Page:The Eight-Oared Victors.djvu/114

102 "Be careful how you flop," warned Sid, as he watched with anxiety Tom's preparations to sit down. "That sofa doesn't gain strength with age—it isn't like cheese in that respect."

"Where were you?" asked Phil, as Tom managed to find a resting place without bringing forth from the sofa more than a protesting groan, and a series of squeaks.

"Ruth and I were out for a row," said Tom shortly, knowing that the truth would out sooner or later, and having nothing to conceal.

"Oh, ho!" exclaimed Sid.

"Where'd you go?" asked Phil, with brotherly interest.

"Crest Island. That's what kept me so long. I got her home in good season though, and rowed slow the rest of the way."

"Crest Island!" exclaimed Frank. "Did you find any more clues, Tom?"

The tall pitcher hesitated. He was in two minds about what had taken place that afternoon. Should he tell his chums the secret he thought he had discovered, and get their opinions in working it out? Or should he play a lone hand? A moment's thought convinced him. He would tell all—that is, all save Ruth's secret. That he had no right to divulge.

"Well?" asked Frank, as his chum hesitated. "Did you find anything, Tom?"