BILLY told his mother all except Erminie’s connection with the situation, which his stubborn loyalty withheld. But Mrs. Bennett had seen the circular and drawn her own conclusions, which were the same as Bess’s, though the older woman saw there was no way of reaching Jim Barney. She resented the heartlessness of the girl who could allow Billy to bear the blame alone, though of course she did not connect her in any way with the theft.

“Billy, Billy! I thought you had at least learned to keep your money in a bank.”

“I told you the bank was closed.”

“I could have banked it for you.”

“I never thought of that.”

“‘Never thought’ doesn’t lock the door, nor rebuild the burned house. Of course I shall advance the money, but that does not clear you. Your brother Hal is too busy to be troubled just now, but before school opens in the Autumn everything must be straightened out. Perhaps before that the girl will see fit to speak—”

“She can’t tell anything about the money.”

“But she can clear up the picnic matter.”

“But I shall not return to school, mother; I am going to work for Mr. Smith the Monday after school closes.”

Mrs. Bennett looked at him sternly a moment. “Billy, don’t you know that you are still my little boy in the eyes of the law? You will have to go to school if I require it.”

Billy put his arm around her. “Yes, mother; but you won’t require it if a woman’s good name depends on my doing what I think right.”

She returned his earnest look and sighed. “Perhaps you’re right, Billy. At least I cannot live your life for you. Take your position for the Summer, and afterward—we’ll see.” Mrs. Bennett had learned that patient waiting, more often than opposition, adjusts tangled matters wisely.

The election for president of the student body took place the next day, at the close of the afternoon session. All day groups of students at every opportunity had discussed the situation in low tones. It was known to both factions that the teachers were watching carefully, and that on the slightest indication of disorder or chicanery they would interfere.

The Kid was openly jubilant, and his forces full of brag, though Walter Buckman did not quite conceal his anxiety. But Hector’s friends were serious, extraordinarily quiet, yet mysteriously busy.

Several of the leading boys wore badges bearing an inscription none but the initiated could read. These were seen to be in close conversation for a moment at a time with student after student; and after each such conversation the badge-wearer was seen to pass a card. He was especially busy among the girls.

Observing these groups, sensitive Billy thought they often glanced his way; and he noticed that the active ones were all his friends. But none of them came to him. It was the first mark of disapproval they had shown him. Among the workers were Redtop, Sis Jones, Reginald, and Mumps, his four best friends except Hector.

He watched them pass and repass during the noon hour, always with a pleasant nod but too busy to stop. In the halls he met them as groups passed to the recitation rooms, and outside it was the same. And even Bess, who always had time for a word, now waved to him and actually hurried away.

At last he could endure inaction no longer. He wanted to be in the fight, to be doing things for Hector. The truth did not occur to him till he finally appealed to his cousin at the close of the session. “Say, Hec, what do the fellows mean, leaving me out of your fight? I’ve chewed the rag with myself all day, expecting I’d be asked to kick in for something; but they’ve passed me by as if I were a stone dog or a skunk cabbage.”

“Don’t get peeved, Billy. You don’t know the whole game. Our boys are secretly fixing the lie on the circular. We’ve found out the whole business, name of the printer, and how much he got for concealing the name of his press; but we’re not talking out loud, because that would queer things.”

“Gee! That’s great!”

“Every one in the school who holds club or society funds has been investigated and found to the good.”

“That—that—”

“Fixes you. Of course I’m not supposed to be busy on any of this, neither are you supposed to be interested. See?”

Billy looked down and scraped the floor absently with his toe. “I see I’m a heavy drag on you, Hec. I’ve about knocked you silly.”

Redtop, hurrying by, heard this. “Stop running off at the mouth, Billy To-morrow! We’ve got them shot all to pieces; only it’s on the q. t. till after the trick is turned. It’s your cue—ours, all of us—to look all in, meachin’ like. We’ll hit the cheers later.”

And so it transpired. The contest was quickly over. Hector won by a clear majority of thirty-seven. The jollification followed; and several of the teachers, waiting in the building conveniently in case of difficulty, came into the assembly-room and listened to the riot of exultation.

The other party was dazed. They had counted so confidently on Jim Barney’s contention that “queering Billy meant queering Hec Price,” that they could not at once realize their defeat. Their leader was a master at vilifying; but had not lived long enough to know that reputation is cumulative and powerful for better or for worse. Billy had built his good name in the school too surely to be downed by one blow; and the students who didn’t know Billy proved their good sense by voting for Hector on his merits instead of his connections.

But the leader “played his game” to the end. After Hector had closed his speech of appreciation, the Kid claimed the floor and delivered a scathing speech, full of innuendo, and interrupted by hisses and cat-calls, and ending with a startling threat.

