"Some one! Huh! The some one was you, then, I'll bet! Say—"
But Tom was half-way up the stairs and Clif's remarks were curtailed. Turning toward Number 17, he shook his head helplessly. Then, however, he chuckled.
After study hour Clif persuaded Tom to accompany him to Mr. McKnight's. This was the evening of what "Lovey" called his "shindig." Clif had visited his adviser several times since that first conference, but had never managed to attend one of the Friday night gatherings. Tom was far from enthusiastic, but yielded to his chum's pleas. Besides, Clif accused him of duplicity and deceit, and several other dreadful things in connection with his election to the Scrub captaincy, and perhaps Tom felt that he owed Clif something in the way of apology. They found only eight others in Number 19 when they arrived; eight, that is, beside the instructor. During the next few minutes the number was augmented by the arrival of an attenuated youth with a surprisingly long neck and prominent Adam's apple, which leaped convulsively when he talked, and a Junior who was painfully embarrassed, and spent the hour voiceless in a corner.
At first the guests looked to be a motley crowd, but after a while Clif concluded that there was nothing out of the ordinary about them. They represented, he decided, the non-athletic element of the school; or, to put it more fairly, the intellectual element. Tom was plainly sorry he had come. Introductions were neces-
