Dick had heard a good many gibes, generally good-natured, about his “heroism” and athletic fame, for the story of the happening at the movie house Saturday night had swiftly gone the rounds of the school, and had shown no resentment until Sandy Halden’s taunt. He had meant to keep his temper under any provocation, for the best way to banish ridicule is to laugh at it, but Sandy had somehow managed to touch him on the raw. Perhaps had he been less tired and less sore he would have treated Sandy’s taunt with the same smiling insouciance with which he had accepted others. For some undefined reason the incident bothered him all the rest of the evening, even during the blackboard lecture in the Trophy Room when his thoughts ought to have been given entirely to Coach Driscoll’s expositions. Afterwards he viewed that uneasiness as a premonition.
It was at eleven on Thursday that the blow fell. A hurry call led him from a Latin recitation to Coach Driscoll in the gymnasium office. The coach looked unusually solemn, Dick thought, as he pushed open the door and entered. Mr. Tasser, the physical director, was there as well, but he went out immediately, leaving his room to the coach and Dick.
“Sit down, Bates,” began Mr. Driscoll. “I’ve got rather an unpleasant matter to discuss, my boy.” He took a long white envelope from a pocket and from it produced two pieces of paper which he handed to Dick. “Ever see those before, Bates?” he asked.
Dick accepted them wonderingly. One was a fragment of letter paper, much creased, the other the lower right hand corner of an envelope, roughly matching the scrap of letter paper in shape, suggesting that the latter had been in the envelope when torn and that both had subsequently been crumpled up together. The fragment of envelope bore the words:
ood Academy,
Kenwood,
Mass.
The envelope had been torn in such manner that the name of the addressee was lacking. Dick studied the two fragments in puzzlement. Then he handed them back.
“I’ve seen this before, sir,” he answered. “It’s the corner of a letter I wrote and didn’t send. This piece of envelope doesn’t belong with it. The writing is not mine and I never saw it before.”
Mr. Driscoll shot a sharp glance at the boy which Dick met unflinchingly. “You’re quite certain of that, Bates?” he asked.
“Quite, sir.”
Mr. Driscoll looked thoughtfully at the fragments in his hand. “These have every appearance of belonging together,” he objected. “You say, however, that this is not your writing on the envelope.”