Thinking of Frank sent his thoughts back to the afternoon before when a very pale and timid Tommy Lingard had been shown in to him in the infirmary and had haltingly muttered thanks for his rescue and then, after much hesitation and many false starts, had cleared up the mystery of the stolen Hockey Fund. He had owed Frank Lamson some money and Frank had asked him for it that very night he had left his clothes to be cleaned, threatening all sorts of awful punishments if he didn’t pay it up on the morrow. And he had seen Toby go to the drawer of his bureau to make change that night and so knew of the money kept there. The next morning he had gone to Number 22 when he knew that Toby would be in a class-room and taken box and contents and so paid his debt to Frank Lamson. He hadn’t looked carefully at the money and had failed to notice the marked quarter or the patched dollar bill, and when Toby had asked about the latter he had told the first lie occurring to him. And he was awfully sorry about it and would pay it all back, every cent, and he only wished he could do it that minute because when a fellow saves your life, like Toby had saved his―― The sound of triumphant cheering came up from the distant rink, borne on the nipping little westerly breeze. Toby thrilled and wondered how the game was going. He _would_ like to have played, after all! But he owed that much to Frank, and so it had all happened for the best. And by now――long before this, probably――Frank had got the note he had written that morning and dispatched by the goody, in which he had told of his suspicions and of the evidence leading to them and had humbly asked Frank’s pardon. And after awhile, perhaps, Frank would come up to see him and tell him it was all right, and――and maybe he would tell Arnold and Arnold would come, too. Toby had wanted very much to write Arnold as well; he tried several times; but he wasn’t very much of a letter-writer yet and the things he wanted to say had got all mixed up and confused and he had had to give it up. But Arnold would come sooner or later. He was sure of that, for Arnold knew now that he wasn’t a coward and Frank would tell him that he had written and apologized―― Another wild pæan of joy from the rink interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at the clock on the bureau and to his surprise found that it was nearly four! Why, then, the game must soon be over! If only Yardley might win it he wouldn’t care at all that he hadn’t been able to play. Or, at least, not much. He had rather wanted to get his letters and the crossed hockey sticks between, but there was another year coming, and so that, too, was quite all right.