Dr. Marshall looked at the bottle through the light, poured out some of the contents into his palm, and smelled of the liquid.
“It seems to be whisky,” he said doubtfully, “but I should have to make an analysis to be perfectly sure.”
“You need not go to that trouble,” said Sid quickly. “I have every reason to believe that it is whisky.”
“And what were you doing with it?” demanded Dr. Churchill sternly.
“That is a question which I must decline to answer,” and Sid drew himself up haughtily.
The venerable president drew back, almost as if he had received a blow. He looked at Sid keenly.
“Very well,” he remarked quietly, and there was a note of sadness in his voice. “I shall have to inflict severe punishment. The rules call for suspension or expulsion, but, in view of your previous excellent record, I will make an exception. You will be debarred from all further participation in athletics for the remainder of the term—unless,” and the doctor paused, “you can make some explanation that will prove your innocence,” and he looked almost as a father might at an erring son.
“I—I can’t make any explanation,” answered Sid brokenly, as he turned away, while the doctor, with a shake of his head, took up his Sanskrit book, and went back to his study.