"Some sand, kid," said Fred Gaffney. "You don't look like a fellow who'd do a dirty trick."
"He has already done it, there's no question of what he would do," retorted Mooney.
"Come here, kid," said Gaffney. "I'm going to believe just what you say. Did you have anything to do with that damage over there?"
In a clear, straightforward manner, Frank said, "No." And he looked Gaffney right in the eye.
Gaffney, who was the biggest fellow in the crowd, turned to the others and said, "Fellows, I'm not looking for a fight, nor am I going to run away from one. I'm going to stand by this kid. Not that I think he needs anyone to brace him up. He is well able to take care of himself. But I'm going to stand by him because I think fair play demands it. What's got into you fellows. Doesn't a chap's record count for anything? Hasn't Mulvy's record always been good? If a fellow is white all along, is he going to turn yellow over night? Put on your thinking caps."
Frank's eyes were riveted on him, and they were moist. Gaffney saw it. "Put out your hand, kid. You're good enough for me," he said.
"And for me." "And for me," others echoed, for Gaffney was a leader.
"I thank you, fellows, and you particularly, Gaffney," said Frank, as he moved along. His steps seemed lighter. Gaffney, a real leader as well as cheer leader for the games, believed in him. Perhaps the thing would blow over. Some others might put on their thinking caps also. He hoped so.
When he got near his own street, he ran into Dick, who had just met some of the fellows who had been at the practice.
"I say, Hank," he began, "they had hot work up at the field. Bully practice. The new guy is going fine, they say."