He was in a fine frenzy of enthusiasm again now that he had finished the recital of his own shameful part in the affair. He took out Tom's letter and read it--read every word of it--and finished it with his cheeks flushed and his voice ringing: "... so I'm going away to help in a way I can do without breaking my word to anybody. The thing I care most about is that you got registered. And next to that I'm glad because I like you"--Roscoe shook his head hastily and stopped for a second to control his voice--"because I like you and I always did--even when you made fun of me----" "What he liked me for, I'm hanged if I know--but that's the kind of a fellow Tom Slade is----" "Whatever became of him?" some one on the platform whispered to some one else. There was a slight sound back in the lobby of the hall. "Somebody down there head him off; don't let him get away!" called Roscoe, stepping right to the front of the platform. "Start him down here! He didn't get away, did he?" Roy Blakeley, vaulting over two rows of chairs, was in the aisle in three seconds. Everybody turned and looked toward the back of the hall. Some stood, peering cautiously into the dim lobby, where a little scuffle seemed to be going on. Then Roscoe himself leaped straight over the orchestra's space and started up the aisle. But he was not needed. For Mr. Ellsworth himself had caught Tom by the collar, thrusting him out into the aisle, where Roy clutched aim by the arm. And then the crowd saw him; saw him standing shamefacedly there as if still inclined to break away and run for it; his head hanging down, his big hand moving nervously on the old book-strap which he wore for a belt. The necktie, which presumably Mrs. O'Connor had furnished him, was all awry, and in the half light they could see, too, that his old clothes were faded and torn. He seemed quite indifferent to everybody and everything--even to Mr. Ellsworth--though he smiled nervously at Roscoe. But Roy Blakeley, clinging to his arm, could feel what no one else could feel or see--Tom's hand pressing his wrist like a wireless signal, and Roy, like the bully scout he was, understood the code, took the message, and was silent. CHAPTER XXVII THE END OF THE TRAIL Yes, that was a great meeting--it was a _peach_ of a meeting! "You broke your word," accused Tom, as Roscoe elbowed his way in. "I did nothing of the kind. I asked you to trust a soldier's honor. You know more about a soldier's honor now than you did before, don't you?" "_Good-night!_" laughed Roy. "No more soldier's honor for you! Hey, Tomasso? You've had enough of it."