"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.
"You coward!" cried Dick, hotly, and clenched his fist, intent on driving it against the sophomore's face.
But Dr.Thornton knew enough about High School boys' fights, to galvanize himself into action.