Willard’s heart sank. There was no need to pick the thing up for closer examination. Its crumpled, distasteful folds showed one border missing, and, if evidence had still been lacking, closer inspection would have elicited the fact that, half obliterated by a paint smudge, the word “Harmon” was plainly printed on a corner. It was the handkerchief that he had given to Bob Newhall Saturday night to wipe his hands on.

“Yes, sir,” replied Willard.

“When and where?” asked the Doctor quietly.

“Last Saturday night, sir, at Hillsport.”

The Doctor picked the object up gingerly and dropped it back in the drawer. Then he closed the drawer slowly and gazed thoughtfully for a short moment at the book he had laid aside.

“I have received a very indignant letter from Doctor Handley, at Hillsport School,” he said presently. “He tells me that some time during Saturday night the wall of his residence was defaced with black paint in—um—in ill-advised celebration of Alton’s football victory over Hillsport.”

Willard gasped. “We—I didn’t know it was his wall, sir!” he exclaimed.

“Is that true? You didn’t know that Doctor Handley’s residence stood at the corner, across from the school entrance?”

“No, sir,” answered the boy earnestly. “I’d never been there before, sir.”

“But the others? They must have known.”

“The others?” stammered Willard.

“Yes,” replied the Doctor gently. “You said ‘we’ a moment ago.”

Willard reddened. “I—I corrected myself,” he answered.

Doctor McPherson smiled whimsically and shook his head. “I wouldn’t call it a correction, Harmon. You see, it’s extremely unlikely that you would have engaged in such a—such an amusement by yourself. Defacing property in that manner is ‘gang work’: I’ve never known it otherwise.”

Willard gulped. “Yes, sir. Well, none of us knew that wall was Doctor—Doctor—”

“Handley’s?” asked the Principal helpfully.

“Yes, sir. We wouldn’t have done it for anything if we had known. We—we just wanted to get even with those—fellows for what they did to us last year. They painted green signs all around town here, sir, and we thought it was perfectly fair to get back at them. That’s all there was to it.”

“A very silly proceeding, Harmon. Defacing the property of others is a particularly mean and contemptible form of mischief. And the fact that the Hillsport boys indulged in it was no excuse. Indeed, the appearance of your own town should have shown you how atrocious such vandalism is. I sympathize with the resentment that was felt here last fall when it was found that Hillsport had scrawled the score on our fences and walls, but I do not sympathize in the least with the motive that led you and your companions to commit the same indecency, Harmon. Another thing is that Hillsport was careful not to deface school property. Indeed, as I recall, she displayed some care in the selection of old fences and such places for her—um—decorations. In your case you seem to have tried to do as much damage as possible.”

“But we didn’t know, sir!” protested Willard again.

“And that I find hard to believe,” replied the Doctor, shaking his head. “How many times did you paint the score up?”

“Only twice. The first time on a stable or something. We looked for fences and things like that, but there weren’t any, sir. And we wanted to put it where the Hillsport fellows would be sure to see it, and finally we found that wall! It was outside the school grounds and we didn’t any of us know it was the Principal’s house. We wouldn’t have thought of doing it there if we’d known. It was just—just a joke, sir!”

“A frightfully poor one, Harmon! Who were the others with you?”

Willard dropped his gaze and a moment of silence passed. When he raised his eyes again it was to look rather miserably at the Doctor and shake his head. “I guess I oughtn’t to say, sir,” he answered in low tones.

“I shan’t insist,” said the Doctor gently. “I know how you fellows look at such things. I can’t help reflecting, however, Harmon, that your code of honor as regards matters amongst yourselves is somewhat finer than you display in other matters. You don’t hesitate, it appears, to daub black paint over a man’s brick wall, although that man has never offended you in the least, but you’re outraged at the mere thought of giving information against companions who have aided you in your offenses. Well, you shall suit yourself. I think it my duty, though, to point out to you that, in deciding on the proper punishment in your case, the question of whether you knew or did not know that you were defacing property belonging to the school and occupied by the school Principal is important. You tell me that you did now know and that the others did not know. If, as you say, you had not been in Hillsport before, I am inclined to believe what you tell me of yourself, but I cannot take your word for the others, Harmon. It seems to me extremely unlikely that one or more of them did not know whose property it was. If I knew their names I could question them and find out. As I don’t know their names I am forced to give more credence to the probabilities than to your testimony. You see, Harmon, the affair looks very much like a deliberate insult to Doctor Handley, and it certainly calls for an apology. In apologizing I’d like greatly to be able to assure him that the affair was merely a schoolboy prank and that the depredators were not aware that it was his property they were defiling. But I can’t tell him that without more evidence than your unsupported testimony affords me. Is that clear to you?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Willard unhappily.

“And you still prefer not to give me the names of the others? Remember that I shall make every effort to find out and shall doubtless succeed.”

“I—I’d rather not, sir,” answered Willard steadily.

“In that case there is no more to be said. Pending a decision as to what disciplinary measures shall be taken, Harmon, you will observe hall restrictions. I am very sorry this has happened, my boy, and I hope it will lead you to a—um—greater respect for the rights and property of others. Good morning, Harmon.”

