At twelve o’clock Kendall made his way down the long corridor of Oxford and pushed open the ground-glass portal marked “Office.” There were two boys ahead of him in the outer room and Kendall sank into a chair to wait. The school secretary glanced up across the top of his desk, fixed Kendall speculatively for an instant and went back to his work. The door of the inner office opened, Mr. Collins appeared, looked over the callers, said “Watkins, please,” and disappeared again, one of the boys at his heels. There was a solemnity about the proceeding that Kendall found a trifle depressing. Five minutes later the same thing was repeated and the second youth disappeared behind that forbidding portal. Meanwhile three other boys had arrived and seated themselves about the room. Then it was Kendall’s turn at last and he followed the Assistant Principal across the threshold. “Take a seat, please, Burtis,” said Mr. Collins, closing the door. Kendall sat down in a chair at the end of the broad, flat-topped mahogany desk and Mr. Collins lowered a shade by a few inches at one of the windows and took his own chair. Then he looked at Kendall for a moment in silence. Finally, “Well, Burtis, suppose you tell me all about it,” he said in a kindly tone. “That will save a lot of questions.” “Why, sir,” replied Kendall, “there――there isn’t anything much to tell, sir. I didn’t think about the rule, sir. I don’t mean that I didn’t know it, only――” Mr. Collins frowned. “Never mind about that part of it, Burtis. What induced you to do such a silly, childish thing, my boy?” “Do――do what, Mr. Collins?” “Come, come now! Don’t beat about the bush, Burtis.” “I don’t understand what you mean, sir,” replied Kendall bewilderedly. “If you mean why did I go out after lock-up――” “I mean,” said Mr. Collins shortly, drumming with his finger-tips on the top of the desk, “I mean why did you daub the flagpole with green paint? What was your idea in doing such an idiotic thing?” Kendall stared in amazement. “Why――why――” “Well? Come now, tell me all about it.” “But I didn’t! You don’t understand, sir! I didn’t have anything to do with that, Mr. Collins. It was the oth――” He stopped abruptly. Mr. Collins shook his head impatiently: “You mean that you didn’t actually do any of the painting? Does that matter? You had a hand in the affair, Burtis. Who was with you?” “No one, sir,” answered Kendall, still bewildered. “That means you refuse to tell their names. Do you mind telling me whether the thing was intended as a Hallowe’en joke or as a mere piece of vandalism?” “Why, sir, I think it was meant as a joke! But I didn’t know it was Hallowe’en. They said――” “Who said?” asked Mr. Collins sharply. Kendall was silent. “Come, come, Burtis, don’t be silly. Make a frank confession and it will be easier for you.”