"It takes two to make a quarrel, though," answered Tom sagely. "I don't believe my father would start anything like that unless—unless there was some reason for it."
"Oh, I suppose my father beat him out on a contract and he got sore," said Steve, with a short laugh. Tom looked across in surprise and puzzlement. The tone was unlike Steve, while never before had they taken sides in their fathers' disagreements. Tom opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it and slowly returned the letter to its envelope.
"I guess it'll blow over," he said finally. "I hope so."
Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Let them fight it out," he said. "It may do them good."
The next day it was soon evident to Steve that Eric Sawyer's story of the purloined blue-book was school property. Fellows whom he knew but slightly or not at all observed him doubtfully, others greeted him more stiffly—or so Steve thought—while even in the manners of such close friends as Roy and Harry and one or two more he fancied that he could detect a difference. Much of this was probably only imagination on Steve's part, but on the other hand there were doubtless many fellows who for one reason or another chose to believe the story true. Steve was popular amongst a small circle of acquaintances and well enough liked by others who knew him only to speak to, but, naturally enough, there were fellows in school who envied him for his success at football or took exception to a certain self-sufficient air that Steve was often enough guilty of. These, together with a small number who owed allegiance to Eric Sawyer, found the story quite to their liking and doubtless told and retold it and enlarged upon it at every telling. At all events, Steve knew that gossip was busy with him. More than once conversation died suddenly away at his approach, and he told himself bitterly that the school had judged him and found him guilty. He passed Andy Miller in the corridor between recitations, and Andy, being in a hurry and having a good many things on his mind at that moment, said, "Hi, Edwards!" in a perfunctory sort of way and went by with only a glance. Steve concluded that even Andy was against him now, in spite of his defence yesterday. In the afternoon it seemed that there was a difference in the attitudes of his team-mates on the second, and, so inflamed had his imagination become by this time, he even imagined he detected a contemptuous tone in "Boots'" speech to him! The result was that Steve "froze up solid," to use Roy's phrase, and, secretly hurt and angry, presented a scowling countenance to the world that was sufficient to discourage those who wanted and tried to let him see that they didn't believe Eric's story.
When he got back to his room after the swimming lesson that afternoon, he found Tom nursing a very red and enlarged nose. He had a wet towel in his hand and was gingerly applying it to the inflamed feature.
"What—where——" began Steve.
"Scrap with Telford," replied Tom briefly.
"What about?" demanded Steve.
"Nothing much."