But Harry seized him by the arm.
"Why won't you own up, Horace?" she pleaded. "You might. Roy saved you and—"
"How did he?" asked Horace, pausing.
"Why, by not telling. He knew yesterday. But he wouldn't tell; he wouldn't let us tell; he said if he did you'd lose your place in the boat and we'd get beaten. He made us promise not to tell Dad, but I will, just the same, if you don't promise this minute to do it yourself!"
"I don't know anything about the sweater," muttered Horace.
"Oh, you big fibber! Jack and Chub were under the bed and saw you take it out of your trunk and put it under Roy's mattress! And we told Roy, and he wouldn't tell on you because he said—"
"Oh, I've heard all that once," he interrupted roughly. "I guess if he didn't tell he had a mighty good reason for it!"
"I've told you why he didn't!" cried Harry impatiently. "Do you suppose he wanted not to play to-day? He spared you and I think you might do that much to help him—and me—and the school."
"It was just a sort of joke," murmured Horace, his eyes on the ground. "I didn't know it was going to cause so much bother." He laughed uncertainly. "What's the good of making more rumpus now? Roy can't win the game; we're beaten already."
"You don't know!" insisted Harry. "Anyhow, it would be only fair and square; and you want to be that, don't you, Horace?"