"But I don't want to, Prescott," appealed the principal. "I haven't
the remotest suspicion of you, anyway, my dear boy."
"I ask the search, sir, just as a matter of justice," Dick insisted.
"If it were not too strong a word, then I would say that I _demand_
to be searched here and now."
Suiting the action to the word, Dick Prescott, standing proudly
erect, raised both arms over his head.
"Now, please, doctor, just as a matter of simple justice," begged
the young freshman.
"Oh, very well, then, Mr. Prescott," sighed the principal. "But
I never had a more distasteful task."
Into one of the side pockets Dr. Thornton projected a shaking
hand. He drew out only some scraps of paper, which he promptly
thrust back. Then he inserted a hand in the jacket pocket on
the other side.
"Ouch!" suddenly exclaimed the principal, in very real pain.
He drew the hand out, quickly. A drop of blood oozed up at the
tip of his forefinger.
"Mr. Prescott," demanded Dr. Thornton, "what is that pointed object
in your pocket?"
"_What_?" demanded Fred Ripley, tensely.
Dick himself thrust a hand into that pocket, and drew forth---Fred
Ripley's missing pin.
"What---why---who-----" gasped the freshman, suffocatingly.
"Oh, yes, of course," jeered Fred Ripley. "Astonished, aren't
you---you mucker?"
The last two words Ripley uttered in so low a tone that the principal,
gazing in horrified fascination at the pin that he now held in
his own hands, did not hear.
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