It didn’t take long for the news to get around the school. By evening it was known everywhere that Toby Tucker was on probation for waylaying Roy Frick and beating him up. A good many fellows took the stand that Toby deserved a gold medal instead of probation, even while deploring the fact that he had employed questionable means to wreak vengeance. Having some one hold Frick while he punched him was not quite sportsmanlike. Of course Toby was lost to football for the rest of the season, although, as he was, at most, but a third-choice quarter, the loss was not considered serious. If Coach Lyle thought otherwise no one knew it.

Arnold was rabid when he heard the news from Toby and was all for a swift descent on the Office and an indignant protest backed by affidavits of good character. Toby, however, persuaded him to relinquish the project.

“Well, then why don’t you go and finish the job on Frick?” demanded Arnold. “At least you can have the satisfaction of punching his fool head!”

“It doesn’t seem to me,” answered Toby dryly, “that that would be conclusive evidence of my innocence.”

“Who said it would be? It would make things a lot easier, though, wouldn’t it? It would for me, I’ll bet! Give me leave and I’ll do it for you!”

“Much obliged, but I wouldn’t get much satisfaction out of it, I guess. No, the only thing is to——”

“What?” asked Arnold as Toby’s voice died into silence.

Toby shook his head. “Nothing. Stand it, I suppose. After all, it doesn’t much matter. And I don’t believe Collins will keep me on very long. I guess he sort of half thinks I’m shielding some one else.”

“You’re not, are you?” demanded Arnold suspiciously.

Toby laughed. “Well, where were you at nine o’clock that night, Arn?”

“Don’t be a gillie! I suppose you know that Frick will get your place on the First? Mr. Lyle will have to take some one over, and he’s the best there is left, isn’t he?”

“Yes. I—I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Well, think of it,” growled Arnold. “Not that it’ll do you much good!”

Toby did think of it. It seemed to make things much clearer to his mind. Whether Frick had recognized his assailant or not, he was accusing him because he wanted his place on the First. It was quite simple. Frick probably thought that Toby had no suspicion of Tubb and that Tubb would certainly not spoil the plot by confessing. This if Frick had recognized Tubb. Toby was inclined to think that he had.

Anyway, Frick’s scheme was a success. Toby had not seen George Tubb and he didn’t mean to. Tubb ought to take the blame, of course, but Toby meant to leave the matter in his own hands. He couldn’t altogether blame Tubb for taking vengeance on Frick, in view of the latter’s offenses, and while Toby had no desire to be a martyr he had grown to like Tubb and didn’t want him to lose his well-earned position on the School Team. So far as it was a question of the good of the School, it was far better for him to be punished than for Tubb to be. His loss to the team meant very little, while Tubb’s absence in the Broadwood game would be keenly felt. So, secretly, bitterly resentful toward Frick but harboring no grudge toward any one else, Toby took his medicine.

Being on probation cut him off from many privileges, amongst them that of seeing Yardley beat St. John’s on Saturday. Half the school made the journey and returned home triumphing. The score was 12 to 0 and the game was hard-fought and bristling with brilliant plays by both teams. Tom Fanning, Larry Snowden and Ted Halliday came back crowned with the laurel wreathes of heroes, although there were few on the Blue team who didn’t deserve high praise. Coach Lyle’s charges had worked together and individually in a manner to make the School proud of them, and that Saturday evening saw a big and enthusiastic celebration in the Assembly Hall and, later, outside. Toby didn’t attend it, since he was forbidden to leave his room after supper without permission from the Office, but he watched the triumphal end of it from his window and, although none heard but he, added his voice to the cheering. He felt rather lonely and rather downhearted that night, and even Arnold’s return a little later failed to cheer him much. Arnold was sympathetic, but to-night he was in an elated mood and very full of the afternoon’s game and the evening’s jollification, and Toby’s mood didn’t respond.

On Sunday afternoon Toby ran into George Tubb on the stairs. They had not met save in passing since the night of Frick’s escapade, and now of the two, Toby was the more embarrassed. He would have passed on up to his room, but Tubb wouldn’t have it. “Hold on,” said Tubb. “What’s your hurry? Let’s go for a tramp.”

“Can’t, thanks, I’m in bounds just at present.” Toby smiled to show that he didn’t mind, but Tubb scowled.

“Look here,” he said, “I want to talk to you about that, Tucker. Come on outside somewhere. You can walk down to the field, can’t you?”

Toby could, and, after a second’s hesitation, decided that he would. Once away from the buildings Tubb broke forth indignantly.

“Say, what sort of a game do you call that?” he exclaimed. “You make me promise to lay off Frick, and then you go and pound him up yourself! What’s the big idea, Tucker? I don’t get it!”

Toby stared. “And I don’t get you, Tubb,” he said finally. “You know mighty well I didn’t touch Frick!”

“You didn’t? Then who—then why—Look here, aren’t you on pro for it?”

Toby nodded. “But I didn’t do it. I don’t know who did it. Do you?” Toby spoke carelessly, but Tubb’s eyes narrowed.

“Do I? Why should I? You don’t think——” Tubb stopped and swung Toby around by the arm. “You don’t think I did it, do you?”

