Page:The Eight-Oared Victors.djvu/187

Rh "Sure," retorted Sid, at the same time giving Frank a nudge in the ribs as much as to say: "There's where the shoe pinches."

"I've got a headache," said Tom, only half truthfully. "I guess that row in the hot sun was a little too much for me to-day."

"Can we do anything for you?" asked Frank, trying to make his voice sound anxious.

"No, I'll sleep it off," and turning with his face toward the tent wall, Tom proceeded to slumber—or pretend to.

It was two days after this when Tom and Ruth met. He had studiously avoided calling at the Tyler cottage, though the other boys went over each evening. Tom gave some excuse, and each time Sid and the others came in at night they would remark about the good time they had had.

"You're missing it," declared Phil, winking at his chums. "Boswell is filling in your place fine."

"Was he there again?" snapped Tom.

"Sure thing. He and Sis seem to get on well together, though I don't care for the chap. Still he isn't such a bad sort as I thought at first."

As a matter of fact Boswell had not called since that first evening, but Phil guessed Tom's secret, and wickedly and feloniously egged it on.

"What's the matter, Tom; why haven't you called?" asked Ruth with perfect sincerity when