a book, which he began to study, while Phil set himself at some of his college tasks. Only Tom remained inactive—yet not inactive, either, for he was doing some hard thinking, in which the clock, the missing chair, and the troubles of Randall in general, formed a part. He arose and walked about the room, pausing now and then in front of the clock to listen to the insistent ticking.
"Oh, for cat's sake, sit down!" exploded Phil, at length. "I've written this same sentence over six times, and I can't get it right yet, with you tramping around like a prisoner in a cell."
"Yes, go to bed," urged Sid.
Tom did not answer. Instead, he stooped over and picked up an envelope from the floor, where it had fallen partly under and was almost hidden by a low bookcase. He turned it over to read the address, and uttered a startled cry.
"What's the matter?" demanded Sid, springing to an upright position with such suddenness, that the old sofa creaked and groaned in protest, like a ship in a storm.
"Look!" exclaimed Tom. "This letter—I found it on the floor—it's addressed to Bert Bascome—from someone in the college, evidently, for it hasn't been through the mail, as there's no stamp on it."
Sid and Phil eagerly examined the missive, turning it over and over, as if something on it might
