“No, you’re not,” repeated Sid, and he did not raise his voice. “You’re going to sit right down,” and he gently shoved Phil toward the yawning easy chair. Puzzled by his chum’s action, Phil backed up, and before he knew it he had flopped down upon the cushions, raising an unusual cloud of dust.
“Say, Henderson, what’s the matter with you?” he cried, as he struggled to get up. “Are you crazy? Don’t interfere with me again! I’m going to inform on the dirty, sneaking cad who wanted to see his own college beaten!”
Sid put a hand on his chum’s shoulder and pushed him back into the chair.
“You’re going to do nothing of the sort, my son,” went on the big first baseman slowly. “Tom, lock the door and put the key in your pocket.”
Tom as though acting under the influence of some hypnotic spell, obeyed.
“Are you both crazy?” burst out Phil. “I tell you the whole college must know what a white-livered hound we’ve got here!”
“That’s just what they mustn’t know,” said Sid quietly. “Now listen to me,” he went on more sternly. “In the first place, you don’t know that Gerhart is guilty.”
“Don’t know? Of course I know it!” almost shouted Phil. “Haven’t I got the evidence?” and he held out the charm.
“Easy,” cautioned Sid. “I grant that; I even grant that the charm is Gerhart’s; but does that prove he took the signals?”