"I've looked everywhere I could think of except at 'J. W.'s,' and he was still at supper a few minutes ago. I don't see where he can be! Unless—gee, he may be in my room! I'll go and see."
He hurried out, but five minutes later he was back. "He wasn't there," he said in reply to Loring's mute question, "but I found this. It was on the table." He drew an envelope from a pocket, and, with an uneasy glance at Wattles, laid it on Loring's tray.
"You needn't mind Wattles," said Loring. He drew the single sheet of paper from the envelope, and, with Clif leaning over his shoulder, read the message it bore: "Dear old Clif, I'm pulling out in half an hour. Something told me a long while back that I wasn't going to like this place, and the hunch was dead right. I'm going home to-night, and I guess I'll be back on the old High School Team by next week. Tell Billy to give you the bundle wrapped in blue paper in my top drawer. It's those golf hose you always liked, the ones with the green and yellow tops. I'm going to miss you, old son, but we'll get together somehow at Christmas if it can be managed. Keep this mum until to-morrow. I've got to see the guardian before he gets word from the School. Well, old son, here's luck, and I hope we win from Wolcott even if I don't see it. Give my best to Loring. And tell Wattles Cheer-io! Yours to the last whistle, T.A.K.—P.S. I'll write you in a day or two. If old Winslow's nasty I'll probably hike out somewhere on my own. I'll let you know so
