around—and then, that frozen grin still on his face, lounged back across the gravel to the entrance of West Hall. Probably, he was reflecting, not a soul had watched that parting, but it wouldn't do to take chances, and so he played the rôle of stoic to the end, or, rather, as far as the second step.
He was there when an object disconcertingly obtruded itself on his vision. It was a brown, rubber-soled shoe dangling from the end of an amazingly colorful golf hose. Clif's gaze darted higher and his own fixed grin was instantly reflected. Only, whereas Clif's facial contortion was designed to express ease and gayety, the countenance of the boy seated on the top step unquestionably indicated derision. The fellow hadn't been there when Clif had followed his father to the car, but he must have appeared soon after, for his countenance said as plainly as words could have said it: "You didn't fool me! Almost cried, didn't you? Couldn't even say good-by to him! Gee, what a baby! Huh!"
Clif's grin vanished. With one foot on the next step above, he stood stock still and glared back at the boy. He felt outraged, degraded and very, very angry. The other stared steadily, maliciously back at him. Clif's hands closed and tightened. Then:
"Go on," he demanded, his voice low and tight. "Go on and say it!"
The other only chuckled mirthlessly, still staring.
"You—you confounded spy!" said Clif. "You might find something better to do than sneak around,
