“It’s perfectly dreadful, fellows!” said Ollie Lord.
“Thimply awful!” said Lew. “And evwybody knowth who ith to blame faw it.”
“That’s so, chummie,” agreed Ollie.
“The man whose word is law at Yale brought it about, of course,” croaked Hull, like a parson droning a sermon with uplifted eyes.
“Let’s not be too harsh on any one,” put in Rupert hastily, with a warning gesture of his hand.
“Oh, come off!” exclaimed Ives. “The man had little feeling for poor Defarge, and, without doubt, it was his influence that kept Defarge down.”
Gene Skelding was sitting square in a chair, his hands clasped, his eyes roving from one speaker to another, a strange, grim expression on his face. Thus far he had taken little part in the conversation, but now he broke in.
“I think Defarge has only himself to blame,” he said.
“What?” exclaimed the others, staring at him in startled surprise.