The evidences were not lacking. Since the dwellings in the flooded area were those of the poor, there was little in them to tempt a thief who would steal for the intrinsic value of the things stolen. But both Underhill and Crawford had that distorted sense of humor which is sometimes found in fellows who decorate their rooms with sign-boards and other property stolen from their rightful owners, and among the ornaments in Underhill’s room were several framed mottoes in cheap frames, “God Bless Our Home,” “What Is Home Without a Mother,” things like that, the very nature of which in such surroundings sufficiently betrayed their origin. So Larry’s indignant charge got itself corroborated in the gossip of the campus, and Merkle and two or three other sober-minded upperclassmen took it up, with the result that the names of the two looters disappeared from the drawings of the proposed memorial bronze. But there was also another result. Since the truth can sometimes bite through the thickest hide, Larry Donovan was soon to find that he had made an implacable enemy in Old Sheddon. But of that, however, he remained happily ignorant for the time being. X AT THE SIGN OF THE SAMOVAR As the season advanced, Larry found that he had his hands full, and then some. Havercamp was unwilling to let him off from his _Micrometer_ assignment, and what with that and his studies, and boosting Dick to make up the lost standing, and going out with the team every time Coach Brock gave it a work-out, there was little chance for him to get rusty for the want of something to do. It was along in these early spring days that Dick had to pay for his foolishness――not to call it by any harder name. True, Uncle Billy Starbuck, his father’s partner in the “Little Alice” mine, and his uncle only because his father and Uncle Billy had married sisters, sent him a birthday check along in April that enabled him to square things with his frat brothers who were carrying him along financially, but no check, however generous, could buy him off on the score of the neglected studies. So, at a time when every fellow in Old Sheddon who had a drop of good red blood in him was turning out for some kind of outdoor activity, and soft skies and budding trees and greening meadows were calling so that you could almost hear them in your sleep, Dick was boning away for dear life, scared stiff more than half of the time for fear he wouldn’t be able to make his final passing grades, and learning, incidentally, we may suppose, the hard lesson that we all have to learn sooner or later, that he who plays must pay.