And Elgert was not quite satisfied, for he saw that Ralph was not sent to Coventry, as he had intended that he should be. He saw that some of the boys recognized that he was not the sort of lad to be a thief, and he determined that, if it could be done, their opinions should be changed.
"If I can only prove that he did it," he mused, "I may be able to manage that, if I have any luck."
So the days of the week slipped away, once more bringing the Saturday holiday near, and it had been one of the hardest weeks that Ralph Rexworth had ever known—a week that had called for all his strength of will and purpose to enable him to face and overcome its difficulties and temptations.
It was Friday afternoon, and Ralph was in his study putting his books straight prior to leaving—he was always neat in his habits—when Charlton came in, hesitating, troubled-looking, as ever.
"Glad the week is over, Ralph?" he asked, after he had stood in silence for a little while watching his chum.
And Ralph nodded.
"Yes. It has been a little hard. I shall be glad to have a rest from it," he answered.
"They are wicked to try and make out that you took that note. They ought to know that you did not. I know you did not."
"Do you? How?" was the quiet answer to this indignant outburst.