“We know that already, don’t we?” demanded Mr. Austin, a trifle impatiently. Mr. Collins nodded.
“Yes, I guess we do,” he answered. “I wish we could convince the Doctor, though.”
“We’ll try to-morrow night at Faculty meeting,” was the answer. “I, for one, am opposed to holding those boys guilty under the circumstances. And McIntyre and Bendix are with me.”
“So am I,” said Mr. Collins. “But we are only four out of ten; and the Doctor is as—hum—determined as a mule in this affair.”
“Well, it’s a blessed shame, that’s what I call it,” said Mr. Austin warmly. “Think of keeping Loring out of the game Saturday! And we’ll lose it as sure as shooting!”
“I wouldn’t mention that phase of it, though,” said the other with a smile. “The Doctor might think we were letting our desire to win the Broadwood game prejudice us.”
“Pshaw!” said Stevie.
Next to Loring and Dyer I doubt if anyone felt much worse about their misfortune than did Dan. But it was Loring that he was especially sorry for. He had grown to like the latter immensely. Loring had been kind to him in a dozen ways, at a dozen times, and mainly when kindnesses meant much. Doubtless Dan over-valued those kindnesses. True it is that by this time his attitude toward Alfred Loring had become similar to Gerald’s attitude toward him. It was a case of healthy hero-worship in each instance. And of late Dan and Loring had been seeing a good deal of each other and the friendship had been ripening on each side.
At first Dan hesitated to call on Loring, fearing that the latter might resent intrusion. But a chance word on Tuesday settled that matter and on Tuesday night Dan went over to Dudley and spent an hour with the room-mates. Of course the blue paint episode was the main subject of conversation, and between them they went over it time and again seeking to discover some clue which might lead them to the identity of the real culprit. But always they met with failure. Loring’s spirits were pretty low, but Dyer’s were lower, and for a quite unselfish reason.
“I don’t care so much about myself,” he said, “for I’d only have got into the game for a few minutes, maybe. But it makes me mad about Alf. Why the dickens couldn’t it have been someone else, Vinton? Almost any other fellow on the team would have been better! Why, thunder, I’d fess up to doing the whole thing alone; only they wouldn’t believe me!”