Here Jim Smith’s face turned from red to pale, and he moved about uneasily in his seat. “Could Ben Platt have been hidden somewhere in the room?” he asked himself, “If so, what was he to do?” There was but one answer to this question. He must brazen it out, and boldly contradict the witness. But he would bide his time. He would wait to hear what Ben had to say.
“Did you put it in yourself?” asked Socrates, savagely.
“No, Mr. Smith, I didn’t put it in,” answered Ben, indignantly.
“None of your impudence, sir!” said the schoolmaster, irritated.
“I merely answered your question and defended myself,” answered Ben.
There was a little murmur among the pupils, showing that their sympathy was with the boy who had been so causelessly accused by the principal.
“Silence!” exclaimed Socrates, annoyed. “Now,” he continued, turning to Ben, “since you know who put the wallet into Roscoe’s pocket—a very remarkable statement, by the way—will you deign to inform me who did it?”
“James Smith did it!” said Ben, looking over to the principal’s nephew, who was half expecting such an attack.
“It’s a base lie!” cried Jim, but his face was blanched, his manner was nervous and confused, and he looked guilty, if he were not so.
“My nephew?” asked Socrates, flurried.