look the part as, closing the door of Number 4 West behind him, he thrust his hands into his pockets and stared dazedly down the short corridor. He stood there a long minute before, with a shrug and a hardening of his features, he made his way briskly around the corner and set out for East Hall. He did a great deal of thinking on the way, but the more he thought the less happy he became, and when he at last reached Loring's room he had to pause for an instant to wet his lips and work his face back into shape. When he went in he was grinning, and, since Clif had grown to know him fairly well by now, there was one occupant of the room not deceived by that grin Loring asked anxiously: "Was he bad, Tom?"
"Well, depends," replied Tom, seating himself with unusual decorum. "What would you call bad, old son?"
"Why—"
But Clif interrupted bruskly. "What's he done, Tom? Don't act the fool! Let's hear it."
"All right! He's handed me a dirty wallop, if you must know, the old skunk! I'm on restriction."
"Restriction!" exclaimed Loring. "Why, then—then you can't—"
"So he very carefully reminded me," said Tom bitterly. "Oh, he didn't forget anything! Said the Office had had my case under consideration for some time and that only my standing in other studies had kept them from giving me the ax before. Said maybe if my time wasn't so taken up with football I'd—" Tom
