He was still
close enough to know that not a word was spoken nor a sound made; there
was not even the familiar and usual bang of the automobile door. But a
certain characteristic swing of the person with the luggage, as he
passed one bag and then the other into the car, showed Tom that the
figure was that of young Roscoe Bent. Then the car rolled away, leaving
him gaping and speculating in the concealment of a doorway near the
corner.

"I wonder where he can be going this time of night," Tom mused. "Gee,
that was funny! If he was going on a vacation or anything like that,
he'd have said so this morning--and he'd have said good-bye to me.
Anyway, he'd have said good-bye to Miss Ellison...."

Tom boarded with a private family in Culver Street, and after he reached
home he sat up in his room for a while working with a kind of sullen
resignation on the few registration badges which had still to have pins
attached to them.

It was while he was engaged in this heroic labor that a thought entered
his mind which he put away from him, but which kept recurring again and
again, and which ended by cheating him out of his night's sleep. Why
should Roscoe Bent be leaving home with two suitcases at twelve o'clock
at night when he would have to register for the selective draft the next
day?

After this rather puzzling question had entered his mind and refused to
be ousted or explained away, other puzzling questions began to follow
it. Why had the lights of the automobile been out? Why had there been no
lights in the house? Why had no one come out on the porch to bid Roscoe
good-bye? Why had not Roscoe slammed the auto door shut, as one
naturally did, that being the easiest way to shut it?

Well, all that was Roscoe's business, not his, thought Tom, as he
settled down to go to sleep, and perhaps he had closed the door quietly
because he wished not to disturb any one so late at night. That was very
thoughtful of Roscoe....

But just the same Tom could not go to sleep, and he lay in bed thinking
uneasily.

He had just about conquered his misgivings and had begun to think how
suspicious and ungenerous he was, when another question occurred to him
which had the effect of a knockout blow to his peace of mind.

Why had Roscoe Bent told Miss Ellison that it was better to be a live
coward than a dead hero?

--Why, he had only been joking, of course, when he said that! It was one
of those silly, careless things that he was always sa