“I hope so, my boy, I—–­I—–­hope so,” replied the principal.

As they ascended, Fred Ripley stepped aside to let the other two go first.  He was afraid to have Dick Prescott behind him just then.

No sooner had the trio entered the general assembly room than it quickly dawned on all the students of both sexes that something was unusually wrong.

Dick’s face was red as fire.  Had he been guilty of the thefts, he might have been cooler about it all.  Conscious innocence often puts on the appearance of guilt.

Somehow, Dick got to his seat.  He picked up a book, mechanically, and pretended to be deeply absorbed in study.

“What’s up?” whispered the fellow seated behind Fred.

Ripley turned enough to raise his eyebrows significantly and let his questioner see him do it.  Instantly all seated near the lawyer’s son became intensely curious.

Wondering glances strayed from over book-tops, even from the far corners of the big assembly room.

Then the curious glanced at Dr. Thornton so often that the much disturbed principal soon called another teacher to the desk and left the room.

At recess, Purcell, of the sophomore class, was found in charge at the door of Dick’s old locker room.  Ripley held his tongue until he was out in the school yard.  Then he broke loose before those who would listen to him—–­and the number was large.

Dick & Co. had gathered by themselves in another corner of the yard.  Here, however, they were soon joined by a small mob of the fellows, especially of the freshman class.  Dick had his say.  He didn’t want to say much, but he related, in a straightforward way, what had happened.

“It’s one of Fred Ripley’s mean tricks,” declared one of the freshmen.  “Fred Ripley can’t fool anyone.  He put that pin in Dick’s pocket himself.”

“But two thefts—–­two things were missed last week, when Ripley wasn’t at school at all,” spoke one boy, in an undertone.

“Yes; that’s the queer part of it,” agreed another boy.  “Ripley couldn’t have had anything to do with those other cases.”

This latter was the view that was occurring to Mr. Thornton, as he sat in the principal’s room, poring and pondering over the whole distressing matter.

Thompson and the other football leaders came trooping over to Dick & Co. as soon as they heard the noise.  Prescott was a hero with the football crowd.  There was no use in telling them anything against their little freshie hero.

“Prescott, it would look foolish to talk much,” declared Thompson, in a voice that was husky from real emotion.  “Just give me your hand, old man!”

Dick took the proffered hand, pressing it hard and gratefully.  Then the rest of the football squad pressed forward, each insisting on a hearty handshake.

“Nobody except those who want to, will stomach this silly charge against Dick,” grunted Tom Reade to Dan Dalzell.  “See how it’s turning out?  Our old pal and leader is holding a regular reception.”