"Why, yes," exclaimed Vera. "Last June you delivered the oration
to the graduating class," she laughed, "on The College Man in
Politics. Such an original subject! And did you point to
yourself?" she asked mockingly, "as the -- the bright example?"

"No," protested Winthrop, "I knew they'd see that."

Much to her relief, Vera found that of Winthrop she was no
longer afraid.

"Oh!" she protested, "didn't you say, twelve years ago, a humble
boy played ball for Hobart College. That boy now stands before
you? Didn't you say that?"

"Something like that,"assented the District Attorney. "Oh!" he
exclaimed, "that young man who showed me in here -- your
confederate or fellow-conspirator or lookout man or whatever he
is -- told me you used to be a regular attendant at those
games."

"I never missed one!" Vera cried. She leaned forward, her eyes
shining, her brows knit with the effort of recollection.

"I used to tell Aunt," she said, "I had to drive in for the
mail. But that was only an excuse. Aunt had an old buggy, and an
old white horse called Roscoe Conkling. I called him Rocks. He
was blind in one eye, and he would walk on the wrong side of the
road; you had to drive him on one rein." The girl was speaking
rapidly, eagerly. She had lost all fear of her visitor. With