“I knocked it over when he jumped at me. Somebody’s been rough-housing his room, I guess, and he thought it was me.”
“Well, it wasn’t you, Jake, was it?” asked Tony, fixing him with a keen hurt glance.
“No, Deering, ‘pon my honor, it wasn’t.”
“Had you ever been to his room before?”
“Never alone.” His eyes shifted back to meet Tony’s wondering glance. “Don’t you believe me, Deering?” There was a wail of despair in his voice.
“Yes, Jake, yes; of course, I believe you. I know you wouldn’t lie to me. Cheer up, I’ll try to get Wilson to listen to reason.”
“Oh, don’t—!” Jake stopped, aghast at his possible mistake. “I don’t want you to do anything for me, Deering, you’ve done enough. I’m just always getting you in trouble.”
“That’s all right, Jake; helping a friend out isn’t trouble.”
And with that Tony went on. He stopped again at Wilson’s room. The door was still open, and Kit was still fussing about his desk. He looked up at the knock, and scowled a little as he bade his visitor come in.
Tony came in and closed the door behind him. “Look here, Kit,” he said, trying hard to keep control of his voice. “I want to speak to you about Finch. I think you have done him a wrong. He came in here to borrow some paper——”