It was a bedraggled depressed-looking Finch that finally opened his door. Deering pushed it back and entered. “Now, what’s the trouble?” he asked. “I know something’s up, because Wilson just now said he had—had put you out of his room. What were you there for?” “He did put me out,” gasped Finch. He hesitated, then lied desperately. “I wanted to borrow some paper. I thought of asking you, but Wilson had the kind I wanted. He wasn’t in, or at least I thought he wasn’t in, so I went to his desk, and began to pull some sheets off his pad, and he jumped on me from behind a curtain or out of his bedroom, from somewhere, I dunno where.” “What did he say?” “Nothing much. He called me a sneak, and kicked me out.” “How did the ink get spilled?” “I knocked it over when he jumped at me. Somebody’s been rough-housing his room, I guess, and he thought it was me.” “Well, it wasn’t you, Jake, was it?” asked Tony, fixing him with a keen hurt glance. “No, Deering, ‘pon my honor, it wasn’t.” “Had you ever been to his room before?” “Never alone.” His eyes shifted back to meet Tony’s wondering glance. “Don’t you believe me, Deering?” There was a wail of despair in his voice. “Yes, Jake, yes; of course, I believe you. I know you wouldn’t lie to me. Cheer up, I’ll try to get Wilson to listen to reason.” “Oh, don’t—!” Jake stopped, aghast at his possible mistake. “I don’t want you to do anything for me, Deering, you’ve done enough. I’m just always getting you in trouble.” “That’s all right, Jake; helping a friend out isn’t trouble.” And with that Tony went on. He stopped again at Wilson’s room. The door was still open, and Kit was still fussing about his desk. He looked up at the knock, and scowled a little as he bade his visitor come in. Tony came in and closed the door behind him. “Look here, Kit,” he said, trying hard to keep control of his voice. “I want to speak to you about Finch. I think you have done him a wrong. He came in here to borrow some paper——” “Oh, is that the song and dance he gives you? Well, I know what he came in for. If you want to know, I kept still behind those curtains for a couple of minutes while he started his dirty work, and I caught him right in the act, with that ink-well in his greasy fingers smearing my exercises with it. He has been rough-housing this room for two or three weeks.” “Well, he says he hasn’t, and I don’t think he’s a liar. Will you give him a chance to explain?” “I’ll be hanged if I will. I know he’s a liar. I know it, man. Don’t talk to me any such blamed rot about his coming in here to borrow paper; he’s a sneak and a toad, and if he comes near me again I’ll lick the life out of him.” “Go ahead, bully a chap that can’t defend himself.”