“Will—will this do you much harm, do you suppose?” she asked, after a moment’s silence.
“Hard to tell. Of course if I can’t be cleared, it will mean my finish as far as sports are concerned—that’s all Tut thinks of, naturally. But, as I told you once before, I think, there is a special reason why I must make good here; and if my reputation comes into question, well—”
Jack broke off abruptly, and frowned at the fire. In a moment he continued:
“I haven’t told anyone else about this, but I’d like you to know; and I’m sure it won’t go any farther.”
“Of course not.”
“On the tenth of last August, I received a special delivery letter,” began Jack slowly, gazing steadily at the fire.
Patricia leaned forward, breathless with surprise.
“In that letter,” continued the boy, “was a cashier’s check for One Thousand Dollars; and on a slip of paper, the words, ‘For John Dunn, to be spent on a year at Granard College.’ We tried in every way to find out where it came from, but when all of our efforts were fruitless we decided that the only thing to do was to use the money as requested. So you see why I feel under such heavy obligations to make good.”
“Jack,” whispered Patricia, with a little excited catch in her throat. “I’ve never told anybody, either—not even my aunt or cousin; but that’s exactly what happened to me.”
“You mean,” cried the boy, twisting around to look up into her face, “that you got money that same way—to come here?”