of his own room, and had a view of the main apartment. Then he saw a white-robed figure standing looking out of the window that gave a view of the campus, over which a faint moon was then shining.
"That looks like Sid," thought Tom. "I wonder if he's getting spoony—or loony or moony? Maybe he couldn't sleep and got up to change the current of his thoughts. Well, shall I go out and keep him company, or"
Tom reconsidered the matter a moment.
"No," he thought, "if I go out there, and we get to chinning, even in whispers, it will rouse Frank and Phil, and then we'll all be wide awake. And the land knows we need all the sleep we can get. I can find my way to dreamland without being sung to, anyhow."
For a moment he watched the figure by the window. It was Sid, Tom felt sure of that, though night-garments, be they pajamas or the more prosaic shirts, do not make for identifying individuals. There is little of character to them.
Then the figure by the window turned partly toward Tom, but, as the face was in the shadow, the watching lad could not see it plainly. The figure approached the table, on which was a litter of paper, where the lads had been doing some studying earlier in the evening.
"By Jove!" thought Tom. "Old Sid is writing
