“Are you talking about me?” demanded Bert Dodge, flushingly hotly, for, just at that moment, he turned out of the court room into the corridor.

“Maybe,” assented Herr Schimmelpodt.

“Then stuff a sausage in your Dutch mouth, and be quiet,” retorted Bert impudently.

“Young man, if your father hat not enough gontrol of er you, den I vill offer him dot I teach you manners by a goot spanking,” replied Herr Schimmelpodt stiffly.

“Bert, you will be silent before your elders,” ordered Mr Dodge.  “You have come close enough to getting me into trouble today.  Had I understood the whole story of the fight, as I do now, I never would have backed your application for a warrant.”

If you meet with any rebuke from young Prescott’s friends, take it in meekness, for you richly deserve censure.”

“As you are only a boy, Bert, and I am your father’s lawyer,” broke in Mr. Ripley, even more sternly, “I have used whatever powers of persuasion I may have to have this case ended mildly.  The Prescotts might have sued your father for a round sum in damages for false arrest.  And, if you and Bayliss had sworn falsely as to the nature and causes of the fight, you might both have been sent away to the reformatory on charges of perjury.  Remember that the law against false swearing applies to boys as much as it does to men.  And now, good day, Mr. Dodge.  I trust you will be able to convince your son of his wrongdoing.”

However, the elder Dodge, despite his momentary sternness, was not a parent who exercised much influence over his son.  Half an hour later Bert had out the family runabout, making fast time toward Tottenville.

“Bert,” said Bayliss, rather soberly, “I’m inclined to think that Lawyer Ripley was good enough to get us out of a fearful scrape.”

“That’s what he’s paid for,” sniffed Bert “He’s my father’s lawyer.”

“Then I’m glad your father has a good lawyer.  Whew!  It makes me sick when I stop to think that we might have been trapped into giving—–­er—–­prejudiced testimony, and that then we might have been shipped off to the reformatory until we’re of age!”

“Ain’t Fred Ripley the sneak, though!” ejaculated Bert angrily.  “The idea of him standing ready to ‘queer’ a case against his father’s clients!  I thought Fred had more class and caste than to go against his own crowd for the sake of a mere mucker!”

“Well, the thing turned out all right, anyway,” muttered Bayliss.  “We’re off in time to see the game.”

“And that’s more than Dick Prescott will do today,” laughed Bert sullenly.  “He can’t catch a train to Tottenville, now, in time for the game.”

“If Gridley loses the game today,” hinted Bayliss, “I suppose the fellows will all feel that it was because Prescott didn’t go along.  Then they’ll all feel like roasting us.”

“Oh, bother what the High School ninnies think—–­or say,” grunted Bert.