"You're right," he said when I was done. "You're so right that everything else connected with the incident is wrong--and that's the hardest part for me to admit. You deserve to fight this out alone--it belongs to you. I wish I had a fight like yours to make. But if you'll let me help you--?" "Let you? Why, I _need_ your help!" "Then you'll have it. I'll be glad--mighty glad to chime in with you--" He stopped short, his tremendous frame red-lined in the fire's glow, his cheeks above his square jaw as bright as the flames themselves. I could not answer him sentimentally. My comfort and gratitude were too deep, my suddenly gained encouragement too surging for the narrow outlet of words. But after a while we began to plan. We would fight it together--and immediately. When I got up to go, his Bible was lying open at the beginning of the New Testament, with a ribbon and tiny silver cross to mark the place. When Fred saw me looking at it, he must have felt some part of the strange, shivery misgiving which had come over me. For he took the ribbon in his fingers, so that the cross lay gleaming in his palm. "It is Christ's symbol," he said. "It is the sign of one who suffered--and who was a Jew." Then, as if he must leave me no doubt of his meaning in my mind: "Don't worry. The cross won't stand between us. Though--" His eyes travelled slowly to the shelf above the fireplace. "Look! There's a symbol of _your_ religion, too." So I looked. Gleaming brass, its seven uplifting arms gracefully curved, stood a--Menorah! XIX "BATTLE ROYAL!" I awoke the next morning to an insistent knocking at my door. I sprang out of bed and opened it. In the hall, their dress showing signs of much haste, stood Sayer and Braley. They did not wait my invitation, but strode at once into the room and, throwing the rumpled covers from the bed, plumped down upon it. "See here," said Braley, without prelude, "what's this talk about Fred's calling a special meeting of the senior class for tonight? Do you know anything about it?" I smiled my way out of a pajama top. "Really?" I exclaimed. "Well, I did hear Fred say something about it last night." "Oh, so you talked it over with him? Did you ask for the meeting?" I had thrown on a bathrobe. "Yes, I did. Why?" "That's what we want to know. Why, why?" I looked up from tying the cord about my waist. "That's just what I'm not going to tell. Not until the meeting." "Well, perhaps we know." "You probably do. You deserve to." "What do you mean by that?" Sayer jumped up and towards me. He was doing his best to fight, I could see--but I would not give him the chance--not prematurely! Braley waved a conciliatory hand. He was a large, stoop-shouldered fellow with long, light hair and an enormous forehead. He had the most important and sumptuous manners I have ever met.