“Here, here! what’s all this,” exclaimed Tony, as Finch paused for breath. “You’re crazy, Jake. Somebody’s been telling you a fairy story to get you excited.” “No, I am not crazy,” Jake replied. “I tell you I know all about it.” “Well, what the dickens is it? Say it over, will you?” Finch repeated, this time more accurately, all that he had overheard. “He’s trying to queer you,” he concluded, “that’s what! and he may do it, if we don’t do something.” “Jake, I say you are off your head. In the first place, I can’t imagine the Gumshoe hating me quite hard enough for that, and, in the second, I’m blamed sure the thing has got twisted in being reported to you.” “It didn’t—I heard it—about it, I mean—I can’t tell you who told me.” “Well, I don’t take much stock in it,” said Tony, turning as if to leave. But Finch sprang forward, and put his hand on Tony’s arm. “I take a lot of stock in it, I tell you. If you don’t do something, you won’t get it.” Tony wheeled around, his face blazing with sudden anger, “What do you think I could do? Do you suppose I’d turn my hand to get the thing? I’d cut it off first. I haven’t asked to be Head Prefect, and I don’t intend to ask to be, you poor fool.” Finch scarcely winced before Tony’s anger. And indeed it was gone as quickly as it came, almost before Deering had finished speaking. “Don’t you want the place?” Finch asked, with a kind of wail of disappointment. “Why, yes, of course, I _want_ it,” answered Tony, “but haven’t you got sense enough to see, that it isn’t a thing a decent chap could work for, much less ask for? Did you think I’d go over to the Doctor and tell him that I think he had better appoint me and let the Gumshoe go? I shouldn’t care very much if he did go, but,—who told you about the meeting any way? I can’t see why you shouldn’t tell me. Was it a fellow?” “No—” “A member of the faculty? not Bill? he wouldn’t tell a thing like that.” “No—I dunno.” “Yes, you do—did you promise——?” “No—I—I—happened to hear some of the faculty talking.” “Hear—where?” “On the campus.” “Overhear, you mean?” “Yes, I s’pose so.” “Where were the masters you heard talking?” Tony was putting his questions now rapidly and with intention, for he had become suddenly suspicious. “In the common-room,” Finch answered, beginning to shake nervously again. “Where were you?” “Outside.” “How could you hear all that outside? By Jove, man, you were under the window listening?” Tony’s voice took on a sharp note of contempt. Finch shook like an aspen leaf. “Answer me!” demanded Tony. “You weren’t _trying_ to hear, were you?” No reply. Poor Jake moistened his dry lips. “Pah!” exclaimed Deering. “So the fellows are right, are they? you are a sneak?” He turned away in disgust, and started across the room. His hand was on the knob of the door, when Finch threw himself in his way, and grasped him tightly again by the arm.