“Now I’ll be able to finish it up in great shape,” he said softly to himself.
He listened, his face wearing a very serious expression, until their cheery voices were stilled by distance, then drawing a voluminous collection of papers from his inside pocket he spread them out carefully on the center table and set to work.
Evidently the problems which confronted him were of a very profound and complex nature. The lines on his forehead deepened; occasionally he uttered a half sigh, as some particularly knotty point was encountered; then, losing patience, he rose to his feet and walked toward an armchair near the window.
Picking up a book, the well-worn appearance of which indicated much usage, he opened it at random and began to read a description of the deltoid muscle, its origin, insertion and various functions.
But a treatise on anatomy, just then, couldn’t hold Tom’s attention long.
“By George, that twenty-second article is a sticker,” he exclaimed, aloud. “I’ll get it through.” He looked at his watch. “Gee, I’ll have to hurry. Isn’t Victor the freshest little dub? Afraid to take the car out alone, am I? He certainly does make me tired.”
When the obstinate twenty-second article was finally conquered the lad breathed a sigh of relief, and a good-natured grin replaced the scowl on his face, as he began gathering the loose sheets of paper together.
“It’s a dandy piece of work, all right—bet Dave’ll think so, too,” he reflected. “We’re going to make some stir in the Kingswood High this term.”
Tom busied himself for a few moments in replacing his belongings in a suit case. This done, he glanced at his watch once more.
“It’s most time for ’em now,” he murmured. “Crickets! I’m anxious to hop into that car again.”