Then Mr. Morton put in evidence, with these copies of the code, copies of business letters received from Drayne’s father, and presumably written on the Drayne office machine.

“If you examine these exhibits, gentlemen, I think you will agree that the betrayed code and the business letters were written on one and the same machine.  The use of the magnifying glass makes it even more plain.”

Then Mr. Morton sat down.

“Now, young Mr. Drayne, what have you to say?” demanded the presiding officer.

“Why should I say anything, sir?” demand Drayne, with an impudent assumption of swaggering ease.

“Then you admit the truth of the charges, Mr. Drayne?”

“I do not.”

“Then you must really have something to say.”

“I have heard a charge made against me.  I am waiting to have it proved.”

“Do you admit,” asked the presiding officer, “that these copies of the code were written on your father’s office machine?”

“I do not, sir.  But, if it be true, is that any proof that I made those copies of the signal code?  Is it argued that I alone have access to the typewriter in my father’s office.  For that matter, if I have an enemy in the High School and I must have several—–­wouldn’t it be possible for that enemy, or several of them, to slyly break into my father’s office and use that particular typewriting machine?”

This was confidently delivered, and it made an undoubted impression on at least two or three members of the Board.  But now Mr. Morton broke in, quietly: 

“I thought some such attempt as this might be made.  So I waited until I saw what the young man’s line of defense might be.  Here is an envelope in which one of the copies was received by the captain of a rival football team.  You will note that the sender, while understanding something about the use of a type machine, was plainly a novice in directing an envelope on the typewriter.  So he addressed this envelope in handwriting.  Here is the envelope in question, and here is one of Mr. Drayne’s school examination papers, also in his own handwriting.  I will ask the members of the Board to examine both.”

There was silence, while the copies passed from hand to hand, Drayne losing color at this point.

“Be brassy!” he whispered to himself.  “You’ll pull through, Phin, old boy.”

“I am sorry to say, Mr. Drayne, that the evidence appears to be against you,” declared the chairman slowly.

“It may, sir,” returned the boy, “but it isn’t conclusive evidence.”

“Have you anything more to say, Mr. Morton?” asked the chairman, looking at the submaster.

“Plenty, Mr. Chairman, if the Board will listen to me.”

“Proceed, Mr. Morton.”

The football coach thereupon launched into a swiftly spoken tirade against the “brand of coward and sneak” who would betray his school in such a fashion.  Without naming Phin, Mr. Morton analyzed the motives and the character of such a sneak, and he did it mercilessly, although in the most parliamentary language.  Nor did he look toward the boy, but Phin was squirming under the lash, his face alternately red or ghastly.