It was a hard sentence under any circumstances. It was an unjust one in Tom's case, and he knew it. Yet what could he do? "Very well, sir," he replied, trying to overcome a certain trembling feeling in his throat, and he turned to go. "If," went on the proctor in a slightly more conciliatory voice, "you think better of your resolution and let me know the name of the student who so outrageously assaulted the watchman, I may find it possible to mitigate your punishment. Mind, I am not asking you to inform me in an ordinary case of breaking the rules, but for an extraordinary infraction. The watchman has a badly injured leg. So, if you wish to inform me later, I will be glad to hear from you." "I shall not change my mind," said Tom simply. "Nor I mine," added the proctor, jerking out the words quickly. Tom turned on his heel and left the room. CHAPTER XXII DARK DAYS Sid was waiting for Tom outside the proctor's office. "Well?" he asked eagerly as his chum appeared, but it needed only a look at the downcast face to tell that it was not "well" but "ill." "Rusticated!" exclaimed Tom. "For how long?" "Two weeks." "On your own account, or----" "Mainly because I wouldn't tell, I guess. Being out late just once isn't so monstrous." "Of course not. Still you couldn't tell." "Certainly not. It's tough, though. Suspended twice in the first term! I wonder what dad and the girls'll say." "Don't tell 'em." "Oh, I'll have to, but I guess they'll understand." "It certainly is rocky," admitted Sid, "but, do you know, I envy you a bit. It's getting mighty hard in class now. I have to bone away like a Trojan. Pitchfork has it in for me on Latin. I wish I had a vacation." "Without baseball?" asked Tom. "N-o--no, of course not without being on the team. But two weeks are soon over." "Not soon enough," and Tom darted away. "Where you going?" "Back and study. I can't afford to fall behind in my work." "My, but aren't you the grinder, though!" exclaimed Sid, but there was something of envy in his tone for all that. He went into recitation, while Tom continued on to their common room. He was walking along the path that led past Booker Memorial Chapel and paused for a moment to admire the effect of the early sun shining through a stained glass window. The combination of colors was perfect, and Tom, as he stood and looked at a depiction of a biblical scene which represented the Good Samaritan ministering to the stranger, felt somehow that it was a rôle that he himself had had a part in. Then came a revulsion of feeling.