The door opened to admit, first of all, Thad, his face filled with burning indignation, and his eyes sparkling with excitement.  Close on his heels the others also pushed into the room on the second floor, transformed into a genuine boy’s den by pictures of healthy sport on the walls, besides college burgees, fishing tackle, a bass of three pounds that had been beautifully stuffed by Hugh himself to commemorate a glorious day’s sport; and dozens of other things dear to the heart of a youth who loved the Great Outdoors as much as he did.

Chief Wambold looked triumphant and grim.  Nick fairly writhed in that iron clutch, and his face had assumed a sickly sallow color; while his eyes reminded Hugh of those of a hunted wild animal at bay, fear and defiance struggling for the mastery.

“Stand there, you cub!” snarled the police officer, as he gave Nick a whirl into the room, closing the door at the same time, and planting his six-foot-five figure against it, to prevent such a thing as escape.

It was quite a tableau.  Hugh believed he would never forget it as long as he lived.  But Thad, it appeared, was the first to speak.

“Hugh, this skunk has gone and beat you after all!” he cried, pointing a scornful finger at the glowering Nick, who was eyeing Hugh hungrily, as if trying to decide whether or not the other would tell Chief Wambold to lock him up as a thief.  “I chanced to see him pull something out that he had been hiding under his coat, and recognized your nickel-mounted skates.  So I beckoned to Chief Wambold, and told him about it; he made Nick come back here to face you, and confess to the theft.”

Nick growled something half under his breath, that sounded like: 

“Didn’t steal ’em, I tell you; I bought the skates fair and square from Hugh here.  You’re all down on me, and won’t listen to a thing I say; that’s the worst of it.”

The tall head of the Scranton police force held up something he had been carrying all the while.

“Here’s the skates he had, Hugh,” he went on to say.  “Thad tells me they are your property.  He even showed me your initials scratched on each skate.  Take a good look at the same, and let me know about it, will you, before I lug this sneak off to the lock-up.  I reckon he’s headed for the Reform School this time, sure!”

At that Nick grew even more sallow than before, if such a thing were possible; and the fear in his eyes became almost pitiable.

Hugh, meaning to make a straight job of his idea, calmly looked the skates over.  He knew full well how Nick was watching his every action, trying to hug just a glimmer of hope to his heart that, perhaps, Hugh might be merciful, and let him off, as the skates were now once again in his possession.  The shadow of the Reformatory loomed up dreadfully close to Nick Lang just then, darker than he had ever before imagined it could look.  It terrified him, too, and caused him to shiver as though someone had dashed a bucket of ice-cold water over him unexpectedly.