“What the dickens are you doing?” exclaimed Loring finally.
Dan looked up for a brief instant. Then,
“Cleaning off this mess,” he answered soberly.
“What for, you idiot?”
There was no answer. Dan kept his eyes on his work. A little frown of perplexity appeared on Loring’s forehead.
“What have you got to do with it, Vinton?” he asked with dawning disquiet. There was a moment of silence before Dan answered. Then,
“Faculty,” he said in low tones, “says the fellow who did it must take it off.”
“What?” cried Loring incredulously. “Do you mean that—that—you—I don’t believe it, Vinton!” Dan made no answer.
“You’re crazy!” continued Loring. “If Faculty sees you here they’ll think—” He paused. Dan’s silence was disheartening. His face showed Loring that here was no joke. Perhaps—but Loring smothered the suspicion; it was absolutely absurd to believe Vinton capable of playing such a trick on him and remaining silent so long. “I don’t believe it!” he muttered. But there was little assurance in his tone. By this time the dormitories had begun to empty and one by one fellows paused, stared and drew near. If Loring had been incredulous they were not. To them it was simple enough. Vinton was the culprit.
Dan had been working for an hour and had made good progress; but four letters remained. But now he must stop and go to Chapel. He set his pail out of the way, dropped the brush in it, laid the sandsoap beside it and rinsed and dried his hands. Then he turned calmly and made his way toward Clarke. No one spoke to him; no one knew just what to say. Half-way across the Yard he came face to face with Mr. Collins.