Just then another second-year youth came along.
"I know where their clothes are," he said. "In the closet at the end of the hall. Langridge"
"Shut up!" cried Gladdus.
"Come on, fellows!" called Fenmore. "We'll soak 'em good."
Sid groaned as the sophomores released him and Tom and made a run for the closet.
"We'd ought to have scattered 'em," he said. "Now we'll have to wear wet duds to chapel tomorrow. We can't go in these," and he looked at his dripping garments—clothes in which he did cross-country running and played tennis—old and somewhat ragged and muddy habiliments.
"Did you hear what that soph said?" demanded Tom.
"You mean"
"I mean about Langridge. He gave us away. He told them where our clothes were; the mean sneak!"
"That's right," chimed in Sid. "That's what he was doing up here—spying on us. "Oh, I'll pay him back all right!"
"So will I!" declared Tom fervently as a triumphant shout down the corridor announced that their clothes had been discovered. The garments, dripping wet and all out of shape, were thrown into their room a little later.
"Well, wouldn't that put your nerves on the
