"I prefer not to tell."
"Troutman and Schley, of course," said Regan suddenly, and, starting out of his usual imperturbability, he began to revile them.
"But, Dink, old man," said Hungerford, drawing his arm through his, "how the deuce did you ever get into it?"
"Well, Joe, what's the use of explanations?" said Stover gloomily. "Every one'll believe what they want to. It's a thoroughly nasty mess. It's my luck, that's all."
"Is that all you can say?" said Hungerford anxiously.
"All just now. I don't feel particularly affable, Joe."
The walk from his eating-joint to the chapel was perhaps the most difficult thing he had ever done. Every one was reading the news, commenting on it, as he passed along, red, proud, and angry. He felt the fire of amazed glances, the lower classmen looking up at the big man of the junior class in disgrace, his own friends puzzled and uncomprehending.
At the fences there was an excited buzz, which dropped perceptibly as he passed. Regan was at one side, Hungerford loyally on the other. At the junior fence Bob Story, who had just got the report, came out hurriedly to him.
"I say, Dink, it—it isn't true?" he said. "Something's wrong—must be!"
"Not very far wrong," said Stover. He saw the incredulity in Bob's face, and it hurt him more than all the rest.