“Ah, Todd,” he began blandly. But Jim presented his note before the instructor got further. Mr. Tarbot read it, smiled faintly and laid it aside. “A football coach who quotes Latin so aptly, Todd, is not to be refused. Good night.”
“Good night, sir. Thanks.”
“Ah, just a moment. Was the mystery of the stranger in the cloth cap ever fathomed, Todd?”
“Mystery, sir?”
“Ah, I see you are not in your room-mate’s confidence, so never mind. Possibly I have been indiscreet. Pay no heed to my maudlin mutterings, Todd. Good night to you.”
“Gee,” reflected Jim as he went on upstairs, “every one’s acting sort of crazy to-night!”
Clem was in bed, although he had left the light burning for Jim, and he raised an inquiring, even slightly anxious, face above the clothes as the latter entered. “Did he nab you?” he asked.
Jim nodded. “Mr. Cade gave me a note for him, though, and he didn’t say a word.”
Clem’s face disappeared again. “Lucky for you,” he muttered from under the sheet. “Good night.”