When Phil had time for longer explanations, he gave Dick more details of the happenings in Sibley 15, Bosworth’s room. Eddy, who had given the information, was in Phil’s class, and of about Phil’s age. Smarting under a sense of ill-treatment and desperately perplexed as to how he was to account for the lost money, which had been sent him for purchases for the winter, he had opened his heart to Phil, who in turn had made haste to unburden himself to his older and presumably wiser room-mate. Hardly had he done this, when Eddy repented of his confidences and tearfully besought his classmate never to speak of it to a living soul. But the murder was out, and the best Phil could do was to urge Melvin to guard the secret.
“So, having stolen the fellow’s money, Bosworth has made him promise not to mention the fact,” said Melvin.
“Eddy said it was a matter of honor. The money had been lost in fair play, and he had no right to speak of it when it might get them all into trouble.”
“So Bosworth says, I suppose,” said Melvin.
“Yes, that’s it; Bosworth says it’s just a personal matter between them, and to tell about it so that it might reach the Faculty would be simply tale-bearing.”
“What kind of a boy is Eddy?”
“Not very good and not especially bad, but just weak. He is terribly cut up about the thing, doesn’t study any, and cries a lot in his room. I can’t help pitying him, though I don’t sympathize with him much.”
Dick smiled: “I suppose you’d do differently in his place.”
Phil grew indignant. “I rather think I should. To begin with, I shouldn’t be in his place. I wouldn’t touch that Bosworth with a ten-foot pole. But supposing that I did get into the scrape, I’d take it as a warning to leave Bosworth and gambling alone, and write home an honest letter about the whole business.”
“And that’s the very thing Eddy ought to do,” said Melvin, giving Phil’s shoulder a slap. “Why didn’t you tell him so?”