“But――but that’s crazy!” Loring protested. “You passed! He’s just trying to throw a scare into you, I guess. He’s bound to come around before fall, Tom.” “Is he?” growled Tom. “You don’t know him! It’s the money he’s thinking of, the――the blamed old miser! Says it would be wasting money for me to return, that I’m getting no results for what it’s costing. And it’s my money, too! All right, all _right_! But he needn’t think I’m going to clerk in a store, or something like that, by heck! I’m――I’ll run away first! I don’t care what――” Tom’s angry voice was stilled by a gentle tap on the door. The breeze had died away and the door had been left well ajar for the admittance of any stray breath of air stirring in the corridor. Before Loring could answer, the tip of a cane came into view, the door opened wider and Mr. Cooper entered. He was in dress clothes, and Clif’s first thought was one of envy. Clif had viewed his own evening regalia in the mirror half an hour since and had been rather well pleased with what he had seen, but now he realized that dress clothes alone were not enough; it was the manner of wearing them that counted most! Even Tom forgot his wrath for a moment in approving appraisal of the newcomer, and Loring spoke his mind frankly. “Gee, Mr. Cooper, you’re some sheik!” he exclaimed. Mr. Cooper smiled as he laid hat and stick on the foot of Loring’s bed. “Thanks,” he answered. “Fact is, fellows, I haven’t had these togs on for so long that they feel deuced strange. You chaps look rather sheikish yourselves, it seems to me!” He took his accustomed chair and viewed Tom’s lowering countenance inquiringly. “What’s this about running away, old chap?” he asked. “I forgot the door was open,” muttered Tom. “It’s Mr. Winslow, sir. He doesn’t like the marks I got and says I can’t come back in the fall.” Mr. Cooper’s brows raised. “Really! Why, that _is_ bad news, isn’t it?” “Rotten!” declared Clif. “We had it all fixed to room together, sir.” “Tom says it’s the expense that’s worrying the guardian,” said Loring. “And it’s Tom’s money, too.” “And so you’re going to run away,” mused Mr. Cooper. “I’m going in the Navy,” declared Tom defiantly. “Well, now look here, Tom. Just put the matter out of your mind. Perhaps I don’t rate very high with you chaps as a prophet, but I’m really quite a remarkable one, and I prophesy, Tom, that you’ll be back here in September. And the September after that again.” Tom stared doubtfully. Then he grinned. “I’d like to know where you get your dope,” he muttered. Mr. Cooper waved a thin brown hand. “We prophets don’t give ourselves away, old chap. But――” and he spoke so gravely that even Tom was impressed――“I give you my word that I know what I’m talking about and that it’ll be just as I say. How about it?” Tom laughed doubtfully. “I don’t see how―― But, heck, sir, you make it sound real!” “It is real. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Mr. Winslow is――er――Mr. Winslow is mistaken.”