“See here, Harry,” said he, “you don’t want to carry around such a guilty face as that to-day. You’ll be arrested on suspicion.” “It’s too late now,” I answered, “because I’ve already been caught. I fell into Dan Murray’s clutches last night.” Instantly Tony was all concern. “Oh, thunder, Harry, that’s too bad!” he exclaimed, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Really, I’m awfully sorry about that. I heard a rumor that somebody had been caught, but I thought it was surely one of Percy Randall’s select band――and it would have served them right, too; but to think that _you_ got caught. Oh, that was hard luck.” I thought so myself, but to hear some one else say so did me good, and Tony’s sympathy was so genuine that my spirits improved somewhat under it. I determined to say nothing about my capture to any one else, knowing well that it would become known quickly enough when the faculty took action in the matter. Whatever action they contemplated, I received no advice concerning it during the morning or early afternoon, and the day was, therefore, a period of uneasy suspense to me. Without Tony Larcom and his unfailing good humor for companionship I do not know what I would have done. I never appreciated his friendship so much as then. All doubt was dispelled from my mind when, at the close of the afternoon recitation, Mr. Dikes, who stood just by the door as my classmates filed out, touched me on the shoulder, and beckoned me to one side. “The faculty wish to see you at their meeting in the main college office, Mr. Elder.” “All right, Mr. Dikes,” I answered with all the calmness I could summon. “I am ready.” “If you will step into my office,” he said, “I will let you know when they want you.” As I started after Mr. Dikes, I felt some one touch me. It was Tony Larcom. “I wish you good luck, old fellow,” he said, hastily pressing my arm. “Keep up your spirits, and don’t let them rattle you.” I nodded my thanks, and followed Mr. Dikes into his office. CHAPTER XIII BEFORE THE FACULTY I was not kept waiting long. Scarcely five minutes had passed when the door again opened, and Mr. Dikes reappeared. “Come in, Mr. Elder,” he said quietly. With considerable trepidation I followed him, and in a few seconds more I stood in the presence of the faculty. There was an ominous hush as I took my stand in the middle of the room, facing the seven professors who sat opposite me in a row. I looked apprehensively from one to another with a view to ascertaining what was to be the nature of my reception. My glance was not encouraging. Severity was the predominant expression on every countenance. In the center, behind a small table, sat Dr. Drayton, the college president. He was a man habitually sober and impressive in manner, and, at this moment, his face was exceptionally grave. Gazing at me sharply over his glasses, he began: