"But I can stand almost anything if they don't get hold of Graves. That would spoil our fun altogether."
He unbent the small round body drawn up in a woful-looking ball, sitting up to hear what the others had to say.
"Just let them take him!" growled Shorty Brown. "We will make it warm for those sophs, but they're such sneaks that we can't put a moment's trust in them. Why don't you say something, Captain?"
"Nothing to say, Boy," replied Jordan musingly, "only that we must do all we can to shield Frederick. If they once get him we won't see him until after the banquet. I fear, too, they might hurt him, for he would be sure to put up a fight."
"So would I," boasted Spuddy. "You bet I would."
Swipes broke into a ringing laugh.
"You'd make a nice fighter, Spud," he chuckled; "you're not bigger than a minute with fifty seconds in it. Gosh, I wish something would happen. I'm tired sitting about doing nothing."
His words came to Dan Jordan through a dim maze of tangled thoughts. During all his short, happy life anxiety had never been his companion until now. It strangled his class ardor and made conscientious study impossible. Teola Graves' tearful, pain-stricken face rose constantly before him. His own eyes darkened at the thought. Oh, to go back to the toffy pull—to live over again those last few weeks—how different it all would be, and how repentant he was. He sighed and shook his great shoulders and rose to his feet.
"I wonder where Graves is now," he exclaimed. "I met Armstrong and Howe coming up the hill last night, talking with their heads close together. I noticed that they stopped suddenly when I came upon them."