Part 16 (2/2)

”Nothing.” And then Tom told of what had occurred in the office. His brothers listened with much interest.

”This is the work of some enemy,” said Sam quickly.

”And the one who got hold of the dress-suit case,” added d.i.c.k. ”Tom, do you suspect any one?”

”Only in a general way--Koswell, Flockley, Larkspur, and that crowd.”

”It's too bad.”

”Say, but that picture was a sight!” cried the fun-loving Rover, and gunned broadly. ”No wonder old Sharp was mad. I'd be mad myself, especially if it was a photo of my best girl.”

”I hope the doctor doesn't keep you in the room all day,” said Sam.

”You and d.i.c.k might as well go to town without me,” returned Tom with a sigh that he endeavored to suppress. ”Your staying here won't do me any good.”

”What will you do?”

”Oh, read or study. It will give me a chance to catch up in my Latin.

I was a bit rocky in that yesterday. I can bone away until the president sends a special message for me.”

”Want us to get anything for you?” questioned d.i.c.k.

”Yes, a good fat letter from--well, a fat letter, that's all.”

”Postmarked Cedarville, and in Nellie Laning's handwriting,” came from Sam slyly.

”I didn't know they postmarked letters in handwriting,” answered Tom innocently.

”Oh, you know what I mean.”

”Sure, Sam, for I know you're looking for a letter, too. Well, run along, children, and play,” said Tom, and a minute later Sam and d.i.c.k set off for Ashton.

Tom did not feel as lighthearted as his words would seem to indicate.

He knew that the charge against him was a serious one, and he saw no way of clearing himself. The finding of the box with his name on it seemed to be proof positive against him.

”No use of talking, the minute I get to school I seem to get into trouble,” he soliloquized. ”Wonder if they'll put me in a cell, like old Crabtree did at Putnam Hall? If they do I'll raise a kick, sure as eggs are unhatched chickens!”

Tom sat down to study, but he could not fix his mind on his lessons.

Then he heard somebody come along the hallway and turn into the next room.

”Must be Songbird, or else one of the servants,” he thought. ”Guess I'll take a look.” If it was Songbird, he could chat with his friend for a while.

He went to the next room. As he opened the door he saw Songbird, with his back toward him. The so-styled poet was waving his arms in the air and declaiming:

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