“It wasn't anything of the kind,” retorted Ken, vehemently.
“Yes it was,” cried Raymond, “and I'm going to tell why.”
The hall door opened to admit Graves. He was dishevelled, dirty, battered, and covered with blood. When he saw the group in the hall he made as if to dodge out.
“Here, come on! Take your medicine,” called Worry, tersely.
Graves shuffled in, cast down and sheepish, a very different fellow from his usual vaunting self.
“Now, Raymond, what's this all about?” demanded Worry.
Raymond changed color, but he did not hesitate an instant.
“Ken came in this morning and found me sick in bed. I told him I had been half drunk last night—and that Graves had gotten me to drink. Then Graves came in. He and Ken had hard words. They went outdoors to fight.”
“Would you have told me?” roared the coach in fury. “Would you have come to me with this if I hadn't caught Peg?”
Raymond faced him without flinching.