Chapter II. Captain Innes Receives

"What's that awful noise?" asked Clint startledly, looking up from his book.

It was the evening of the second day of school and Clint and Amy Byrd were preparing lessons at opposite sides of the green-topped table in Number 14 Torrence.

"That," replied Amy, leaning back until his chair protested and viewing his room-mate under the shade of the drop-light, "is music."

"Music!" Clint listened incredulously. From the next room, by way of opened windows and transoms, came the most lugubrious wails he thought he had ever listened to. "It--it's a fiddle, isn't it?" he demanded.

Amy nodded. "More respectfully, a violin. More correctly a viol-din. (The joke is not new.) What you are listening to with such evident delight are the sweet strains of Penny Durkin's violin." Amy looked at the alarm clock which decorated a corner of his chiffonier. "Penny is twelve minutes ahead of time. He's not supposed to play during study-hour, you see, and unless I'm much mistaken he will be so informed before the night is much--"

"Hey, Penny! Cut it out, old top!"

From somewhere down the corridor the anguished wail floated, followed an instant later by sounds counterfeiting the howling of an unhappy dog. Threats and pleas mingled.

"Penny! For the love of Mike!"

"Set your watch back, Penny!"

"Shut up, you idiot! Study's not over!"

"Call an officer, please!"

But Pennington Durkin was making too much noise on his instrument to hear the remonstrances at first, and it was not until some impatient neighbour sallied forth and pounded frantically at the portal of Number 13 that the wailing ceased. Then,

"What is it?" asked Durkin mildly.

"It's only ten minutes to nine, Penny. Your clock's fast again. Shut up or we'll kill you!"

"Oh!" said Penny surprisedly. "Are you sure? I set my watch--"

"Oh, forget it! You say that every night," was the wearied response. "How the dickens do you think anyone's going to study with that noise going on?"

"I'm very sorry, really," responded Penny, "If I'd known--"

"You never do know, Penny!" The youth outside strode back to his room and slammed the door and quiet prevailed once more. Amy smiled.

"Poor Penny," he said. "He suffers much in the cause of Art. I refuse to study any more. Close up shop, Clint, and let's talk. Now that you've been with us a whole day, what do you think of us? Do you approve of this institution of learning, old man?"

"I think I'm going to like it," replied Clint soberly.

"I do hope so," murmured Amy anxiously. "Still, any little changes you'd like