Herring flushed, but said nothing.

“You have never liked Sheldon,” said the doctor, going on to another side of the subject, “and have tried to injure him in many ways.  This is known to all the Hilltop boys.  Would it not be natural, therefore, that you would try to throw discredit on him at this time?”

“It would not do me any good,” muttered the other.  “I did not compete for the prize.”

“I know you did not, but your dislike of Sheldon might induce you to endeavor to injure his reputation.  Don’t you think you went very clumsily to work about it?”

“You are assuming that I did this thing,” growled Herring.  “What proof have you that I did?  Suppose I should deny it?”

“Do you?” asked the doctor pointedly.

“There haven’t been any direct charges brought against me as yet, only hints and innuendoes,” growled the other.  “Sheldon has not accused me of anything, and he is the one most interested.  What is it to me if a woman up the state stole his poem?  I didn’t.”

“No, you did not, but who inserted the lines claimed by another person in the manuscript submitted?  Were you in the cottage the other night?  Some one was, for my servant heard some one prowling about, and a little later there was some sort of fracas outside.  How did Manners receive his black eye?  Can you tell me that?”

“He got to wandering in his sleep and fell over a tent rope, I understand.  That might give him a black eye.”

“Didn’t he seize you by the leg and shout that he had got you, and that you must give an account of yourself?” the doctor asked.  “My servant heard some one say this.”

“I was in my tent all night when Manners got his black eye,” said Herring, who did not fancy having this evidence brought suddenly before him.

“With a light burning?” asked the doctor.  “One of the guards saw a light at occasions shining from your tent.  What were you doing with it?”

“Could it not have been Merritt?” asked Herring.  “I do not occupy the tent alone.”

“You were writing in those lines, were you not?  Did you observe that the first page had more on it than the others?  I suppose it would have taken too long to copy the entire poem, insertion and all?”

“I don’t know anything about it,” snarled Herring.  “What evidence have you that I did these things that you charge me with doing?”

“I have not charged you with them, Herring.  I am merely asking you a few questions.  I have circumstantial evidence, however, that you did these things.”

“Circumstantial evidence has hanged innocent men before now,” said the bully.  “Haven’t you any corroborative evidence?”

He was beginning to grow defiant now, feeling that the doctor had no real evidence against him.

“Don’t you think that a trip to some more lively spot for the rest of the summer would be advisable, Herring?” the doctor suddenly asked, looking quizzically at him.  “Better for all concerned, perhaps?  You don’t altogether like this camp life, do you, Herring?”