“Sit down, Bates,” began Mr. Driscoll. “I’ve got rather an unpleasant matter to discuss, my boy.” He took a long white envelope from a pocket and from it produced two pieces of paper which he handed to Dick. “Ever see those before, Bates?” he asked. Dick accepted them wonderingly. One was a fragment of letter paper, much creased, the other the lower right hand corner of an envelope, roughly matching the scrap of letter paper in shape, suggesting that the latter had been in the envelope when torn and that both had subsequently been crumpled up together. The fragment of envelope bore the words: ood Academy, Kenwood, Mass. The envelope had been torn in such manner that the name of the addressee was lacking. Dick studied the two fragments in puzzlement. Then he handed them back. “I’ve seen this before, sir,” he answered. “It’s the corner of a letter I wrote and didn’t send. This piece of envelope doesn’t belong with it. The writing is not mine and I never saw it before.” Mr. Driscoll shot a sharp glance at the boy which Dick met unflinchingly. “You’re quite certain of that, Bates?” he asked. “Quite, sir.” Mr. Driscoll looked thoughtfully at the fragments in his hand. “These have every appearance of belonging together,” he objected. “You say, however, that this is not your writing on the envelope.” “No, sir, it isn’t,” answered Dick positively. “You can see the difference yourself.” “Perhaps, but frequently one unconsciously alters the appearance of his writing when addressing a letter. One uses rather more care in an effort toward legibility, Bates. At least, the two writings are much alike, aren’t they?” “Yes, sir, in a general way. But I never make a capital K like that. I don’t think I could. And the A isn’t much like mine either.” “I see. Now in this letter, Bates, there seems to have been a good deal about football. At the bottom here I read: ‘call this the Two-Over and use it only when other fellow is playing his backs well out.’ That refers, I presume, to the tackle-and-half-over play that we’ve been using in practice lately.” “Yes, sir.” “Who were you writing to Bates?” “Sumner White, sir. He’s captain of our high school team at home.” “And home is somewhere in Pennsylvania?” “Leonardville. You see----” “One moment, please, Bates. Have you been in the habit of writing to this fellow White about our plays?”