"You wouldn't think to look at me That I'm as good as good can be-- a little saint. You wouldn't care to make a bet, That I'm the teacher's little pet-- I ain't." CHAPTER XXVII TOM LEARNS SOMETHING Tom's absence through the day had resulted in an accumulation of work upon his table. His duties were chiefly active but partly clerical. After supper he started to clear away these matters. The camp had already been in communication with Mr. Temple, its founder, and plans had been made for an inspection of the washed-out cove by engineers from the city. It was purposed to build a substantial dam at that lowest and weakest place on the lake shore. There was a memorandum asking Tom to be prepared to show these men the fatal spot on the following morning. Matters connected with the meeting of the resident Court of Honor next day had also to be attended to. Several dreamers of high awards would have a sleepless night in anticipation of that meeting. Hervey Willetts would probably sleep peacefully--if he went to bed at all. It was half an hour or so before Tom got around to looking over the names of new arrivals. These were card indexed by the camp clerk, and Tom always looked the cards over in a kind of casual quest of familiar names, and also with the purpose of getting a line on first season troops. It was his habit to make prompt acquaintance with these and help them over the first hard day or so of strangeness. In glancing over these names, he was greatly astonished to find on the list of Mr. Carroll's troop, the name of William Corbett. The identity of this name with that of the victim of the automobile accident greatly interested him, and he recalled then for the first time, that this troop had come from Hillsburgh, in the vicinity of which the accident had occurred. Yet, according to the newspaper, the victim of the accident had been killed, or mortally injured. As Tom pondered on this coincidence of names there ran through his mind one of those snatches of song which Hervey Willetts was fond of singing: Some boys were killed and some were not, Of those that went to war; And a lot of boys are dying now, That never died before. Before camp-fire was started Tom hunted up Mr. Carroll. "I see you have a William Corbett in your troop, Mr. Carroll," said he. "Oh, yes, that's Goliath." "He--he wasn't the kid who was knocked down by an auto?" "Why, yes, he was. You know about that?" Tom hesitated. The newspapers had not yet had time to publish the sensational accounts of Harlowe's tragic death on the mountain and the facts about this harrowing business had not been made public in camp. "I thought the kid was killed," Tom said. "Oh, no, that was just newspaper talk. It's a long way from being mortally injured in a newspaper to being killed, Mr. Slade." "Y-es, I dare say you're right," said Tom, still astonished.