A gleam of satisfaction seemed to pierce the fierce look on Hodge’s face, as a shaft of sunshine sometimes pierces a black and sullen cloud.
“You are right, Merriwell,” he said; “I did not steal it. Give me your hand. Oh, it is good—so good to have some one in the world who has confidence in me! It has seemed of late that everybody was down on me.”
He grasped Frank’s hand, and pressed it warmly.
“You have been up against hard luck, old friend,” came feelingly from Frank. “And the girl shook you quite after you were arrested?”
“Yes.”
“Were you tried?”
“Yes.”
“Convicted?”
“No.”
“Still she threw you over?”