“Oh, dry up!” The retort was delivered in retreat, so to say, for the speaker was already moving cautiously in a direction which could never bring him any nearer Jones than he had been, even if persisted in indefinitely. Jones allowed the argument to close. So did all the others. Rusty laughed with a creditable simulation of unconcern and moved too. “If you’re going to make a――a serious affair of it――” he began sarcastically. “That’s it,” said Jones. “International complications, World Court and all that, Rusty. Good night.” Jones re-donned his coat. The party was at an end, disrupted, broken in halves. One half went schoolward, discussing the affair, in dissatisfied mutters; the other set off toward the Andersons’ house. Nearing the light, Jones turned a puzzled regard on Fessenden. “Well, son, what was your trouble? Think they were going to murder you?” Fessenden shook his head, gulped, but made no answer. “What do they do to them at the pond?” asked Barry. “Make them swim across, if they can swim. A few get chucked in. There are always three or four sporting enough to say ‘yes’ to that. Faculty won’t stand for it unless the pups are willing. Those who can’t swim get off; or maybe the others give them a bath with a pail. It’s only fun――rather silly fun, I guess. I suppose you can’t swim, son.” They were at the gate and Fessenden was fumbling for the latch. At Jones’s question his head went down and a sob shook him. Jones stared perplexedly at Barry and the latter put a hand on Fessenden’s shoulder and asked, “What’s the matter?” “I――I’m ashamed,” gulped the boy. “Oh, that’s it! Well, really, you know, it becomes you,” said Jones, gently, “but I wouldn’t trouble about it any more.” “I was in the library after supper,” began Fessenden, haltingly, “and――and two boys were talking across the table; whispering. They――they said a boy was drowned last year by――by the Third-Class fellows, and――” “Just trying to scare you, I guess,” said Jones. “Nothing in it, son.” “Then I was coming home and I saw a light and hid and those fellows were talking to you――” he indicated Barry――“and I heard what they said and was frightened. I――I can’t swim! After you went along I tried to get by on the other side of the road. I thought if I could catch up with you―― But they saw me and I ran and they chased me. They were shouting, ‘Drown the pup’! Then I fell and they got me.” Fessenden ended with a final gulp and an appealing and shamefaced smile. Jones chuckled. “And you thought you were a goner, eh? Never mind, young―― What’s your name, anyway?” “Fessenden.” “And you room here? I’ll bet you’re the fellow who plays the fiddle!” The other nodded. “I’m sorry if I’ve annoyed you,” he said in eager apology. “Not a bit, son, but I do wish you’d learn to wangle that tiddly-widdly bit you’ve been struggling with for two days!” Fessenden laughed tremulously. “I have,” he said. “I can play it straight through now.”