Sophy McAlery's house, and I enlisted Tom as a confederate. He
was to make straight for the McAlery's on Elm while I followed Powell,
two short blocks away, and if Nancy went to Sophy's and left there alone
he was to announce the fact by a preconcerted signal. Through long and
persistent practice he had acquired a whistle shrill enough to wake the
dead, accomplished by placing a finger of each hand between his teeth;--a
gift that was the envy of his acquaintances, and the subject of much
discussion as to whether his teeth were peculiar. Tom insisted that they
were; it was an added distinction.

On this occasion he came up behind Nancy as she was leaving Sophy's gate
and immediately sounded the alarm. She leaped in the air, dropped her
school-books and whirled on him.

"Tom Peters! How dare you frighten me so!" she cried.

Tom regarded her in sudden dismay.

"I--I didn't mean to," he said. "I didn't think you were so near."

"But you must have seen me."

"I wasn't paying much attention," he equivocated,--a remark not
calculated to appease her anger.

"Why were you doing it?"

"I was just practising," said Tom.

"Practising!" exclaimed Nancy, scornfully. "I shouldn't think you needed
to practise that any more."

"Oh, I've done it louder," he declared, "Listen!"

She seized his hands, snatching them away from his lips. At this critical
moment I appeared around the corner considerably out of breath, my heart
beating like a watchman's rattle. I tried to feign nonchalance.

"Hello, Tom," I said. "Hello, Nancy. What's the matter?"

"It's Tom--he frightened me out of my senses." Dropping his wrists, she
gave me a most disconcerting look; there was in it the suspicion of a
smile. "What are you doing here, Hugh?"

"I heard Tom," I explained.

"I should think you might have. Where were you?"

"Over in another street," I answered, with deliberate vagueness. Nancy
had suddenly become demure. I did not dare look at her, but I had a most
uncomfortable notion that she suspected the plot. Meanwhile we had begun
to walk along, all three of us, Tom, obviously ill at ease and
discomfited, lagging a little behind. Just before we reached the corner I
managed to kick him. His departure was by no means graceful.

"I've got to go;" he announced abruptly, and turned down the side street.
We watched his sturdy figure as it receded.

"Well, of all queer boys!" said Nancy, and we walked on again.

"He's my best friend," I re