"Mr. Parsons," began Proctor Zane slowly when the door had closed behind Tom, "there has been a serious accident to-night." Tom bowed. He could not trust his voice. "Two students were badly hurt and the results may be lasting. They are only just now out of danger." Once more Tom bowed. He could not speak. The beating of his heart was choking him. "As a rule," went on the proctor judicially, "I take no notice of the--er--the affairs between the different classes or student bodies. But this time I am obliged to. Dr. Churchill and myself have made an examination of the pavilion where this outrage occurred. We discovered the wires running from the electric light circuit to the hand rail. We discovered where a spring connection had been made, so that, by the burning away of a fuse, the parts of the spring closed, the wires came in contact and the current filled the hand rail. We also discovered something else." He paused, and Tom, for the first time, looked the proctor full in the face. Mr. Zane held out a small object. "This knife was found near where the wires were fastened to the railing," he said. "It has your name on it. Is it yours?" "Yes, sir," replied Tom. "You took part in this affair?" "I am a freshman." "That is answer enough. Did you attach the wires?" "No, and I had nothing to do with that part of it." "Your knife would seem to indicate that you had." No answer from Tom. "Did you use your knife to attach the wires?" "No, sir." "Do you know who did?" "I think I do." "Will you tell?" Tom could almost hear his heart beating. There was a singing in his ears. Then he answered: "No. I cannot tell, Mr. Zane. I--I----" "That will do," said the proctor gravely. "I did not expect you would tell." Tom turned and made his way from the room. There was a mist before his eyes. There came back to him the promise he had made to Langridge. On his honor as a freshman he had agreed not to give information. When he gave the promise he had not known how serious it would be. But, nevertheless, it was a promise. Tom stumbled into his room. The Snail and Phil were gone. Sid sat with the light turned low. He jumped up as his chum came in. "Tom," he cried, "what's the matter?" "Nothing," was the answer in a dull, spiritless tone. Tom threw himself into a chair. The fussy little clock ticked away. Half an hour passed and not a word was spoken. "You'd better go to bed, old man," said Sid gently. "It'll be all right to-morrow." Without a word Tom began to undress. The light was turned out. Sid was dozing off when he heard his chum tossing restlessly on his bed. "Tom," he called through the darkness, "can I help you?" "No," came the answer, and then Tom lay quiet. But he did not sleep. CHAPTER XIII A GIRL AND A GAME