“Is your mother――I mean――” “Yes, she died about six years ago. A man named Winslow is my guardian. Mother didn’t have any near relatives and this guy was her lawyer and so she stung me with him. He’s sort of a pill. I say, pipe the faculty chap on the steps!” Against the light of West Hall entrance a tall figure was darkly silhouetted as they came up the drive. “Faculty chaps are bad luck for me,” confided Tom; “like black cats!” Clif laughed uneasily. Then they were at the steps and he said “Good evening, sir,” as pleasantly as he knew how. “Good evening,” was the response. “Where have you boys been?” “Just looking around, sir,” answered Tom promptly. “What have you there?” The man indicated Tom’s right hand. Tom looked and replied affably: “A peanut, sir.” “Hm. What’s your name?” “Kemble, sir.” “And yours?” “Bingham, sir.” “Well, Kemble and Bingham, it’s contrary to rules to go off the grounds after six o’clock. You didn’t, I presume, pick that peanut off any of the trees here.” “Oh, no, sir,” answered Tom. “I rather think they grow on vines.” “Your knowledge of agriculture is impressive.” Tom thought the instructor’s features relaxed a trifle, but since they were in shadow he couldn’t be certain. “You boys had better report to Mr. Frost in the morning,” he went on. “Tell him Mr. Waltman sent you; and why.” “Yes, sir,” said Tom politely. Then, as Mr. Waltman ascended the steps and disappeared inside the Hall, he added sadly: “Heck! This is a fine start, isn’t it? Something tells me, Clif, that I’m not going to like this place!” Clif went up to Number 34 with Tom and met the “snifty” roommate and liked him a lot. Billy Desmond was a large, good-hearted and generally smiling fellow of seventeen. Perhaps he was rather inclined just at first to use a patronizing tone with Tom and Clif, but he got over it before many days had passed and was voted a good scout by both of them. To-night he joked them a lot about their mishap and drew lugubrious pictures of the Assistant to the Principal, Mr. Frost, and described a variety of dire results any one of which might befall them. Even though he discounted Billy’s predictions Tom was characteristically pessimistic and frequently reiterated his conviction that he wasn’t going to be happy at Wyndham.