That third week in November at Ridgley School was like the home stretch in a mile race. The finish was in sight and the victory could be lost or won by what was about to take place. The Ridgley team was trailing—every one admitted that—but by a magnificent burst of speed it might yet come abreast of its rival—and might even snatch the victory. Nothing is impossible; we can do it if we have the spirit: that was the word on every one's lips—spirit not alone in the team but in the heart of every son of Ridgley,—such a spirit through the whole school that those eleven fellows in whom rested the entire hope of several hundred should go on the field with the conviction that however well the Jefferson team played, the Ridgley team would play better.

There were mass meetings at which Coach Murray and Neil Durant and prominent members of the team spoke. All of them made the point that victory depended on the spirit of the whole school as well as on the team. At the meeting on Monday night in Lincoln Hall after Neil Durant had spoken, some one in the crowd yelled, "We want Teeny-bits," and the cry was instantly taken up by others until in the space of a few seconds the whole hall was resounding to the concerted clamor for the smallest and the newest member of the eleven.

There was some little delay, for Teeny-bits, surprised and dismayed, had settled himself lower in his seat, hoping thereby to escape detection until a demand had started for some other member of the team. But the Ridgleyites who were sitting beside him yelled, "Here he is!" and Neil Durant, perceiving him at last, leaped down from the platform and laid hold on him with vigorous hands. In a second or two Teeny-bits was standing up there facing the school with such a shout of greeting ringing in his ears that his head swam a little. There was no room for the slightest doubt that the sons of Ridgley liked this quiet, unassuming, new member of the school and that they admired his manner of saying little but doing much. The school would have excused Teeny-bits if he had stammered a bit and sat down to cover his embarrassment, but there was no need for excuses of any sort. Teeny-bits suddenly found that he had something to say and he said it in a manner that brought the already enthusiastic crowd to its feet.

"I want to tell you," he said, "that I'm glad Jefferson has such a good team; every one says it's the best their school has ever produced. That's something worthy to strive for—to beat their best ever—and I know that every member of our team has his mind and heart and soul made up to meet Jefferson more than halfway and to fight so hard for Ridgley that when the game is over there'll be shouting and bonfires on our hill."

That was all Teeny-bits said but he spoke with a manner that almost brought tears to the eyes of those loyal sons of Ridgley whose faces were turned up toward him where he stood in the bright lights of the platform. A hoarse shout of confidence and satisfaction shook the hall.

Instead of jumping down and returning to his seat, Teeny-bits left the platform by the back way and hurried out of the building by the rear door. He wanted to be alone just then. The November night air was cool on his flushed face and he strode swiftly toward his room, thinking of all the things that had happened to him in the few short weeks since he had come to Ridgley and of all the friends he had made. Never had he seen the campus so deserted; every one was at the mass meeting, it seemed. There were lights only in the entries of the dormitories. He took a short cut across the tennis courts and approached Gannett Hall from the rear.

When the grayish-white bulk of the building was only twenty-five yards away, Teeny-bits heard a sudden sound that caused him to gaze upward. What he saw instantly dispelled from his mind the pleasant thoughts in which he had been absorbed. A window in the third story was open; stretching downward from it was one of the fire-escape ropes with which each room was equipped. Some one was letting himself downward by sitting in the patent sling and allowing the rope to slide slowly through his hands. Teeny-bits stepped behind one of the beech trees that grew close to the building. While he watched, the person on the rope came down even with the second story. There he paused, resting his feet on the ledge of a window. In a moment he had raised the sash and had climbed inside.

Teeny-bits remained behind the tree, peering upward and wondering if he had hit upon the solution of the mystery of the petty thefts. Inside the room on the second floor a dim light shone for a moment and then went out; the thief was using a flashlamp. Teeny-bits' first thought was to notify some one in authority, but he quickly made up his mind that he would do better to observe developments and to stay on watch until the thief should come out.

Close to the wall of the building grew some shrubs which seemed to offer a better vantage point from which to watch. Teeny-bits stepped quickly among them and crouched down so that, as seen from above, the dark shadow of his body would seem to be part of the shrubbery. Looking upward he could see any object on the side of the building outlined clearly against the starlit sky. Two or three minutes after he reached this new place of concealment a foot was thrust out of the second story window above him; some one climbed out and after closing the window began to clamber swiftly upward, using his hands on the rope and his feet against the wall.

Teeny-bits at once recognized the person who was performing this suspicious-appearing bit of acrobatics but he was astounded by his discovery. The person who was fast making his way upward, who even now had reached the third story and was climbing into the open window, was none other than Snubby Turner, the genial and innocent-appearing quarter-back of the scrub team. In the first place it was almost unbelievable that Snubby with his tremendous interest in the approaching football game should be absent from the mass meeting; in the second place it seemed even more incredible to Teeny-bits that this friend of his should be guilty of stealing the property of his schoolmates.

The newcomer at Ridgley remained standing in the bushes as if frozen to the spot. He was revolving in his mind many things: Snubby's seemingly frank and happy manner, the fact that it was he who had first reported a loss, his interest in the subsequent thefts. It seemed impossible; and yet here was indisputable evidence that Snubby had chosen a moment when the dormitory was deserted to break into one of the rooms.

