"What's the matter, Don?" Paul asked.
The boy tried to speak but no words came.
"You're not sick, old chap?"
"No. Why?"
"You look so darn queer. Anything I can do for you?"
"N—o. No, I guess not. I just waited to see if you were coming along."
"Yes, I'm coming right now," returned Paul briskly. "We'll both have to be hopping, or we'll be late. So long! See you later."
The boys passed out into the corridor together and there fled in opposite directions.
But Donald's face haunted Paul through the rest of the morning. What could be the matter with the boy?