As soon as he had eaten, he left the house on the trot for the suburban station, where he had seen his football rival. He waited in front of the three iron turnstiles, now dancing up and down, now watching the ants in a hill which was forming between two paving blocks, and now scanning the thrice reread headlines of the papers on the unpainted news stand by the station entrance. A gentleman came with golf sticks bound for the park links; there came ladies innumerable who had been delayed on their shopping expedition--and still no sign of employment. Locals came and went, and expresses followed on twenty-minute runs until his memory failed in counting them, before a puffy, white-moustached gentleman in tweeds grunted a noisy passage down the platform steps. "Satchel carried, sir?" "How far is it to the hotel." John explained. The traveler should have left the train at the station three blocks to the south. But it wasn't so very far, even at that. "Shall I carry it for you?" he concluded. The man nodded jerkily and paused to light a cigarette. As they left, Shultz sauntered up and stood aghast at this invasion of his territory. "Hey!" he ejaculated finally. John held his course, grip in either hand. He was a little nervous, but his business rival dared not take revenge while his patron was with him. After that--well, he guessed he could take care of himself if that "tough"--a term of endearment used by the "Tigers"--bothered him. A lapse of ten minutes found him fingering a quarter as he stood on the broad hotel steps. Would he go back, when such fees were in prospect? You bet. That dirty-faced kid had no mortgage on the place. He'd like to see any trouble between them. He would call out the "Tigers," he would! Shultz was pacing up and down in front of the station when John came up. The expression on his face was far from pleasant, and the boy began to regret his fit of bravado. But shucks, that tough wouldn't dare do anything. He stopped at the turnstiles once more, and Shultz glared at him angrily. "What you trying to do?" John explained. He wanted to make a little pocket money. "Well you can't here. G'wan home before I smash your face!" "Won't," stubbornly. "Got just as much right as you here." There was a pause. "Well are you going?" asked the "Jefferson's" captain. "No!" "I'll make you." He advanced, fists doubled. They circled around and around on the pavement, each looking for an opening through the other's guard. Suddenly the bigger boy lunged forward and his fist went true to the mark--John's nose. They sparred again, now feinting forward, now stepping backward, like two young turkey cocks. A tall, blue-clad, brass-buttoned figure rounded the corner, and Shultz raised the alarm. "Cheese it, the cop!" They broke for cover, each in the direction of home and parental protection, while the guardian of the peace stood and laughed at the fleeing figures.