“I leave school in a few days. I know the schools are run in the interest of certain political factions, in the interest of the classes. I’ll be a voter pretty soon; and when I am, I’ll have my father and his bunch behind me, and we’ll make school matters sizzle. We’ll see that student rights are not invaded by teachers, and that the smooth-tongued element gets what’s coming—”

Because Hector had been the speaker’s opponent he felt that his first act in the newly created chair could not be one of repression; but now the speech was becoming so incendiary that riot threatened. The factions vied with each other in demonstration, each going as far as it dared in the presence of teachers.

At this point Hector rapped for order, ineffectually at first but insistently; and two or three of Barney’s followers who had another year in the school to forfeit if they overstepped discipline, plucked at him and audibly warned him that he was likely to lose his diploma.

He glared at them and went on. “They can’t do it. They can’t refuse me my diploma because I exercise the right of free speech. I can call the President of the United States any name I please, and the president of a school-board or a principal is no better, because my taxes support all of ’em. I—”

He got no farther. Redtop whispered something in Walter Buckman’s ear that made him start up in his seat. He reached over and pulled the Kid down, and three or four boys hustled him from the room. And Hector adjourned the most threatening meeting in the history of the school.

Affairs moved on to the end of the term in outward quiet; yet the Principal, aided by a few of the teachers, carried on a thorough search for the author of the circular, that proved little. The small firm that printed the circulars told what they knew, but said the business was carried on entirely through correspondence. The copy being private matter required no signature, and the payment was by coin brought by a small boy whom they could not identify, and to whom they delivered the order.

Thus when graduation came, Jim Barney stepped arrogantly forward and, as the others, received his diploma. Billy’s anger swelled again, but he could not indulge it for long. There was Reginald who had won first place, delivering his oration with a power that cheered; and many others Billy knew, receiving well earned rewards. Only Erminie’s name was not called, and Billy felt anew his remorse as he remembered that but for him she would have been there, more beautiful than any of them.

Next year it would be Hec and Redtop, Bess, Sis Jones, and all the “gang”; and he would not be with them. This was the last day of school for him. But soon he forgot regret in the midst of good-byes, bustle, and joyous confusion, that presently subsided and left the gray building silent and ghostly for the long summer vacation.

Saturday was a busy day, spent at home in preparation for work, in “squaring up” troop duties, a bit of shopping, and other matters that had been put off till the end of school. He was to sleep at home, but would leave early for his work and return late. There would be little time for other matters.

For weeks, beneath the push of increasing duties, he vainly had tried to down the ache that came with thought of Erminie. She had not written. He missed her, and was hurt, sore because she had gone without a word to him, and had not let him know her hiding-place. He tried to excuse her. He invented a dozen ways in which a note she might have left for him could have gone astray. But the ache still lingered.

The Sunday before he left home was the hardest day of all. He was tired. His bridges were burned behind him, and his march ahead, not begun, was portentous with unknown trials. He worried himself with visions of Erminie ill, in trouble, alone, or perhaps worse, with people who mistreated her. Might the struggle be too much for her? Might she end it?

But he did not dwell long on that thought. Erminie was too cheerful, stout of heart, too bright and winning, and life meant too much to her; she would not fail. One thing, however, haunted him persistently: she would need money, and he could not send it to her.

The day wore on. In the evening they gathered around the piano and sang the songs they loved, Billy’s smooth, rich bass making the family quartette complete. It was nine o’clock, and Billy was saying good-night because he must be up and off by six in the morning, when a messenger came with an “immediate delivery” letter for Billy.

At last! He felt sure that it was from Erminie and his heart jumped, though he held his face calm. He was glad the address was typewritten,—they would think it was from the troop, or from some of the boys on important business. With a hasty excuse he took it to his room to read. There he tore it open, surprised that his hand was trembling, his breath coming in gusts.

“Dearest Billy:

“You must have worried about me something awful. I did not write before because you told me not to. At first I didn’t know what to do, but now I’m going to stay right here. They want me to. It was perfectly darling of you to let me have that money, so much too. And I know you’ll need it. But what a funny way to send it! I’m sending two dollars. I can’t spare more yet.

“I had an awful chin with the Kid the night before I went away, the night you were on the scout. As soon as I saw that dodger I called him up over the phone and told him to come over; and he did, and we walked and talked and talked. He wanted to go and sit in the park, but I wouldn’t. I told him he’d have to take back all he said, but he was nasty. He said he had both of us right where he wanted us; that I had lied to him, and a few more like that; and he wasn’t even yet,—he’d only begun. There was more coming.

“Billy, I hated to run away and leave you to bear everything alone; and I hate it when I can’t even tell you where I am; but as long as you told me to do it, and wait four weeks before writing, I’ve done just as you said, though it’s been hard. I’m sure you know best. But why did you typewrite it?

“Don’t worry about me. I’m at my cousin’s,—my uncle’s house, and they treat me fine. I don’t have to do anything that I don’t wish to, and Cousin Will is dandy. Tell ma this; though I suppose you won’t since you fixed everything safe for me. Poor ma! I’m sorry for her.

“I’m sending you a thousand kisses and a heartful of love. I’ll send more money as soon as I can earn it.

“Your loving, troublesome Erminie.”