“Oh, I see.” There was a moment’s silence. Then Penny said very soberly:
“It isn’t me that’s dead; it’s the violin.”

Clint’s whisper stopped abruptly. A light flashed a few yards away, such
an illumination as might be from a pocket electric lamp, and a voice
broke the stillness. Clint grasped Amy’s arm, warning to silence.
Footsteps crossed the ground toward the hut.

“That,” commented Thayer, “was real football. Now, then, Brimfield, show
‘em what!”

“Couldn’t stand the punishment any longer, eh?” asked Amy cheerfully.
“Ah, poor, disgraced, downtrodden ‘varsity! My heart bleeds for them,
Clint! I could sit me down and weep–”