"Honest?" inquired Desmond.
"Honest," assented Polly.
At Stockmere that word was sufficient. No fellow ever doubted the genuineness of an assertion thus expressed. Desmond picked up his cap and made his way to Dr. Narfield's study.
The summons did not surprise him. Coupled with the fact that he was one of the head boys, and that this was the first day of a new term, it was not unusual for a youth in Desmond's position to be called to the Head's study.
Dr. Narfield was standing with his back to the empty fireplace in a characteristic attitude, his mortar-board on the back of his head and his hands clasped under the tails of his gown:
"You sent for me, sir?"
"Yes, Desmond," replied the Head, looking at the lad over the top of his spectacles. "I thought, Desmond, that you, a head boy, would be above a senseless practical joke."
He paused. Tiny regarded the doctor dumfoundedly. And then that irritating cough made itself known again.
Dr. Narfield waited until the fit was over.
"Perhaps, Desmond," he resumed, "you will kindly explain why this was found in your handbag?"