  Dick sat with his sullen prisoner in the Principal’s outer office, while Varrell and Eddy were closeted with Mr. Graham in the smaller room adjoining. The door between was left ajar, and both prisoner and guard strained their ears for some inkling of the course of events in the inner room. Although delighted that the end of the long chase had been reached, Dick was not altogether satisfied with his own position at the finish. He had submissively stood watch while Varrell had made the search in Bosworth’s room; he had obeyed as submissively when Varrell had reappeared and ordered him on with Bosworth to the Principal’s house. That he must still be kept on guard just out of hearing of the interesting details which he had a right to know, was exasperating even if unavoidable. With the feeling that he was doing his duty, Dick steeled himself to wait in patience. Through the crack of the door came the murmur of Varrell’s voice, as in low, steady tones he told his story, occasionally interrupted by short, distinct questions from the Principal that Dick could all but understand. Presently Eddy’s testimony was invoked. With tremulous lips he sobbed out answers to the senior’s questions, like a bashful witness affirming his attorney’s suggestions. When Mr. Graham took a part in the questioning, the boy’s voice grew yet more nervous and shrill. Words and expressions penetrated to the eager ears in the outer room. Bosworth threw off his pretence of indifference, and sat bolt upright, listening with all his might. But he was destined to hear little. Eddy’s whining voice suddenly shot to a high key, broke, and dwindled abruptly to a gasp and a gurgle. A chair slipped on the smooth floor, and an inert body struck the hard surface with a dull thud. In his nervous state Dick could restrain himself no longer. Throwing police duties to the winds, he rushed into the inner room, where Mr. Graham and Varrell were bending over Eddy’s collapsed form, Varrell still holding the boy’s head as he had caught it close to the floor, and the Principal staring in horror at the twitching face. “It’s a fit,” Varrell was saying. “I’ve seen a case like it before; comes from indigestion. You want to loosen his clothes and keep him from biting his tongue.” “Dr. Kenneth at once!” exclaimed Mr. Graham, catching sight of Melvin at his elbow. Dick hurried back to the room which he had just left. It was empty. He stood an instant, staring blankly at the vacant room, then turned to the others a bewildered face. “Bosworth’s gone!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Shall I—?” “Get the doctor at once!” repeated Mr. Graham. “Never mind Bosworth!” The command was explicit, and yet the boy hesitated. His lips came together and parted in “But—.” He got no further, however, for Varrell interrupted him before the word was out. “Hurry up, can’t you! Don’t stop to talk!” It was the sharp, stinging tone in which the words were spoken and the warning look flashed from Varrell’s gray eyes as he uttered them that sent Dick flying from the house. In five minutes he was back again, having met the school doctor at the door of his office. Eddy was already reviving. “Come, let’s get away,” said Varrell, after they had watched operations for a few minutes in silence. “They don’t need us any longer.” The doors had hardly closed behind them when Melvin began fiercely, “Well?” “Well, what?” returned Varrell, coolly. “Why did you make me let that fellow go?” Varrell laughed. “Because Mr. Graham evidently wanted him to go. He had his wits about him if you had lost yours.” “But why?” persisted Dick. “Put yourself in his place and you’ll see,” retorted Varrell. “Bosworth, in the eyes of the law, is a felon. Mr. Graham cannot condone a criminal offence, and he doesn’t want the scandal of a public trial in the courts. Bosworth has helped us out by running away. He’ll never be seen again in this town. Now come up to the room, and I’ll tell you all about it.” Varrell’s prediction proved true. Bosworth disappeared suddenly and completely. His mother came a day or two later and spent a few hours in packing her son’s goods, and a few minutes in a sad interview with the Principal. The boys who had lost money had it restored to them through Mr. Graham, and the thieving in the dormitories ceased. The whereabouts of the wretched Bosworth remained for some time a mystery even to his mother. A year later, Vincent, who took his meals at Mrs. Bosworth’s in Cambridge, reported having seen a letter postmarked “Texas” addressed to his landlady in handwriting which he thought he recognized. In his last college vacation Marks ran across Bosworth himself among a set of gamblers offering bets at the professional ball games in Chicago. It is safe to say that they did not renew their acquaintance. Eddy, relieved of the burden of his secret, convalesced rapidly, and was soon taken home by his father. Fortunately for the repentant lad, Mr. Eddy, himself an old Seatonian, had a frank talk with Mr. Graham before seeing his son, which deprived the dreaded meeting of half its terrors. It was a new idea to Mr. Eddy that a boy might be driven to continue in an evil way from which he wished to escape, through fear of the uncompromising harshness with which his confession would be received. The parting word of the Principal sent the father home somewhat comforted by the thought that there might yet be a chance for the boy to retrieve himself in the old school. For Phil and Dick and Wrenn Varrell the last days of school were pleasantly uneventful. Dick had a peaceful fortnight in which to prepare his class-day oration, which he delivered with becoming gravity, as if it were a serious contribution to the wisdom of the world. Wrenn returned to the modest tenor of his life; and when Planter, in his class prophecy, predicted for Varrell a career which should rival that of Sherlock Holmes, hardly half a dozen fellows in the class understood the point of the reference. Phil went rejoicing home at the end of the school term, leaving his older friends to miss his cheerful presence. His study chair was more than filled by John Curtis, who settled himself in it as the most favorable place for “grinding,”—a place which he left only to sleep and eat during the long week which preceded the college examinations. John was rather subdued when the final good-bys were said, and the fellows around him were promising one another a speedy and happy reunion at Cambridge or New Haven or Hanover or some other of the half-dozen places to which their choice of college called them. Melvin felt much concerned at the solemn look on the big fellow’s face, and the artless subterfuges with which he sought to avoid committing himself as to his plans for the future. But Curtis was merely cautious. On the Fourth of July, as Dick was condescendingly helping his “kid” brother in the serious task of setting off fireworks, a telegram was brought to him, dated at Mt. Desert, and bearing this simple legend:— “In clear except for Dutch. Meet you Soldiers’ Field, September. “John Curtis.” Dick’s last half-dollar went for fireworks to celebrate the news.
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