Burton spoke at last, slowly and rather more softly than before. "Beaver asked you and me the same question, you remember?"
"Yes," murmured Dick, breathlessly.
"I just blurted out a lot of——"
"Well, I lied."
Somehow the shock of those words was to Dick Harrington like the impact of a terrible fist. He literally saw stars. The idea that "The Colonel" should tell a lie was inconceivable. Sneaks and cowards lied. His reeling standards straightened suddenly. His bitter regret that he hadn't had the sense to lie evaporated in the glow of an overwhelming gratitude. He could not speak.
"Harrie," Burton went on with a quiet depth of feeling which was not lost on Dick (for Dick had deep capabilities of sympathy himself if any one bothered to find it out). "You told the truth and I know what it cost you. I lied. And it took all the stuffin's out of me, Harrie. As soon as the lie was out, I felt I'd have given my head to have it back. You see, Harrie, quite apart from the right or wrong of it, it wouldn't have mattered if I had told the truth."
"It wouldn't?"
"No, I've had a fairly good record in class lately. But——"