Tom tried to urge him to come on. It was getting late and only by running could they reach college and report before the prescribed hour, nine o'clock. But Langridge was obstinate and would not come. Tom did not want to leave him, for he had heard that Langridge did not stand any too well with the faculty, and a few more demerits would mean that he would have to give up athletics. So Tom determined that, if possible, he would get the foolish lad within bounds in time. But it was a useless undertaking, and Tom heard nine strokes boom out on the chapel bell when they were some distance from college. "That cooks our goose!" he exclaimed. "It doesn't so much matter for me, as it's the first time, but Langridge will suffer if he's caught in this plight." He redoubled his persuasive powers and by dint of much talk at length induced Langridge to get up and come on. But it was half-past nine now and it was twenty minutes to ten, when, with his arm linked in that of the lad he was trying to save in spite of himself, Tom walked up the campus to get to the dormitory. The watchman opened the door at his knock. Langridge had slipped behind Tom and stood in the deep shadow. "After hours," said the man simply. "You will report to the proctor to-morrow morning, Mr. Parsons." "Yes," replied Tom simply. Langridge was moving uneasily about in the shadows on the stone steps. "Any one with you, Mr. Parsons?" "Well--er--that is----" The watchman started to go out, thinking to catch several students. At that instant Langridge, with a cunning evidently born of long experience, circled around Tom on the opposite side to that on which the watchman stood and darted down a small areaway that led to the basement. "Ha! trying to hide!" exclaimed the guardian of the door. "I'll find out who you are!" In the darkness he went down into the areaway. A moment later Langridge had roughly upset him there, and before the man could gain his feet, the pitcher had sprinted up the steps and into the open door of the dormitory and thence along the corridor to his room. The watchman had not had a glimpse of his face. The man came panting up the steps. "Who--who was that with you, Mr. Parsons?" he demanded sternly as he rubbed his bruised shins. Tom took a sudden resolve. There might be a chance for Langridge to escape. "I'm not going to tell," he said firmly but respectfully. "Very well," he replied. "You must report to Mr. Zane in the morning. I'll inform him of this outrage. He'll make you tell who was with you." "I don't believe he will," thought Tom as he went to his room. CHAPTER XXI ON THE GRILL "Well, what's up?" asked Sid as Tom came in. "You're going the pace, aren't you, old man?" and he looked anxiously at his chum, whose face was flushed from the experience through which he had just gone. "I got in late," admitted Tom. "Get caught?" asked Sid, as if that was all that mattered. "Yep, but that's not the worst of it."