Willard stood up, rather pale but very straight. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you about the others, sir,” he said earnestly, “but—but I don’t believe you’d act any different yourself if you were in my place. And I’ll take the punishment without kicking, Doctor McPherson. But, just the same, it doesn’t seem fair to me that those fellows should get away with what they did and we—I should get punished for doing no more. We didn’t know we were painting up Doctor Handley’s wall. You needn’t believe me unless you want to, but it’s so! What—what’s he want to live outside the school for, anyway?” Willard ended in an indignant wail and the Doctor’s mouth trembled in a smile.

“If your idea is to shift the blame to Doctor Handley,” answered the Principal dryly, “I’m afraid it won’t work! You’ll hear from me later, Harmon. Good morning.”

“Good morning, sir,” murmured Willard.

He found Martin hidden behind a newspaper when he got back to the room, and so absorbed was the reader that not until the door had slammed shut did he know of Willard’s entry. Then he showed perturbed countenance above the Darlington Daily Messenger. “Seen this, Brand?” he asked ominously. Willard shook his head and took the proffered paper. The Hillsport correspondent had made quite a story of it.

Willard handed the paper back in silence. Martin grinned. “Have you anything to say before sentence is passed?” he asked sepulchrally.

“Sentence has been passed, so far as I’m concerned,” answered Willard. Martin stared. Then:

“What do you mean?” he demanded anxiously.

“I mean that I’ve just come from a fine moment with Doctor McPherson. That Principal over there, Handley or whatever his silly name is, has written to the Doctor, and sent that clue along, too.”

“Wow!” muttered Martin awedly. “Wha—what was the clue?”

“My handkerchief.”

“Good night!”

“And sweet dreams,” added Willard ironically.

“What did he say?” asked Martin after a moment of painful thought. Willard shrugged.

“He said a lot! He wasn’t so bad, though. I’ll have to say that for him. I’m on hall bounds until the faculty gets together and decides whether I’m to be boiled in oil or merely drawn and quartered. You fellows may get by all right, though. I’m the only one they’re sure of so far. Why the dickens didn’t someone say that that brick wall was the Principal’s?”

“How were we to know?” demanded Martin. “Why doesn’t he live inside where he ought to? Say, we managed to pick a couple of fine spots, didn’t we? It was a clever idea to paint up the side of the Chief of Police’s barn! Oh, we were a grand little bunch of nuts!” And Martin laughed mirthlessly.

“Yes,” agreed Willard, “we surely managed to do things up brown while we were doing!”

“Didn’t you tell ‘Mac’ that you didn’t have anything to do with it?”

“That would have been a fine song-and-dance!” jeered Willard. “What if I didn’t do any of the actual painting? I went along, didn’t I? Besides, there was my handkerchief, all stuck up with black paint. He didn’t waste any time asking me whether I’d done it. All he wanted to know was who the others were.”

“You might as well have told him,” said Martin gloomily. “He’ll find out quick enough.”

“I don’t think so,” answered Willard. “No one saw us come back, and short of taking the whole school over there and letting the restaurant folks pick you fellows out, I don’t see how they’re going to tell.”

Martin brightened. Then his face fell again. “We’ll have to fess up, Brand. It wouldn’t be fair to let you stand the whole racket.”

“That’s a swell idea,” answered the other derisively. “You and Bob off the team would help a lot, wouldn’t it?”

“We-ell—” Martin scowled in concentrated study of the problem. Then: “Look here,” he said, “a fellow’s got to eat, anyway. Let’s go to dinner. Afterwards we’ll find Bob and—”

His remark was interrupted by a knock at the door followed by the entrance of Bob himself, a somewhat troubled looking Bob who, without noticing anything unusual in the looks of the roommates, plunged into speech. “Say, fellows,” he announced, lowering himself into a chair and viewing them frowningly, “I’m not quite easy in my mind about that business the other night.”

“Really?” asked Martin. “How strange!”

The sarcasm was lost, however. Bob shook his head and went on. “No, because I have a horrible suspicion that I tied that handkerchief to the handle of the paint can, Brand. And if I did they’ll find it, sure as shooting. I—I suppose it had your initials on it, eh?”

Willard shook his head. “No,” he answered gently.

“Honest?” Bob perked up. “Then it won’t matter if they do find it, will it? Gee, I was getting sort of worried! You see, I thought first I’d given it back to you, Brand, and then I thought I’d thrown it away, but Cal said last night that he sort of remembered feeling it around the handle and I sort of half remember putting it there. But if it didn’t have any mark on it, we shouldn’t worry.”

“I didn’t say that,” corrected Willard. “I said it didn’t have any initials, and it didn’t. All it had was ‘Harmon’, in nice big letters.”

“Great Scott!” gasped Bob.

“By the way, you haven’t cast your eye over the Darlington paper by any chance, have you?” drawled Martin.

“No. Is there anything in it?” asked Bob anxiously.

“Why, yes, you might say so. Like to look at it?”

Bob viewed the others with growing disquiet. “What’s the joke?” he demanded, scowling. “What are you two fellows so blamed creepy about? Let’s see that paper!”

Willard and Martin said nothing until Bob had finished the story. Then: “Looks like we might have a bit o’ weather,” drawled Martin.

Bob laid the paper down softly and grinned in sickly fashion.

“I’ll say so,” he answered.