e I like you and I always did--even when you made
fun of me----"

"What he liked me for, I'm hanged if I know--but that's the kind of a
fellow Tom Slade is----"

"Whatever became of him?" some one on the platform whispered to some one
else.

There was a slight sound back in the lobby of the hall.

"Somebody down there head him off; don't let him get away!" called
Roscoe, stepping right to the front of the platform. "Start him down
here! He didn't get away, did he?"

Roy Blakeley, vaulting over two rows of chairs, was in the aisle in
three seconds. Everybody turned and looked toward the back of the hall.
Some stood, peering cautiously into the dim lobby, where a little
scuffle seemed to be going on. Then Roscoe himself leaped straight over
the orchestra's space and started up the aisle.

But he was not needed. For Mr. Ellsworth himself had caught Tom by the
collar, thrusting him out into the aisle, where Roy clutched aim by the
arm.

And then the crowd saw him; saw him standing shamefacedly there as if
still inclined to break away and run for it; his head hanging down, his
big hand moving nervously on the old book-strap which he wore for a
belt. The necktie, which presumably Mrs. O'Connor had furnished him, was
all awry, and in the half light they could see, too, that his old
clothes were faded and torn. He seemed quite indifferent to everybody
and everything--even to Mr. Ellsworth--though he smiled nervously at
Roscoe.

But Roy Blakeley, clinging to his arm, could feel what no one else could
feel or see--Tom's hand pressing his wrist like a wireless signal, and
Roy, like the bully scout he was, understood the code, took the message,
and was silent.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE END OF THE TRAIL

Yes, that was a great meeting--it was a _peach_ of a meeting!

"You broke your word," accused Tom, as Roscoe elbowed his way in.

"I did nothing of the kind. I asked you to trust a soldier's honor. You
know more about a soldier's honor now than you did before, don't you?"

"_Good-night!_" laughed Roy. "No more soldier's honor for you! Hey,
Tomasso? You've had enough of it."

Indeed he had had altogether too much of it. But his embarrassment
passed as the bulk of the crowd, not involved in this surprising turn of
affairs, took its way homeward, leaving the scouts and a few others in
the hall. And soon things worked around so that Roscoe saw Tom alone.
Not altogether alone, either, for Margaret Ellison was w