“He did?” gasped Victor.
“Yes! Why, he wasn’t any beggar. It wouldn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to see that he had sized up the situation and was going to tell you all about it. If you had only given him half a chance, Victor Collins, this——”
“What! Are you going to try and put the blame on me?” interrupted Victor, fiercely. “It wouldn’t have changed things at all—not a bit of it. I knew the whole crowd had skipped.”
“Say, fellows!” Bob Somers’ loud exclamation put an end to the wrangle. “No wonder that chap over there has a shape like Dave’s! It is Dave; and I knew it!”
“Why, of course it is!” snapped Victor.
“Great Scott!” cried Tom. “What—that fellow with the red coat and dinky little cap our Dave? Somebody fan me with a feather.”
“A rope’s end would suit your case better. Yes; Brandon has had to earn his own living for once.”
“Help!” murmured Charlie. “This has been almost too much for my weak intellect.”
“Now, Vic, do let us have an explanation!” cried Bob.
“You might have told us before, instead of raising such a howl about me,” broke in Tom.