lowed our hero out into the corridor. "I hope it isn't spondulix, old man," he went on. "I'd let you have some in a moment, but I'm dead broke, and"
"I don't need any money!" broke in Tom, half angrily. "Look here, Bascome, were you in our room to-day after the football game?"
"In your room? Certainly not, either before the game or after it. What do you mean?"
"Well," went on Tom, "there have been some queer things happening lately. Our old chair was taken—for a joke, I presume, and"
"Do you mean to accuse me of having a hand in that?" demanded Bascome, indignantly. "If you do, Parsons"
"Take it easy," advised Tom, calmly. "I haven't accused you of anything yet. I merely asked you if you had been in our room."
"But why do you do that? What makes you think I was in there?"
"Because I found this there after we came back from the game this afternoon," went on the end. "It's a letter addressed to you, and I thought maybe you had dropped it."
Tom held out the missive, but, before taking it, Bascome, with a glance of anger at his companion, said cuttingly:
"Look here, Parsons, I don't know what your game is, but I think you're confoundedly insulting.
