“So Peaches said,” he answered. “And with both you and Peaches telling me the same thing I’m bound to believe it.” He smiled, and Betty’s severity relaxed. “Peaches was a dear when it happened,” she said. “He tried very hard to persuade Davy to stay here and prove his innocence, but Davy wouldn’t. He was hurt, and a little bit frightened, too, I think, and he wanted to get away from the talk. He couldn’t have, though, if Peaches hadn’t helped him. We didn’t have any money in the house that night, and Peaches went over to the school and got some from Mr. Puffer, the treasurer, and――well, I don’t know the rest of it, because I never asked.” “He didn’t tell me that part of it,” muttered Barry. “Do you hear from him, Betty? Davy I mean.” “Oh, yes, he writes pretty regularly. He’s had an awfully hard time, poor boy. He’s had four or five positions, but he can’t seem to hold them. They haven’t been the right kind for him, because he doesn’t really know much except office work, and you can’t get that very easily without references, and Davy hasn’t any. He sends his letters to Peaches. We were afraid the police might watch the mail, you see. Still, they never tried to find him after he left here, so far as we know, and maybe they’ll let it drop after a while.” “It wouldn’t be safe for him to come home yet, then?” Betty shook her head, yet hesitantly, and before she could reply Mrs. Lyle returned from her visit along the street. After a few minutes Barry went up to his room and seated himself at the walnut desk, which, under Betty’s care, was regaining some of its youthful luster. He didn’t feel in the mood for letter-writing, but this was the day for it, and after several false starts he managed to finish two pages. “I’ve about decided to give up football for this year,” he was writing, when Peaches’ footsteps sounded on the stairs and then approached along the hall. Barry had left his door open and Peaches entered. “‘I am studying very hard,’” he dictated as he sank into a chair, “‘and winning much praise from my dear teachers.’” Barry laid down his pen and viewed him rather moodily. “I guess it would be a good thing if I could say that,” he muttered. “I’m studying hard, all right, but I haven’t heard much praise from my dear teachers!” Then recollection of Betty’s astounding revelation came to him and he looked Peaches over from head to toe, with new interest. Peaches frowned and put a hand to his tie. “What is it?” he asked anxiously. “Let’s know the worst. If it’s the tie I’ll change it.” “You’re Harrington Jones’s son, aren’t you?” said Barry. Peaches nodded cautiously. “What are you trying to do? Serve a summons on me?” “Betty just told me,” answered Barry, darkly. “Told you what?” “That you were――are.” “That I were what? I’m sorry, Barry, but I’m like this on Sundays, after a hearty dinner: I’m not quick, you know. I have to have the simplest things explained to me. You’d be surprised!”