“I hope so. Thanks for coming over, Todd, and-- Wait just a minute. Stand where you are, please, and put your hand up. Away up. That’s it. Fine!” Mr. Cade stared across the room a moment while Jim, perplexed, stood by the door with one hand--that, as it chanced, of which two fingers were bound with an already soiled white bandage--extended almost to the ceiling. Then: “All right, Todd. Much obliged. Good night!” “Now,” Jim asked himself as he let himself out and took long strides across Academy street, “I wonder what that was for!” Mr. Tarbot, looking as Jim thought a whole lot like a spider awaiting the unsuspecting fly, sat in view of the corridor as Jim entered the dormitory. “Ah, Todd,” he began blandly. But Jim presented his note before the instructor got further. Mr. Tarbot read it, smiled faintly and laid it aside. “A football coach who quotes Latin so aptly, Todd, is not to be refused. Good night.” “Good night, sir. Thanks.” “Ah, just a moment. Was the mystery of the stranger in the cloth cap ever fathomed, Todd?” “Mystery, sir?” “Ah, I see you are not in your room-mate’s confidence, so never mind. Possibly I have been indiscreet. Pay no heed to my maudlin mutterings, Todd. Good night to you.” “Gee,” reflected Jim as he went on upstairs, “every one’s acting sort of crazy to-night!” Clem was in bed, although he had left the light burning for Jim, and he raised an inquiring, even slightly anxious, face above the clothes as the latter entered. “Did he nab you?” he asked. Jim nodded. “Mr. Cade gave me a note for him, though, and he didn’t say a word.” Clem’s face disappeared again. “Lucky for you,” he muttered from under the sheet. “Good night.” CHAPTER XIX FULL-BACK TO RIGHT TACKLE Returning to Number 15 Tuesday to look over his mathematics before an eleven o’clock recitation, Jim found Clem reading a letter from Martin Gray. Jim knew that the letter was from Mart because the envelope of thin, ash-hued paper, adorned with a foreign stamp, lay face-up on the table. Mart had written to Clem several times since school had commenced and each letter had reported improvement. When Clem finished the present missive he folded it and returned it to the envelope rather thoughtfully. Then he raised his eyes and regarded Jim, who had taken possession of the window-seat, for a long moment before he finally announced: “Had a letter from Mart.” “How is he?” asked Jim. “Fine, and having a wonderful time. They’re at some place outside Florence. They’ve taken a place called the Palazzo Something-or-Other which Mart says is a stone morgue entirely surrounded by flowers. He’s playing tennis a lot, so I think he must be a good deal better.” “I’m awfully glad,” said Jim. “Yes, so am I.” Clem paused in the manner of one who has not finished, and after a moment’s silence he added: “He writes that he thinks now he will be able to come back to school after Christmas.”