“Were you there?” she demanded. “I—of course—I have no right to ask you that—but—this clipping, coming to me—as it did—and under the circumstances——”
“I wasn’t—I wasn’t arrested,” faltered Sid. “It’s all—it’s all a mistake!”
Almost instantly there came to Phil and Tom at the same time a memory of Sid’s queer actions of late—of his strange absences from college—of his hurried departures on receiving notes—of the smell of tobacco on his clothes.
“Were you at the gambling place, in Dartwell?” asked Miss Harrison coldly, and it was not until later that the others understood her strange insistence and hatred of games of chance. “Were you there?”
“I—I wasn’t arrested!” blurted out Sid. “I—I can’t explain—I was in Dartwell that night—but—but it is all a mistake—I don’t see how my name got in the paper.”
“Sometimes these matters get out in spite of all that is done to keep them quiet,” remarked the girl, and her voice sounded to Sid like the clash of steel.
“I tell you I wasn’t arrested—I wasn’t there—that is, I wasn’t gambling—I—I—er—Oh, won’t you believe me? Won’t you take my word for it?” He was pleading with her now.
“I haven’t any right to control your actions,” said Miss Harrison. “I don’t know who sent me this clipping—nor why—I wish I had never seen it,” and her eyes filled with tears. “Yet when I ask you if you were there, it seems as if you could say yes or no.”
“That’s it! I can’t!” cried poor Sid. “I—I wasn’t arrested. I was there—yes, in—in Dartwell that night—but I can’t explain—it’s a secret—it—Oh, won’t you believe me?”