e only half
disliked that youth, but he couldn't think of anything that would please
him more than to see Roy Porter leave school in disgrace. In that case
he could, he believed, very quickly regain his former leadership.

In a few minutes he had thought out a scheme which might work, and
which, if it did work, would probably bring about the results desired.
It was risky, but Horace wasn't a coward, whatever his other faults
were.

He looked about. Otto was deep in his book under the next tree. Horace
smiled to himself and called across to him. Otto listened to the scheme
with avidity and promptly pledged assistance.

"What you've got to do," directed Horace, "is to get the sweater. He
keeps it in the top tray of his trunk; I saw it there a couple of days
ago when he opened it."

"But supposing it's locked?"

"I don't believe it's locked," answered Horace. "Anyhow, you go up and
see. I'll wait here."

"Well, but--but why don't you do it?" blurted Otto.

"Now don't you begin to ask questions," replied Horace severely. "You do
as you're told. If you don't you may have trouble keeping your place in
the second boat."

"That's all right," whined Otto, "but you more than half promised to get
me into the first, and you haven't done it."

"I said I would if I could," answered the other coolly. "If you could
row as well as Whitcomb I'd give you his place, but I'm not going to
risk losing the race just to please you. Run along now."

Otto went, but was soon back again.

"I can't do it," he said. "Tom Forrest's up there asleep on his bed."

"Lazy chump," muttered Horace crossly. "Wait; I'll come along."

There was no doubt of the fact that Tom was sleeping. His snoring
reached them outside the door. Horace and Otto tiptoed in and the former
considered the situation. Then, motioning Otto toward Roy's trunk which
stood beside the head of his cot, he placed himself so as to watch
Forrest and cut off that youth's view of the trunk. Otto crept to the
trunk. It was unlocked and the crimson sweater lay in the top of the
till. Down came the lid again noiselessly and Otto retreated to the
door, the sweater stuffed under his coat. Horace crept after him.

"All right so far," murmured Horace as they went softly downstairs. "Now
we'll take a walk. Can't you stuff that thing away better than that? You
look like an alderman. Here, I'll show you."

He folded it flatly and laid it against Otto's chest, buttoning his coat
over i