Westy and I and the inventor sat down in the back seat, and it made me feel as if I had failed in arithmetic. That’s what Miss Munson calls a punishment. Gee whiz, in the movies that’s the seat I like best. Mr. Ellsworth came over and spoke to us, very serious. He didn’t know the kid was with us. I guess he couldn’t see him on account of not having a telescope. In the seat the poor little kid looked about as big as Bridgeboro on the map of the world. Mr. Ellsworth whispered, “Boys, you mustn’t be afraid; you mustn’t be afraid of the recorder——” I said, “Do you think I’m afraid of him just because he’s got a mallet? I should worry. I’m sorry I didn’t wear my belt-ax.” He didn’t laugh, he just put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Your fathers and I have trusted you. We know that you’re not guilty——” “Yes, and you think you know who is,” Westy whispered. “Sh-h,” I said. “You boys, you scouts, wouldn’t shield a guilty man?” Mr. Ellsworth whispered. I had to laugh when I thought of the inventor as a man. Mr. Ellsworth whispered, “You needn’t be afraid, just tell the truth. Tell why you were there and who you saw, if anybody, and—and—if it should appear that that person——” Just then he had to stop whispering on account of the judge pounding with his mallet. Anyway, from what he said I knew that they were trying to wish that fire on Charlie Slausen, and I knew that poor fellow would be in a dickens of a fix when they began to ask him a lot of questions. Maybe they couldn’t send him to jail yet, but, anyway, they could hold him for the grand jury. Gee, I wouldn’t want to be held for that jury, I don’t care how grand it is. One thing, if they found out Charlie was in there and knew that there were match ends near the cotton waste, that would look pretty bad for him, because he knew enough about that place not to throw match ends into the cotton waste. I guess it was about ten minutes before our case was called, because Judge Van Wort delivered a lecture and told all about what he was going to do to people who broke the law. He said he was going to put a stop to a lot of things. I whispered to Westy that he ought to be on the High School nine, he was such a good shortstop. Pretty soon, oh, boy, he said something to Jack Morse (he’s a cop), and Mr. Morse called out: “Wesleigh Martin and Roy Blakeley! Step down.” Gee whiz, then I felt kind of nervous. I knew everybody was looking at us. I could just _feel_ my father looking at me. Recorder Van Wort, he didn’t seem to care; he just started reading some papers. “Come ahead,” I whispered to the kid; “nobody’s going to hurt you.” He looked awful funny and little as he went down front with Westy and me. There were a couple of cops down there in front of the desk. Mr. Brownell was down there, too. He’s public persecutor, or whatever they call him. His son’s in my class. The recorder just kept on reading the papers while we all stood there. The kid was good and scared, I guess.