"Of me?" There was awe in the exclamation.
"And then it was all clear. I had to square myself with you. Suddenly I knew that that was what would wipe out that Lie and give me a fresh start. It was like a sort of revelation. You see, Harrie, I knew that you thought I was pretty fine, and you just had to be set straight."
"I—I haven't changed my mind at all about you," said Dick Harrington timidly. "And you won the game after all."
Bill Burton leaned over the younger boy. His hand groped for Dick's shoulder and clutched it.
"I didn't win the game," he whispered tensely. "The game wasn't really played at Chancellor's Hill at all. It was played in the algebra class. It was lost when I lied, and it was won a minute later when you told the truth. And I guess I'm pretty glad you told the truth."
"So am I," murmured Dick very softly.
They both breathed deeply. It had been a notable victory.
Next morning, between breakfast and Sunday service, Dick Harrington surreptitiously borrowed his roommate's safety razor, and shaved with shining eyes.