"You old misogynist! And me working like a detective to get on the trail of our beloved chair! What kept you in, Phil?"
"Couldn't get his tie fixed to suit him," responded Sid, thus getting one in on the quarter-back, who was rather noted for his taste in neck scarfs.
"Well, come on, now!" urged the pitcher.
"We've got time enough to get to town and back before the 'eats,' and if we go now Proc. Zane won't be so apt to spot us."
"What's the game?" asked Sid.
"Second-hand Shylock has our chair," explained Tom briefly, as he told of the information Wallops had given him. "We'll go talk to him like a Dutch uncle, and make him tell how he dared come into our rooms while we were at practice. Come on!"
"The nerve of Komsky!" cried Phil. "I'm with you," and the three lads hurried from the college, crossed the campus, and were headed for a trolley that would take them to the village. They saw the car coming, and were about to sprint for it, when Tom became aware of the figure of a small, fussy little man striding toward them from behind a row of trees, holding up his hand as if to command a halt.
"Zane!" gasped the pitcher.
