"All but winning," spoke Sid drowsily. "You didn't do that, you know. Now be fair; did you?" "Oh, cut it out, you old would-be philosopher!" cried Phil, twisting around in the easy chair to reach something to throw at his chum. All he could find was a newspaper, and he doubled that up. It missed Sid, and hitting an ink bottle on the mantle, broke the phial, the black fluid flowing down over the wall and on the carpet. "That's a nice thing to do!" cried Tom. "Say, what do you want to make a rough house for? Isn't this den bad enough as it is, without you doing that?" "I didn't mean to," answered Phil contritely. "Look at the rug!" went on Tom, as the ink formed a black pool. "Pretty, isn't it?" "We'll get the pattern changed if we keep on," murmured Sid, without opening his eyes. "There's the liniment spot, now the ink spot, and the grease spots left by the former occupants. Maybe we ought to get a new rug, fellows." "Not this term," said Tom emphatically. "I've run over my money as it is, and I don't like to ask dad for more." "I notice you had some to spend for flowers to-night," remarked Phil. On the way home from the game Tom had stopped in a florist's in Fairview and given an order, while Phil remained outside. "You don't mean to say that Tom has been sending flowers to some girl?" demanded Sid, sitting up. "Well, you can draw your own conclusions," replied Phil. "He didn't bring 'em home to decorate _our_ room, that's sure." "Worse and some more, too," murmured Sid. "What are you coming to, Tom?" He looked reproachfully at his chum. Then he shook his head. "This girl business!" he spluttered. Then, as his eyes gazed about the room, he caught sight of the little flag of Fairview colors which Ruth Clinton had given Tom. The latter had placed it partly behind a picture of a football game. "Where did that come from?" demanded Sid, getting up from the couch with an effort and striding over to the offending emblem. "It's mine!" declared Tom. "Ruth--I mean Phil's sister--gave it to me." For an instant Sid looked at his chum. Then his gaze traveled to the picture of the girl--the two girls--for that of Madge was beside the likeness of Ruth--and the former first-baseman sighed. "Well," he said, "I s'pose there's no hope for it, but I wish I'd gone in with some fellows who weren't crazy on the girl question. First thing I know you fellows will have this a regular boudoir; and then where will I be? I expect any day now you'll be wanting to get rid of this old couch and chair, and get some mission furniture, so that you can have a five o'clock tea here, and invite some girls and chaperons." "Suppose we do?" asked Phil, who for some reason sided with Tom.