The Shark did not let Poke finish the query. “The difference between getting things straight or crooked,” he rapped out. “How can you solve a problem----” “Oh, hang mathematics!” Poke interrupted, in turn. “Cut ’em out! This isn’t a recitation; it’s a row! Let’s hear what Sam has to say.” Sam had been keeping silent, but with growing difficulty. He was, as we know, naturally impulsive, and still a beginner in the practice of the policy of Safety First. Moreover, he was not a fellow of the sort to make ready excuse for attacks which smacked of cowardice or treachery; and his patience had been sorely tried by the series of depredations about his home. While his clubmates had debated, he had been considering not only the stone-throwing but also the earlier instances of what he was now sure was somebody’s revenge. The cap apparently settled the question of identity. Likewise, the Shark’s observation regarding the target had its weight. Sam struggled to keep his temper, but it was like a case of bottling steam in a boiler and fanning the fire beneath. When you treat a boiler so, there is likely to be an explosion. “What have I to say?” The words seemed to force themselves from his lips. “You fellows don’t dream how much I could say! This thing to-night is only a link in a chain.” The others stared at him in amazement. “Link--link in a chain?” Step repeated. “Just that! A chain of meannesses! Listen!” And Sam went on to describe briefly, but forcefully, the persecution to which he believed he had been subjected. “And now we’ve had the stoning,” he added. “There is one explanation, and only one. Tom Orkney has dropped Step and taken me on. He hates me more for interfering than he hates Step for squabbling with him. And just as that’s the only explanation, there’s just one way to handle the case--and that’s for me to settle with Tom Orkney. And I will--don’t you worry!” None of his hearers took his words lightly. All were ready to consider them very gravely. Here, indeed, was an issue for a youthful court of honor; and it behooves such courts, young or old, to pass judgment in all solemnity. “Well, I guess you’re entitled,” said Poke slowly. The others, with one exception, nodded assent. The Shark looked unconvinced. “Talking about chains,” he remarked, “you mustn’t forget the old rule: the chain’s no stronger than its weakest link. And there is a link that may be weak. I don’t say it is, but I do say it may be.” “Rats!” snapped Step. The Shark wheeled to face him. “Rats nothing! What’s the record--the school record--for the shot put?” “What are you talking about?” “The record. What is it?” “Oh, thirty or thirty-five feet for the twelve-pound shot.” The Shark frowned. “Confound it! but can’t you chaps make anything exact? ‘Thirty or thirty-five feet’! How’s anybody to make computations with all unknown quantities?” “What are you trying to compute?”