“I know, but—but it isn’t your funeral,” grumbled Ben. “The thing belongs to Kid and Kid ought to be the goat.”
“That wouldn’t do you any good, Ben. You borrowed it. It was in our room, you see. Besides, there’s no use in lugging Kid into it. I don’t mind not playing—much.”
“It’s a shame!” said Ben. “I don’t like it. It’s up to me and I ought to face the music.”
“Yes, and then we lose the game,” replied Bert with a shrug. “That’s a bully idea, isn’t it? You keep quiet and it will be all right. I’m sorry I had to lie about it, but I hated to see Day get that trophy!”
Ben said no more then, but all during dinner Bert noticed that he was unusually quiet and worried looking. Afterward, in the hall before afternoon school, Bert managed to whisper to him:
“Look here, Ben, don’t you go and do anything silly about that, will you? It’s all right. I don’t mind not playing. Besides, maybe you wouldn’t need me anyhow. Just you keep mum, Ben.”
Ben nodded, but the nod didn’t seem to promise much. Still, Bert thought the other looked more cheerful and that doubtless meant that he had abandoned any quixotic notions he might have entertained of assuming the blame.
But if Bert had followed Ben from the classroom after school he would not have felt so easy in his mind, for Ben marched straight to Dr. Merton’s office and waited there until the Doctor came in.