To judge by the general air of things, the situation was anything but pleasant for Bob Randall. Merry came to attention.
“Ah, Mr. Merriwell,” exclaimed the colonel, in his ponderous style, “I sent for you at—ah—Mr. Randall’s request. There is a considerable—ah—difficulty, and Mr. Randall seems to think that you can—ah—help matters out. I’m sure I hope so.”
“Yes, sir,” returned Frank, quite in the dark as yet. “I didn’t know that Randall was in any trouble, sir.”
“I did not intend to convey that—ah—intelligence, Merriwell. I merely ventured the—ah—statement that there was a difficulty. You will please note that there is not only a technical, but a moral, difference—I might say a tremendous difference—between leveling an accusation of—ah—guilt, or presupposing such a conclusion, and making a statement of bare and unvarnished fact.”
Merry was tempted to smile, but knew better.
“Yes, sir,” he gravely answered. “I beg your pardon, Colonel Gunn, for having unintentionally miscomprehended your prior remark. If I may be allowed a word with Randall, sir, it might serve to——”
“Ah—certainly, certainly!” wheezed the colonel.
Merry turned. Until then, Randall had not dared to break silence, knowing that the principal was a stickler for discipline. Now he leaned over the table toward Frank, his face white and tense.
“Chip, I swear that I didn’t do it!” he cried passionately. “I never dreamed of such a thing!”
“I hope not,” returned Frank, his eyes twinkling. Then, noting the terrible strain that Randall labored under, he became serious. “What is it, old man? What kind of trouble are you in?”