“Oh, by the way, Burtis! I shall say nothing of this to anyone beyond the faculty. Unless you speak of it yourself to your friends the reason for your punishment is not likely to be known.” When he passed Whitson the entrance was thronged with fellows awaiting the dinner hour. It seemed to him that, as he went by, everyone turned and looked at him, and he could imagine their expressions of amused contempt. To be sure, Mr. Collins had seemed to think that the matter would be kept secret, but it seemed to him that everyone must know already. He passed by on his way to his room with lowered head. As a matter of fact, very few noticed him, and none connected him with the green paint episode. In his room Kendall washed up for dinner and then sat down on the edge of his bed and strove to think it over. He was very glad that Harold was not there. It would be nice to tell somebody about it, but surely not him. There was the electric torch on the table. He wondered if it would light if he tried it. Funny how it had come unscrewed last night. He would never forget the scene when the light had streamed out across The Prospect. He wondered what the four Broadwood fellows thought of it; what explanation they had fashioned to account for the sudden surprise; whether they connected it with the boy who had sat next to them in the drug store. Then he pulled himself up. Why, he wasn’t thinking of his misfortune at all! He was thinking of what had happened when――when he had been a hero. He felt mighty little like a hero to-day! Probation! No more football! That was tough. Worse than that, though, was the thought of his father’s disappointment, and his mother’s. He must write that letter and tell them the real facts of it. It wasn’t doing very well, he reflected ruefully, to get on probation within the first fortnight of school! Well――! A fellow had to eat, though, probation or no probation, and he suddenly became aware of a very healthy appetite. After all, he hadn’t _really_ done anything very bad, and he _had_ told the truth to Mr. Collins, and――and, oh, shucks, he was going to dinner! CHAPTER VIII THE FIRST GAME