The Fighting Scrub by Ralph Henry Barbour — Read

The chess game was never finished. Ten o'clock arrived with nothing much left to be said, and with scant lessening of the general gloom. Loring insisted that by trying hard Tom could get that theme handed in by the designated time, that he could make up the other stuff easily, and that, if he really set his mind on it, he could keep his English work up to the required standard. But even Loring realized that a little over two weeks was scant time in which to convince a sceptical instructor of one's reform, and that, with the best of luck, Tom could scarcely hope for reinstatement early enough to be of much further use to the Scrub. Clif's best suggestion was that Tom see his adviser the first thing in the morning, and ask him to intercede. Tom agreed to do this, but plainly he was not hopeful. Mr. Parks and he had not taken to each other greatly, and Tom's secret conviction was that "Cheese" wouldn't be likely to go to much trouble in the matter. Finally they parted, Clif accompanying Tom to the door of Number 34 and leaving him with a lugubrious "Oh, well, cheer up, Tom. Maybe it won't be so bad."

At breakfast Tom was strangely cheerful and ate a hearty repast. Yet nothing had happened to better the situation, and Clif was puzzled. Of course if Tom had decided to accept conditions philosophically, and make the best of them, Clif was pleased, but there was something in the other's manner, a sort of under surface excitement, that prevented Clif from being quite satisfied with that explanation. And then, too, Tom was so casual when Clif detained him in the corridor after breakfast. His replies to the other boy's questions were brief and vague. Yes, he was going to see "Cheese" right now. And "Cocky" afterward. That theme? Well, yes, he might have a go at that later. When Clif called "Good luck! " after him as he turned down the corridor he said: "Thanks, old son," and waved a hand almost gayly.