“Well, Jake, headache gone?” began Tony. “What did you think of the Soft-toed Sammy? Why, what’s the matter?”
Finch was white as a sheet. “Oh, Deering,” he gasped, “an awful thing has happened. I—I was reading it—like a fool—in First Study—and—and—Mr. Roylston swiped it.”
Tony paused in the midst of taking a bite from his bun, and looked at Jake in consternation.
“Gumshoe swiped it?”
“Yes, Deering.... I’m sorry.... You don’t know ... I wish I was dead.” He leaned against the lintel of the doorway and hid his face in his hands.
Tony pulled himself together with an effort. “I guess you’ve done me,” he began. Then, as he saw Finch wince under his words, he went over quickly to his side, and put his hand on his shoulder. “There, cheer up; I was a beast to say that. It’s all my own fault. It was a darn fool stunt to write such things.”
After a time he calmed the unhappy lad, and got from him the details of the incident. At last he went off to report the matter to Jimmie.
Lawrence naturally was inclined to say harsh things of Finch, but he too realized that they themselves were to blame for the predicament.
“Hate to deprive you of the honor, old chap,” he said, “but honesty forbids me deny the authorship and responsibility for The Spectacle. The horse is on me.”
“The horse!” exclaimed Tony. “It will be a ton of bricks. But it’s rot, Jimmie, to say you’re responsible. I’ll be hanged if I think sticking an adjective here and there, sprinkling commas about, and tinkering with a few mixed tenses, makes you the author. ‘Tis true it’s but a beastly paraphrase on Addison,—but ‘twas my best and, so to speak, my own.”