What's
happened to you now?"

There was an affectionate ring in the bantering words.

Donald smiled feebly. It was true that he was usually in some scrape or
other. It was not that he did mean or vicious things; Donald Hall was
far too fine a lad for that. But he never could resist playing a prank,
and whenever he played one he was invariably caught. Even though every
other member of the crowd got away, Donald never contrived to. The boys
declared this was because he was slow and clumsy. But the truth really
was that he was wont, in unselfish fashion, to let every one else go
first and was in consequence the unlucky victim whom the pursuers were
sure to capture. The fleeing culprits were generally in too great haste
to appreciate his altruism and he never enlightened them. He took his
punishment, loyally refusing to peach on his chums. That was one reason
Donald was such a favorite with his classmates. There was not a fellow
in the school who had more friends. To be sure they called him "slow
coach", "old tortoise", "fatty", and bestowed upon him many another
gibing epithet, frankly telling him to his face that he was a big idiot.
Nevertheless they did not conceal from him that he was the sort of idiot
they all loved.

Hence it followed that when Paul saw his chum in the present disturbed
frame of mind he was much distressed and immediately leaped to the
conclusion that for the hundredth--nay, the five hundredth--time Don had
been caught in the snares of justice.

"Come, come, Tortoise," he repeated; "tell a chap what's up with you."

"Kip," burst out Donald with sudden vehemence, "I've done a mighty mean
thing."

"You!"

"Yes, sir."

"Bosh! You never did a mean thing in your life, kid."

"But I have now," smiled the lad wanly. "They say there always has to be
a first time. I didn't start out to do it, though. Still, that doesn't
help matters much, for it's ended that way."

"Going to let me in on it?" asked Paul, hoping to make the confession
easier.

"Yes, I came over on purpose to tell you, Kip. It's the queerest mix-up
you ever heard of. It's worried me no end. Sometimes, it's seemed as
if I was going nutty."

"Fire ahead! Tell a man, can't you?"

"Well, you see a while ago my father sent me to deposit some money in
the bank for him--a hundred-dollar bill. I put the envelope in my
pocket, carefully as could be. I remember perfectly doing it. I didn't
go anywhere but straight down town, either. Wel