Poor Eric. He was reaping the fruits of his desire to keep up
popularity, by never denying his complicity in the general cheating.
Everybody seemed to assume now that _he_ at any rate didn't think much
of it, and he had never claimed his real right up to that time of
asserting his innocence. But this was a step further than he had ever
gone before. He drew back--

"My _turn_, what do you mean?"

"Why, you know as well as I do that we all write it out by turns."

"Do you mean to say that Owen or Russell ever wrote it out?"

"Of course not; you wouldn't expect the saints to be guilty of such a
thing, would you?"

"I'd rather not, Graham," he said, getting very red.

"Well, that _is_ cowardly," answered Graham, angrily; "then I suppose I
must do it myself."

"Here, I'll do it," said Eric suddenly; "shy us the paper."

His conscience smote him bitterly. In his silly dread of giving
offence, he was doing what he heartily despised, and he felt most
uncomfortable.

"There," he said, pushing the paper from him in a pet; "I've written it,
and I'll have nothing more to do with it."