telegram," came in smothered tones from Tom. "Here it is. Lawrence handed it to me in the gym after the game. Said it came at noon, but Robey wouldn't let him give it to me. Bet you it's from my dad."
Tom tore the end from the yellow envelope and there was silence in the room for a moment. At last, with a queer expression on his battered countenance, he walked across and held the message out to Steve. "It's for you, too," he said quietly.