Thoughts of the pleasant journey before them and the sensation which his by-laws were certainly bound to create were in his mind to the exclusion of all else, but, as time passed by, the former steadily gained the ascendency.
“What’s keeping those chaps, I wonder?” Tom, in his impatience, paced the floor. “They ought to have been here before this.”
The next quarter of an hour was really a distressing period to the tall boy. Every step in the corridor, every voice which penetrated into the room, made his heart beat with hope. But as each faded away it left him annoyed, even angry.
“Never knew Bob Somers to fail in his word before,” he repeated several times.
Unable to stand the dreary task of waiting any longer Tom slapped on his cap, and, in a moment, was down-stairs at the door.
He looked searchingly along the street in both directions. But there were no familiar faces in the ever-passing throng.
“Hang it all,” he growled. “If we were in Chicago I might understand it, because there’s a fire every few minutes, or some kind of a rumpus going on. But here!—Why don’t those chaps come back?”
No answer was suggested by the mental query which insistently propounded itself; so, finally, with a last long look and grunt of disapproval, Tom climbed back to Bob Somers’ room. The book on anatomy reappeared, and the student, with an air of deep injury, once more began to read.
It was, at length, fully fifteen minutes beyond the time appointed for the yacht to leave.
Suddenly Tom sat bolt upright. He seemed as startled as though some one had clapped him unexpectedly on the shoulder.