“Why, I haven’t said——”

“That means you do! Why the dickens haven’t you said so? What are you up to?”

“Do you mean that you didn’t, Tubb?” asked Toby incredulously.

“Of course I didn’t,” was the impatient answer. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“You said you’d think about it.”

“Well, it’s the same thing, you chump! Let’s get this settled, Tucker. What do you know about it, anyway?”

“I thought I knew all about it,” replied Toby in puzzlement, “but I guess I don’t know anything. If it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t me, and Frick says it was me, and——”

“Hold up! Better begin at the beginning. I’ve heard a lot of crazy stories about it. You tell me it the way it was.”

So Toby did. And when he had finished Tubb shook his head bewilderedly. “I don’t blame you for suspecting me,” he said. “But I was over in Dudley and I can prove it by two or three fellows. And that knuckle really did get skinned just as I told you. But that doesn’t explain the business, does it? Some one else had it in for Frick and laid for him. Either Frick knows who did it or he doesn’t know. If he does know he lied to Doctor Collins, if he doesn’t know—well, he still lied perhaps, but he might have thought it was you, Tucker. Is there any other chap in school that looks like you?”

Toby shrugged. “There may be. I don’t know. I don’t suppose I know just what I look like, for that matter. I guess there are other fellows with—with hair like mine, though. That won’t get us anywhere.”

“No, I guess not. Look here, why not go to Frick and put it up to him? Both of us, I mean. I don’t believe he’d dare lie if we were both there.”

“Why not? He lied, if he did lie, when Doctor Collins and I were there. Oh, there’s no use bothering, I guess. Let’s drop it. I’m sort of glad, though, that it wasn’t you, Tubb.”

“Well, yes, but if you thought it was me why didn’t you tell the Doctor so? Why did you let him sock it to you the way he did?”

“Oh, what was the use? You’d have got probation and lost the team, and you’re too good a player to lose.”

“So that’s it?” Tubb looked away. Presently he said gruffly: “Well, it was mighty decent of you, Tucker. Guess I wouldn’t have done it in your place. Much obliged, even if—if it wasn’t any good.”

“It wasn’t anything,” said Toby calmly. “I just didn’t see any use in letting Broadwood beat us for want of a good left end, that’s all. You’d have done the same, though you think you mightn’t have.”

“Guess the team would have got by all right without me,” said Tubb. “There’s Meadows, you know. He’s pretty good, if I did beat him out for it. But, say, we’ve got to get to the bottom of this business, Tucker. It won’t do to let Frick get away with it so easy. Have they taken him over to the First in your place?”

“I don’t think they have yet. They will, of course.”

“I suppose so, unless we can put a spoke in his wheel. I’m going to think this thing out, Tucker.”

“Help yourself. But keep away from Frick.”

“We-ell, all right. Bet you I could make him tell the truth, though,” muttered Tubb. “The toad! You wait till we’re through with football, Tucker! I’ll make that guy wish he’d never been born!”

“I may have something to say to him myself pretty soon,” said Toby thoughtfully. “Now that I know I’m not getting you in trouble——”

“Listen! You leave him to me,” said Tubb earnestly. “I don’t want him all messed up when I’m ready for him. I want him whole, Tucker. You give me first show at him and I’ll settle affairs for both of us. Is it a bargain?”

“Yes, if you like. I want him to get what’s coming to him, but I’m not particular who gives it to him! Well, I must be getting back. I’ve some work to do. This thing of being on pro has one advantage, Tubb; it gives you a fine chance to improve your class standing!”

Monday came, and Tuesday, and although Tubb assured Toby that he was still hopeful of clearing up the mystery, nothing came of it. Frick went to the First Team on Tuesday. Mass meetings were held on the slightest provocation and the school talked football from morning to night. The last scrimmage between the Second Team and the First was held on Wednesday and Toby went down and looked on. The Second, not yet recovered from a gruelling game with Latimer High School four days before which had ended in a 7 to 7 tie, and deprived of the services of a first-class quarter-back, was no match for the big team and was cruelly humbled. That was the Second’s swan-song, for when the whistle blew for the end she cheered the First and then cheered for herself and then, cavorting and yelling, piled up the hill to the gymnasium while, from the stands, followed a long cheer with three rousing “Seconds!” on the end of it. After Wednesday, save for “skull practice” in the gymnasium in the evenings and a thorough signal drill on Thursday, there was nothing to be done but wait for Saturday and the enemy’s invasion.

Toby had become fairly reconciled to his state by Thursday, and was inclined to make fun of George Tubb’s efforts to fasten the guilt of the assault on the right person. But Tubb refused to give up, although he was clearly discouraged. Or he was until Friday. Then, just after supper, he pounced in on Toby in Number 12 and asked a breathless question.

“Didn’t you tell me once that the guy who punched you the day you fellows played Greenburg High had red hair?” he asked.

“Did I? I may have. Anyway, he did.”

“How big was he?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Why?”

“Never mind why! Answer the question! Was he bigger than you?”

“N-no, about the same height, I guess, and maybe about my build. You’re not trying to make it out that——”

“Never mind what I’m trying to do! That’s all! Much obliged to you!” And Tubb rushed out again.