on several people at his home town, and he grew quite downcast thinking it
all over.

"I won't mope," he cried resolutely, stirring about the room. "I am
innocent, so who can hurt me? I won't think of it."

Frank tried to whistle a careless air, but his efforts were somewhat
feeble. Then he went over to his trunk and looked over its contents. He got
to thinking of Ned Foreman, and took out a suit of clothes, some neckties
and a couple of shirts from the trunk, and had just placed them on a chair
when Bob entered the apartment.

"Well, what's the latest?" inquired Frank with a sharp quiz of his
impulsive friend's face.

"I'm all broken up, that's the latest," declared Bob, throwing himself into
a chair, his face a puzzling mixture of soberness and satisfaction. "Say,
Frank, I want to say one thing with all my heart--President Elliott is a
bang-up good old man. I've been ashamed, near crying, sorry, glad, mad, and
just about all knocked out in the last five minutes. Oh, that measly
Banbury mob! And oh, that miserable Gill Mace!"

"What's happened, Bob?"

"Why, I went to the library with the president, and told him manfully that
the Mace fellow had insulted the best friend I had, you, and that I
couldn't stand for it and just had to land him one."

"And the president?"