Whose room was it, anyway? Teeny-bits, still looking upward, suddenly realized that the room into which Snubby had broken was Tracey Campbell's; confusing thoughts were still sweeping through his mind when he became aware that some one who was stepping swiftly along the walk that passed close behind the hall was almost upon him. Teeny-bits never knew just why he followed the sudden impulse that came over him. His first thought was that he did not want any one to see him standing there in the shrubbery apparently without reason; he started to crouch, but his quick movement caught the eye of the person who was passing. The footfalls came to a sudden pause, and a voice, which Teeny-bits recognized as that of Mr. Stevens, the English master, called out:

"Who's that?"

With a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, Teeny-bits stepped out of the bushes and said:

"It's Findley Holbrook—" and then, as if for good measure, he added his nickname—"Teeny-bits."

"What's up?" asked Mr. Stevens.

The question was put pleasantly, but Teeny-bits knew that behind it there must be wonder and suspicion—yes, surely suspicion—for it was not an ordinary circumstance to find a member of the school concealing himself close to the rear windows of one of the dormitories when all the rest of the school was absent at a mass meeting. For the life of him Teeny-bits could think of nothing to say—he had made up his mind instantly not to tell what he had seen—and there did not seem to be anything else left. For seconds that seemed like hours he did not answer Mr. Stevens' question and then he managed to get a few words across his benumbed lips.

"It's nothing," he said. "I just—I'm—I was coming back from the mass meeting."

Mr. Stevens looked at him keenly and laid a hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter, Teeny-bits?" he asked, and the newcomer at Ridgley knew from the very fact that the master addressed him by his nickname that he expected a straightforward answer.

Teeny-bits looked at Mr. Stevens in dumb misery and said nothing.

"Can I help you?" asked Mr. Stevens.

"No," said Teeny-bits. "Thanks, but I'm just going up to my room; that's all."

They walked round to the front of the hall together; Mr. Stevens said nothing more, and Teeny-bits ran up to his room and sat down to think. A few minutes before the impending struggle with Jefferson had filled his mind so completely that there seemed to be room for nothing else; now suddenly this other thing had come upon him and in an instant had engulfed his mind. Circumstances had involved him in a situation from which he would have given a year of his life to escape. He suddenly realized that he valued his good name above everything else.

Doctor Wells had been away from Ridgley over the week-end, to make an address in Philadelphia. He came back to the school Monday afternoon and did not get an opportunity to attend to his mail until evening. One letter that came to him contained a brief but surprising message. He read it once and then again, and forgot the rest of his mail. He got up from his desk chair and walking over to the window looked out into the night. Voices came to him faintly,—the eager, confident, carefree voices of youth. He knew that the boys were returning from the mass meeting. He turned away from the window, drew down the shade and read again the brief message.

It never took Doctor Wells long to make a decision; the course of action he determined on now he quickly put into execution. He reached for the telephone and in a moment was talking with Mr. Stevens, whose room was situated in Gannett Hall.

"Mr. Stevens," he said, "I want you to go up to Holbrook's room and ask him to come over here immediately. I'd like to have you stay with him until he starts."

Teeny-bits was not greatly surprised when Mr. Stevens came into his room a quarter of an hour after he had said good night to him. When any one was in trouble Mr. Stevens had a way of dropping round to see how he could help. Teeny-bits was surprised, however, when the English master delivered Doctor Wells' message. The first thought that came into his mind was that Mr. Stevens had reported what he had seen and that Doctor Wells was calling him to his office to request an explanation. Mr. Stevens may have read his thought for he looked at Teeny-bits rather searchingly and said:

"I don't know why Doctor Wells wants to see you; I haven't talked with him since he returned except to answer the request that has just been made. If you need me in any way, let me know."

That was the second time the English master had offered himself.

"I guess there isn't anything you can do," said Teeny-bits as he picked up his hat and started out of the room. "I'll run over to the office and see what Doctor Wells wants."

Teeny-bits' heart was pounding a little as he mounted the granite steps of "The White House", as every one called Doctor Wells' home. It was always an impressive thing to make a call on Doctor Wells—and one calculated to make the blood run a little faster, whatever the errand. There was something about this summons, moreover, that gave it an unusual quality, and to Teeny-bits, who had passed through two experiences that evening, it seemed to be a climax that held for him vague and perhaps unpleasant possibilities. He rang the bell and was ushered immediately into Doctor Wells' study where the soft lamplight, the paintings on the walls and the garnet-colored rugs, which harmonized with the mahogany furniture, gave an atmosphere of dignity and refinement. One always carried himself with a certain feeling of awe—at least every member of the school did—in Doctor Wells' office. But there was no unpleasant formality in Doctor Wells' manner. He shook hands with Teeny-bits cordially, asked him to sit down and came to the point immediately.

"I received a letter in the mail to-day which has something to do with you, Holbrook. I thought you'd better see it immediately. It isn't a pleasant subject and I want you to tell me frankly what you know about it."

He handed over a sheet of paper on which were three or four lines of typewritten words. They were simple enough in their meaning, but Teeny-bits had to read them twice before he completely grasped their import. There were two sentences:

Holbrook has the things that were stolen from the dormitories. He keeps them hidden under the floor in his closet.