"What? You don't mean to say you've been caught? Well, of all things. You, one of the 'grinds,' falling a victim." "It wasn't altogether my fault." "How's that?" Tom considered for a moment. Would it be violating the ethical honor of a college boy if he told his chum? Would it be contrary to the spirit of Randall? Tom thought not, merely to let Sid know what had happened. For it would go no further, and, as a matter of fact, several students had seen Tom and Langridge leave town together. Besides, Tom wanted advice. So he told his chum everything from the time of meeting with the sporty students until the sensational retreat of Langridge to his room. "Now, what would you do?" asked Tom. "Keep still and take what's coming or tell the proctor and use that as an excuse for coming in late? It really wasn't my fault." Sid scratched his head. It was a new problem for him. He saw the point Tom made, that by informing on a fellow student, Tom would be held blameless, as indeed he had a right to be. Why should Tom suffer for another's fault? That came plainly to Sid. Yet he only hesitated a moment before answering. "Of course you can't squeal," he said simply. "That's what I thought," agreed Tom, as if that was all there was to it. "I'll have to take what's coming, I s'pose." "Maybe proc. won't be hard on you. You've got a good record." "Fairly. Anyhow, I hope he doesn't cut me out from baseball. Well, I'm going to bed. I wonder if they'll find out about Langridge? If the watchman thought to make a tour of the rooms, he'd discover that he just got in." "He'll not do that. Too many of 'em. Besides, trust Langridge for knowing how to take care of himself. He's getting reckless, though." "Of course you won't say anything to any of the fellows about him playing cards and smoking," went on Tom, but he did not mention the drinking episode, though probably Sid guessed. "Of course not," came the prompt answer, "but it's not fair to the rest of the team. However, I'm not going to make a holler. Hope you come out of it all right. By-by." "Um," grunted Tom, for he was rubbing some of the liniment on his arm and the pungent fumes made him keep his eyes and mouth shut. Sid tumbled into bed, leaving Tom to put out the light, and there was no further talk. Tom undressed slowly. He was in no mood for sleep, for he was much upset over the incident of the night, and he was not a little anxious about the next day and his prospective visit to the proctor. For the first time that he noticed it, the ticking of the alarm clock annoyed him, the fussy, quick strokes making him say over and over again the words of a silly little rhyme as one sometimes, riding in a railroad train, fits to the click of the wheels over the rail joints some bit of doggerel that will not be ousted. "I must be getting nervous," thought Tom. "Wonder if I'm over-training?"