; maybe until summer. What's the use going anywhere else? If I
went to Robinson I couldn't play; Erskine would protest me. I wish to
goodness I'd had sense enough to let that academy team go hang! Only I
needed some money, and it seemed a good way to make it. After all, there
wasn't anything dishonest about it!"

"N--no," said Paul.

"Well, was there?" Cowan demanded, turning upon him fiercely. Paul shook
his head.

"No, there wasn't. Only, of course, you'd ought to have remembered that
it disqualified you here." Cowan looked surprised.

"My, but you're getting squeamish!" he said. "The first thing you know
you'll be as bad as Fletcher." There was a moment's silence. "What does
he say about it?" Cowan asked carelessly.

"Who, Neil? Oh, he--he sympathizes with you," answered Paul vaguely.
"Says it's awfully hard lines, but doesn't think the committee could do
anything else."

"Humph!"

"By the way," said Paul, recollecting his errand, "I met Brill of
Robinson a while ago. He said he'd seen you."

"Yes," grunted Cowan. "I'd like to punch him. Made believe he was all
cut up over my being put off. Why--why it was he that knew about that
academy business! Last September he tried to get me to go to Robinson;
offered me anything I wanted, and I refused. After all a--a fellow's got
some loyalty! He asked all sorts of questions as to whether I was
eligible or not, and I--I don't know what made me, but I told him about
taking that money for playing tackle on that old academy team. He said
that wouldn't matter any. But after I decided not to go to Robinson he
changed his tune; said he wasn't sure but that I was ineligible!"

"He's a cad," said Paul."

"And then to-day he tried to get sympathetic, but I shut him up mighty
quick. I told him I knew well enough he was the one who had started the
protest, and offered to punch his nose if he'd come over back of the
stores; but he wouldn't," added Cowan aggrievedly.

"You--you didn't let out anything to him that would--er--help them in
the game, did you?" asked Paul, studying the floor with great attention.

"Let out anything?" asked Cowan in puzzled tones. "What do you--" He put
down the picture he held and faced Paul, the blood dying his face. "Look
here, Paul, what do you mean by that?"

"Why, why--"

"You want to know if I turned traitor? If I gave away our signals or
something like that, eh?" There was honest indignation in his voice and
a trace of pain, and Paul r