“They suspect me, but they can’t prove anything, anyway,” chuckled the traitor to himself.  “Brass, Phin, my boy!  Brass!  That is bound to win out when the clodhoppers can’t prove a blessed thing.”

As none of the students outside of the squad showed any especial inclination to cut him, Phin felt almost wholly reassured.

“It would be libelous, anyway, if the gang passed around a word that they couldn’t prove,” chuckled Drayne.  “So I guess those that may be doing a heap of thinking will have caution enough to keep their mouths shut, anyway,”

That afternoon, after luncheon, Phin Drayne took a long tramp over country roads at the back of the big town.  It was five o’clock when he returned.

“Here’s a note for you, on High School stationery,” said Mrs. Drayne, putting an envelope in her son’s hand.  “It came some time ago.”

Something warned the fellow not to open the envelope there.  He took it to his room, where he read the letter.  It was from Dr. Thornton, and said only: 

"You are directed to appear before the Board of Education at its stated weekly meeting to-night.  This is urgent, and you are warned not to fail in giving this summons due heed."

In an instant Phin was white with fear.  His legs trembled under him, and cold sweat stood out on his neck, face and forehead.

For some moments the young man acted as though in danger of collapse.  Then he staggered over to the tap at his washbowl, and gulped down a glass of water.  He paced the room restlessly for a long time, and finally went over and stood looking out of the window.

“Young man,” he said to himself severely, “you’ve got to brace, and brace hard.  If you haven’t any nerve, then getting square is too strenuous a game for you?  Now, what can that gang prove?  They can suspect, and they can charge, but my denial is fully as good as any other man’s affirmation.  Go before the Board of Education?  Of course I will.  And I’ll make any accuser of mine look mighty small before that august board of local duffers!”

Brave words!  They cheered the young miscreant, anyway.  Phin ate his supper with something like relish.  Afterwards he set out for the High School building, in which the Board had its offices.  Nor did his courage fail him until he had turned in through the gate.

A young man, whistling blithely, came in behind him.  It was Dick Prescott, erect of carriage, and brisk and strong of stride, as becomes a young athlete whose conscience is clear and wholesome.

“Hullo, Prescott, what are you doing around here to-night?” hailed Drayne.

But Dick seemed not to have heard.  Not a note did he drop in the tune that he was whistling.  Springing up the steps ahead, Dick vanished behind the big door.

“Oh, of course he goes here to-night,” thought Phin, with sudden disgust.  “Prescott scribbles for ‘The Blade’ and the Board of Education is one of his stunts each week.”