The proctor, as Tom could see in the light of the hall lamp, as the rays streamed from the glass door of the dormitory, looked pained at the appellation of "Moses" to the venerable head of the college. The boys all called Dr. Churchill that among themselves, though they meant no disrespect. They had evolved the title from his name; from the fact that, as one of the first students put it, the original Moses went up on a hill to establish the first church--hence Church--Hill; and thus "Moses." "I am sure Dr. Churchill will excuse you when he knows the circumstances, Parsons," went on the proctor with a malicious smile. "You will report to me for being out after hours without permission." "Oh, but I have permission," spoke Tom, as he drew out a note which the president had given him. "I beg your pardon for not mentioning it before. Very stupid of me, I'm sure," and this time it was Tom's turn to grin. The proctor looked at the permit, saw that it was in regular form, and knew that he was beaten. Without a word he turned and went back to his apartments, but the look he gave Tom augured no good to the talented pitcher. Tom went to his room, chuckling to himself. "Well?" asked Phil, who was not asleep when Tom entered. "Did you see Ruth?" "Yes, old chap. It's all right," and Tom told something of his visit--that is, as much as he thought Phil would care to know. "Your sister and Miss Tyler are both sorry you were laid up," he went on. "I guess I'll be out inside of a week," said Phil. "The doc was here a while ago, and left some new liniment that he said would soften up the strained muscles and ligaments. I tried some, and I feel better already. Say, put that blamed alarm clock out in the hall, will you? I can't sleep with the ticking of it." Tom did so, and then undressed. He turned the light down low, and, as he put on his pajamas, he knew, by the regular breathing of Phil, that the injured lad had fallen into a slumber. Sid, too, was sound asleep. Tom sat down on the old sofa, sinking far down into the depths of the weak springs. It creaked like an old man uttering his protest against rheumatic joints, and, in spite of the new leg Phil had put on and the strengthening boards, it threatened to collapse. Tom sat there in the half darkness dreaming--reflecting of his visit to Fairview. He imagined he could see, in the gloom of a distant corner, a fair face--which one was it? "Oh, I've got to cut this out," he remarked, and then he extinguished the light and got into bed. The next day was Saturday, and as several of the football squad were a little lame, Coach Lighton only put them through light practice. Thus the absence of Phil was not felt. He was much better, the new liniment working like a charm.