"Rubbish! Downright silly rubbish!" retorted Warren. "I want you! I want you to show me how to throw one of those ropes like you do. I cannot manage it. I was trying the other day, and I caught Bert Standish an awful smack in the eye, and jolly nearly knocked it out for him; and if you had seen him scudding after me, one hand on his injured optic and the other shaking in very wrath! I didn't stop to argue until I got safe inside my study and had the bolt drawn; and then he stood outside kicking the panel, and calling me a chump, and a kite, and a cuckoo, and all manner of pretty and polite names, and inviting me to come out and let him wipe up the floor with me. I spoke soft words, and tried to pour oil on troubled waters, only the troubled waters were not taking any, and would not be assuaged until Kesterway came along and said that he would report him for damaging the paint if he didn't stop it. I have kept out of Bert's way since then, and he has got a lovely bruise under his eye. Come on, Ralph, and show me how you do it without knocking any one's head off." So Ralph suffered himself to be taken into the playground, and though some looked at him suspiciously and edged away from him, others of Warren's disposition resolved that, at any rate, they would wait for proof before condemning him, gathered round Ralph, and made him feel that they were his friends. So opinions were divided, and Marlthorpe College split into two parties, one for, and one against Ralph--one with Tom Warren at its head, and the other with Horace Elgert, the Honourable Horace Elgert, the nobleman's son! And Elgert was not quite satisfied, for he saw that Ralph was not sent to Coventry, as he had intended that he should be. He saw that some of the boys recognized that he was not the sort of lad to be a thief, and he determined that, if it could be done, their opinions should be changed. "If I can only prove that he did it," he mused, "I may be able to manage that, if I have any luck." So the days of the week slipped away, once more bringing the Saturday holiday near, and it had been one of the hardest weeks that Ralph Rexworth had ever known--a week that had called for all his strength of will and purpose to enable him to face and overcome its difficulties and temptations. It was Friday afternoon, and Ralph was in his study putting his books straight prior to leaving--he was always neat in his habits--when Charlton came in, hesitating, troubled-looking, as ever. "Glad the week is over, Ralph?" he asked, after he had stood in silence for a little while watching his chum. And Ralph nodded. "Yes. It has been a little hard. I shall be glad to have a rest from it," he answered. "They are wicked to try and make out that you took that note. They ought to know that you did not. I know you did not." "Do you? How?" was the quiet answer to this indignant outburst. And Charlton seemed confused. "Why, because--don't you see--because--you could not do it, of course."