“But will you? That’s the point.”
“If you think I can’t be trusted, you had better drop me,” was Don’s reply.
It was plain that Tom and Clarence were very much disappointed in Don, and that they did not know what to make of him. He had shown himself perfectly willing to break the rules of the school, but his sense of honor would not permit him to lie about it in order to escape punishment. They had never before met a boy like him.
“I don’t believe such a fellow ever lived since the days of George Washington,” thought Duncan; “and neither do I believe he means what he says. If he is questioned, he will blow the whole thing, and some of us will be sent down as sure as the world. Gordon won’t do to tie to—I can see that with half an eye. If you will excuse me, fellows,” he added, aloud, “I will go and ask Dick Henderson to give an account of himself.”
Tom would have been glad to go with Duncan, for he wanted an opportunity to ask him what he thought of this boy who would not tell a lie when circumstances seemed to demand it; but as he could think up no good excuse for leaving Don just then, he remained with him, and Duncan went off alone. Dick was easily found, for he was loitering about waiting for a chance to speak to Duncan or Fisher. He expected that there was trouble ahead, and he wanted it distinctly understood that if it came, Duncan was the boy who was to blame for it.
“You’re a wise one, you are,” said he, when Clarence came up to him. “If it hadn’t been for some hocus-pocus that I don’t begin to understand, you would have got us all into a nice mess by your blundering. You told me to halt the ninth man, but it turned out to be somebody besides Don Gordon.”
“There’s where you are mistaken,” said Clarence. “It was Gordon and nobody else.”
“But he gave the signal all fair and square,” replied Dick, “and I’d like to know where he got it.”
“I am sure I don’t know. Fisher didn’t give it to him in my hearing, and I didn’t suppose he had it. I don’t know whether to be glad or sorry that you didn’t succeed in stopping him. He’s got a pocketful of money, and paid our bill at Cony’s last night like a gentleman; but he’s no good, and when the boys hear what he said to Tom and me just a few minutes ago, I don’t think they will go on any more excursions with him. He says that he will not blow on any of us, but if he is accused of running the guard, he will acknowledge it, because he can’t tell a lie.”
“Humph!” exclaimed Dick, contemptuously. “Somebody ought to make him the hero of a Sunday-school book. We don’t want anything more to do with him.”