“A great deal better for you,” Tony retorted, “than moping in doors half the time over sickly French novels.” “Possibly; but French novels are not the only alternative to the Woods,” Reggie answered, “and as a matter of fact I have begun to go in for tremendous tramps.” “You must take ‘em mostly at night, then.” “I do frequently,” was the somewhat tart reply, “the night air has always had a fascination for me.” In truth Tony was aware that Reggie had resumed his old custom of disappearing from their rooms after lights, paying visits, he incuriously supposed, upon some of his friends. The fact gave him little thought. One afternoon the three boys were in their cave. Tony was turning pan-cakes in a skillet, while Jimmie was laboring with a dark mixture that they euphemistically called coffee. Kit sat on the branch of a tree, with his head over the ledge, on the look-out for any wandering prefects. “Hurry up, you frabjous duffers,” he called down, midst a stream of amiable chaffing; “it’s close upon four, and we’ll have to bolt the grub in order to get back to Gumshoe’s five o’clock.” “Why don’t you get down and work a bit, then? Nobody’s coming along this late. Get the plates out, and pour some syrup out of the jug. No work: no eat.” “Too many cooks spoil the broth,” he laughed.... “Shish!” he exclaimed suddenly, and ducked his head below the ledge. The three kept a tense silence for a moment. They heard footsteps crunching in the snow above and passing on. Kit cautiously peeped over the ledge. “By Jove,” he whispered, “it’s Reggie Carroll and Arty Chapin. I thought it was a couple of prefects.” He slid down from the tree, and began to gobble up one of Tony’s pan-cakes. “By the by, Tony, I thought the elegant Reginald Carter Westover Carroll had severed his friendship with that specimen of common Chapin clay.” “So he had,” answered Tony, musingly. “I didn’t know they had taken up with each other again.” “What a queer duck Reggie is,” said Jimmie, as he poured out three cups of coffee. “Have you ever made him out, Tony?” “Not I. We hit it off well enough after the first few days—for a time. But this term I have hardly seen anything of him. I am sorry he is in with Chapin again.” “And I. I’ve always liked Reggie despite his supercilious disdain, but Arty’s a beast, and always was,” said Kit, drinking his coffee at a gulp. “Here, let’s stow these things, and cut around to the north and take a peep as to what that precious pair are up to. Evidently no five o’clock for them.” “What’s the difference where they are going?” said Tony. “I have no mind to spy on them.” “Well, I have a consuming curiosity,” Kit rejoined. “They’re up to mischief, I’ll be bound.” “Light out then,” said Tony, “for Jim and I are going back over the ridges.” “And leave your precious footprints in the snow,” protested Kit. “La! la! stow the stuff, will you then? I’ll report if there’s anything doing.”