“A likely story! Who did, then? This—this unspeakable abomination”—the instructor’s long nose seemed to quiver with disgust as he viewed the object in his hand—“was thrown into my room, right on to my pillow as I lay in bed, against my very cheek, sir! Faugh!” He made as if to hurl the apple through the doorway, but thought better of it. “I jump from bed, Danforth, open my door and find you here, guilt stamped eloquently upon your face! And now you have the—the brazen effrontery to tell me you didn’t do it! I shall see that you are severely punished, sir, and the fact that you have added lying to your—your gutter-snipe act will make me no more lenient, sir!”
“But I tell you, sir,” protested Harry, flushing resentfully, “that I did not do it! You’ve got to believe me, sir! I know that appearances seem against me, but I was halfway between your window and the corner of the building when the apple was thrown, sir.”
“Indeed?” sneered Mr. Adams. “Then you saw it done, did you?”
“Yes, sir—that is——”
“Well? Well? Did you or did you not? Go on with your story. Let’s see how fertile your imagination is, Danforth. You didn’t do it yourself, but you saw it done. Very well; pray proceed!”
“I—I saw someone in front of the window, sir, as I came along. They—he ran away and I came in here and you opened your door and called my name, and I said, ‘Yes, sir.’ That’s all I know about it.”
“Really?” Mr. Adams smiled sourly. “And the boy you saw in front of the window? What became of him, Danforth?”
“He—he ran away,” faltered Harry; “quickly.”
“Very quickly indeed! So quickly that, although I fairly bounded to the window, there was no one in sight when I reached it; no one, I should say, but you. Sounds a likely story, Danforth, doesn’t it?”
“I can’t help it, sir,” replied Harry doggedly. “It’s the truth.”