“Ruth Clinton’s?” cried Boswell. “She never saw that pin. I—I intended giv—look here, Parsons, what business of yours is this, anyhow? I know you and Miss Clinton are——”
“You let her name alone!” cried Tom, fiercely. “As for her never seeing this pin before—look here!”
He pressed on the secret spring in the back—a trick Ruth had taught him. A tiny panel of gold flew open, disclosing the girl’s photograph beneath it.
“There!” cried Tom. “I suppose that got there by magic. Ruth never saw it; eh, Boswell? I don’t know what to think of this—of you. You must have heard about the jewel robbery—of the missing Boxer Hall cups. And now you have this pin——”
“Stop!” cried Boswell. “If you dare, Parsons, say that I——”
“Ready for the singles! Boswell, are you there?” called a voice at the door of the dressing room. “Hurry out—Boxer wins the doubles!”
The two lads, almost ready to come to blows, started. This was news indeed.
“Randall loses in the doubles!” cried Tom, aghast.
“Yes,” went on Joe Jackson, who had come to call Boswell. “Carter broke an oar near the finish line, and it was all up then. It’s tough luck, for our boat was leading.”