ould have it. And as he hurried
back and forth he thought of other things he would like Tim to have.
There was his tennis racket, the one Tim always borrowed when Don wasn't
using it, and a scarf-pin made of a queer, rough nugget of opal matrix.
He would tell Tim he was to have those and not to pack them with the
other things. The thought of making the gifts almost cheered him for
awhile, and, together with the excitement of running away, caused him to
hum a little tune under his breath as he jammed the last articles in the
bag and snapped it shut.

It was sixteen minutes past now. He would, he acknowledged, never be
able to make the six-thirty-four, with that burden to carry. But the
seven-one would do quite as well, and he wouldn't have to hurry so. In
that case, then, why not leave just a few words of good-bye for Tim? He
could put the note somewhere where Tim wouldn't find it until later;
tuck it, for instance, under the bed-clothes so that he would find it
when he pulled them down. He hesitated a moment and then set his bag
down by the door, dropped his overcoat and umbrella on the bed and
seated himself again at the table. Tim was never known to take less than
a half-hour for supper and he still had a good ten minutes' leeway:

"Dear Timmy [he wrote hurriedly], I'm off. It's no
use sticking around any longer. Fellows aren't
going to forget as soon as you said and I can't
stay on here and be thought a quitter. So I'm
taking the seven-one to New York and will be home
day after tomorrow. I wish you would pack my
things up for me when you get time. There isn't
any great hurry. I've got enough for awhile.
You're to keep the racket and the blue and white
tie and the opal matrix pin and anything else you
like to remember me by. Please do this, Tim. I'll
write from home and tell you about sending the
trunk. I'm awfully sorry, Tim, and I'm going to
miss you like anything, but I shan't ever come
back here. Maybe we will get together again at
college. I hope so. You try, will you? Good-bye,
Tim, old pal. We've had some dandy times together,
haven't we? And you've been an A1 chum to me and I
wish I wasn't going off without saying good-bye to
you decently. But I've got to. So good-bye, Timmy,
old man. Think of me now