“Vinton,” said the Assistant Principal, “was that you scrubbing the bricks over there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then—am I to understand by it that you are the one who is to blame?” he asked gravely. Dan made no answer. But his silence was conclusive and Mr. Collins sighed. “I am sorry, Vinton,” he said kindly. “Will you come and see me at the office, please, after breakfast?”
“Yes, sir,” muttered Dan again. Then he was free to go on and hide from the sight of those dozens of staring eyes. But it was not for long, for the bell was ringing as he hurried to his room and got into his coat. Walking across the floor of Assembly Hall, facing the curious glances of the school, was the hardest of all. But finally he was in his seat and could stare at the head of the boy in front of him and try to convince himself that he had done right. When Chapel was over and he filed out with his class he had it all to go through with again, and once more at breakfast. Many fellows spoke to him as though nothing at all had happened, but for the most part the glances that he met were frankly curious and aloof. At training table the fellows were awfully decent, he told himself. They strove to include him in the talk, and he strove to speak naturally. Once he caught Payson’s gaze on him. The coach was frowning in a puzzled way. Dan wondered if he suspected.
The visit to Mr. Collins was distinctly unpleasant. Mr. Collins had taken a warm liking to Dan and he seemed to feel worse about the affair than Dan did himself.
“Were you alone in this, Vinton?” he asked. “Did one of the other boys help you?”
“I had no help, sir.”
“Why did you do it? Was it intended as a joke?”