“For God’s sake, Deering,” he cried in a queer cracked voice, “don’t throw me over. You are the only friend I’ve got. Don’t throw me over. I did it for your sake. God knows I did.” Tony stopped. He was appalled and bewildered by the passion in poor Finch’s voice and attitude. He turned back at last, and thrust Finch a little roughly onto the couch. “Sit down there,” he said gruffly. “I guess I’d better have it all out of you right now.” “Yes, yes, I’ll tell you everything,” whimpered Finch. “Don’t throw me over.” [Illustration: TONY WAS PUTTING HIS QUESTIONS NOW RAPIDLY AND WITH INTENTION FOR HE HAD BECOME SUSPICIOUS] “Shut up, and stop blubbering like a kid. I won’t throw you over. But just at present I’m mighty disgusted with you, I reckon you know.” Finch drew his coat sleeve across his eyes, and caught a sob or so in his throat. “I’ll tell you everything,” he said, with a sniffle, “just wait a second.” “All right. And mind you do tell everything, if you ever want me to trust you an inch beyond my nose again,” answered Tony. He suspected there was a good deal to tell; in the last few moments a multitude of little incidents flashed into his mind; all were accounted for if Finch _was_ a sneak. “I know it was rotten, Deering,” began Finch, “but I couldn’t seem to help it.” “Now cut that sort of excuse out. Don’t try to defend it. Just tell the truth, will you?” “Well, I was sitting in the library reading, and the Doctor passed through, and stopped a minute and spoke to me, and told me not to say anything about the letter he wrote me last summer in which he had mentioned you as the leader of the school. He said the appointment wasn’t made yet.” “Yes.” “Well, that’s all, but I saw him go into the Masters’ room, and I guessed they were going to have a meeting to discuss that very thing. It flashed into my head that something was up; that something had gone wrong about your getting it. I couldn’t help—I swear to you I couldn’t help sneaking outside and trying to hear. The windows were up, and I could hear almost everything that was said inside. As I said, the Doctor——.” “I don’t want to hear anything more about that,” interrupted Tony, “I’m not an eavesdropper. I don’t give a continental darn what you heard. If I don’t get it—all right. If Roylston’s queered me, that’s his business, I guess. He may think he has a right to. Maybe he has. But just at present, what I am trying to make you see is that what went on in the faculty room isn’t your business nor my business, and that to sneak and listen like that is low-down.” Finch, poor chap, did not fully understand what Tony was driving at. “All right, I guess it is,” he said, with a bewildered air, “but I thought——” “I don’t care what you thought,” said Tony. “Do you see that was the act of a sneak? You called Roylston a sneak earlier this evening—well, whether he ever did a sneaky thing or not, you have just done one, see?” “Yes, I see, of course, I see; but——.”