"Bob, you can—you must," Margaret insisted. "Whatever it is, tell your father; trust him, trust him with the full story, and he will understand—I know he will," she said eagerly.
Even Gordon Medhurst was moved by the girl's confidence. Was it possible she was right, and this son of his was not the wastrel he feared and believed?
There was tense silence for a moment, then the boy spoke again:
"I struck the boy Johnson in a passion because—because he said, I ought to be turned out of the eleven because—because——
"Yes—because?" encouraged Margaret.
"Because my father was a—a gaol bird; then—I hit him—I hit him hard—and I didn't care how hard."
There was a breathless pause which could almost be felt. Margaret was afraid the others would hear the loud thumping of her heart as the long moments passed. Then in a voice from which it sounded as if all feeling had passed, Mr. Medhurst said quietly:
"What put such an idea in the boy's head, I wonder?"
"He said he heard his father tell a chum," answered Bob.
"What is the boy's name, by the way?"