other disgustedly, scanning the letter
again. "It's something about some contract for building supplies,
though. Gee, they make me tired! Always squabbling!"

"Who's bringing the suit, your father or mine?" asked Steve.

"Mine," said Tom hesitantly.

"Then I don't see that you need to blame my dad for it," retorted Steve.

"It takes two to make a quarrel, though," answered Tom sagely. "I don't
believe my father would start anything like that unless--unless there
was some reason for it."

"Oh, I suppose my father beat him out on a contract and he got sore,"
said Steve, with a short laugh. Tom looked across in surprise and
puzzlement. The tone was unlike Steve, while never before had they taken
sides in their fathers' disagreements. Tom opened his mouth to reply,
thought better of it and slowly returned the letter to its envelope.

"I guess it'll blow over," he said finally. "I hope so."

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Let them fight it out," he said. "It may
do them good."

The next day it was soon evident to Steve that Eric Sawyer's story of
the purloined blue-book was school property. Fellows whom he knew but
slightly or not at all observed him doubtfully, others greeted him more
stiffly--or so Steve thought--while even in the manners of such close
friends as Roy and Harry and one or two more he fancied that he could
detect a difference. Much of this was probably only imagination on
Steve's part, but on the other hand there were doubtless many fellows
who for one reason or another chose to believe the story true. Steve was
popular amongst a small circle of acquaintances and well enough liked by
others who knew him only to speak to, but, naturally enough, there were
fellows in school who envied him for his success at football or took
exception to a certain self-sufficient air that Steve was often enough
guilty of. These, together with a small number who owed allegiance to
Eric Sawyer, found the story quite to their liking and doubtless told
and retold it and enlarged upon it at every telling. At all events,
Steve knew that gossip was busy with him. More than once conversation
died suddenly away at his approach, and he told himself bitterly that
the school had judged him and found him guilty. He passed Andy Miller in
the corridor between recitations, and Andy, being in a hurry and having
a good many things on his mind at that moment, said, "Hi, Edwards!" in a
perfunctory sort of way and went by with only a glanc