Later Clif recalled Walter's revelations about the boy in the wheel chair, and he proceeded to spring the news on Tom. "Say, who do you suppose he is?" he asked, having introduced the subject.
"King Tut," said Tom, hurling a pebble into the distance.
"No, seriously. Well, he's Sanford Deane's son!"
"The man who owns all the money in the world? How come he's here?" Tom was disappointingly unimpressed, Clif considered.
"Why shouldn't he be here? What's the matter with this place?"
"Nothing, but there are lots of schools where it costs you a heap more. You'd think he would send the fellow to one of those."
"Well, I don't see that," Clif objected. "Anyway, being a cripple—"
"Did Treat tell you what the trouble with the chap is?"
"No, I didn't ask him."
"I heard some one say that he hasn't any legs, but I don't believe that. Yesterday that nurse or valet of his was carrying him upstairs in Middle, and I'm pretty sure I could see his legs under that rug thing. Of course they might be artificial."
"I don't believe it either," said Clif. "He was only about twenty feet from us in History class yesterday, and I just know he had plenty of legs!"
"How many?" chuckled Tom. "He isn't a centipede, is he?"
