“I regret to inform you,” went on the proctor (which was not true, for Sid well knew that Mr. Zane took a fiendish delight in what he was about to say), “I regret to state that I caught Mr. Henderson coming in after hours to-night; and I would not think so much of that, were it not for the condition in which I caught him,” and the proctor assumed a saintly air.
“I don’t quite understand,” remarked the doctor, laying down his book, but taking care to mark a certain passage. Sid was idly aware that it was a volume of Sanskrit, the doctor being an authority on that ancient language of the Hindoos.
“I regret to say that Mr. Henderson is intoxicated!” blurted out the proctor.
“I am not, sir!” retorted the second baseman, it being his first remark since entering the room. “I have never touched a drop of intoxicating liquor in my life, sir!”
There was a ring in his voice, and, as he stood up and faced his accuser there was that in his manner which would indicate to any unprejudiced person that he was perfectly sober.
“Intoxicated!” exclaimed the doctor, for he had a nameless horror of anything like that. “Don’t make such a charge, Mr. Zane, unless you are positive——”
“I am positive, Dr. Churchill.”
“I have never touched a drop of liquor,” insisted Sid.
Dr. Churchill, with a stern look on his rugged face, advanced and took hold of Sid by the arms, not severely, not even tightly, but with a gentle, friendly pressure. He looked into the troubled eyes of the lad—troubled but not ashamed—worried, perhaps, but not abashed. The doctor bent closer.