Cathcart smiled gently and shook his head. “That won’t do, Bert,” he said. “Ordway’s owned up, you see.”
“Because he thought I didn’t want to be reported. Besides, he didn’t own up. He only said——”
“Oh, come, Bert! What’s the use?” asked Cathcart. “I know it was Ordway.”
“You do? Even when I say it wasn’t? When I say it was me? You’re mighty smart, aren’t you?”
Cathcart colored and frowned. “Very well,” he said stiffly. “I’ll report you both and you can settle it between you. I’m not quite such a fool as you seem to think, Winslow.”
“I’m not thinking,” replied Bert impolitely.
“Stow it, you chaps,” Hugh broke in. “Be fair, Bert. Cathcart’s only doing what he has to. Much obliged for lying, old chap, but I don’t really mind being reported. It’s all right, Cathcart,” he added reassuringly. “I’m the culprit. Sorry to get you out of bed.”
Bert opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and shrugged. Cathcart nodded to Hugh and went out. When the door was closed behind him and Bert had turned the key with a venomous click he strode back to Hugh’s room and eyed him wrathfully.
“Why the dickens did you have to butt in?” he demanded. “I could have made him believe it was me in another minute. You haven’t got as much sense as—a—as a——”