As a matter of fact, Harry hadn't been calling on anyone in Number 6 for the simple reason that he had found no one at home. Moreover, he had expected to find no one, for he had left Tim at the gymnasium and seen Don and Harry Westcott sitting in the window of the latter's room in Torrence as he passed. What he had done was leave a hastily scrawled note for Don on the table in there, a note which Don discovered an hour later and which at once puzzled and disturbed him.
"Come up and see me after supper will you," the note read, with a superb disdain of punctuation, "I want to see you. Important. H. Walton."
"What's he want to see you about?" asked Tim when Don tossed the note to him to read.
"I don't know." Don frowned thoughtfully.
"I hope he isn't going to make trouble about that old business."
"What old business?" asked Tim carelessly, more interested in a set of bruised knuckles than anything else just then.
"Why, you know Harry saw us climbing in the window that night."
"Saw us climb—Well, what of it? That was years ago. Why should he want to make trouble about that? And how could he do it? I'd like to see him start anything with me."
"Oh, well, I just happened to think of that."
"More likely he's going to ask you to break a leg or something so he can get your place," chuckled Tim. "Don't you do it, Don, if he does. It doesn't pay to be too obliging. Ready for eats?"