“And there’s that case of Pulter’s book—found out near Yale Field,” went on Andy. “I suppose Mortimer had that, too.”
“Very likely, though it seems queer that he’d stoop so low as to take books.”
“He could pawn ’em, I suppose, same as he did the other things he took,” Andy continued.
“The way he used to borrow money from me and some of the other fellows was a caution!” exclaimed Dunk. “Seems as though he’d have enough to worry along on without stealing.”
“He spent a lot, though,” said Andy. “He was used to high living and I suppose when he found the money wasn’t coming from his father any more he had to get it the best way he could.”
“Or the worst,” commented Dunk, grimly. “I know he never paid me back all he got, and the same way with a lot of the fellows. But if he’s coming I wish he’d show up. I don’t wish him any bad luck, and I’d give a whole lot, even now, if it would prove to be someone else besides Mortimer. But I’m getting tired of waiting here.”
“So am I,” said Andy, with a yawn.
Again there was a silence, while they kept their strange vigil. Then, far down the lower corridor, there sounded footsteps.
“He—he’s coming!” whispered Andy in a tense voice.
“Yes,” assented Dunk.