“Ha!” he would whisper hoarsely. “Again I have thrown him off the track! Ah, the peace and quiet of this refuse!” (Perhaps it isn’t necessary to explain that in The Duke’s language “refuse” meant “refuge.”) He always pretended that Cotton was dogging his footsteps and that it was only by extraordinary stealth and cunning that he could escape his roommate. Once or twice it happened that Cotton followed him later, and on those occasions The Duke would throw up his hands, roll his eyes, and spend the rest of the time of his visit sitting silent and staring at Cotton as though hypnotized. Cotton still insisted that he had been badly used by coach and captain and still predicted utter annihilation for the forces of Yardley. Gerald’s wager soon became known of and occasioned a lot of merriment. The Duke pretended to be――or perhaps really was――much concerned. “My word, Gerald, suppose we really did get licked! Have you paused to consider the fate you have――er――invited? Think of having Cotton on your hands every hour for a week or ten days! Breakfast, luncheon, dinner, Gerald! No time off for recitations! Oh, woe is you!” Some of the other fellows, too, tried to alarm Gerald, declaring that they wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Broadwood won this year. Then they drew graphic word pictures of Gerald towing Charles Cotton around New York in Christmas recess. “Whatever you do, Gerald,” begged Bert Simms, “don’t take him to the Eden Musee! When you went out you’d get arrested for attempting to steal one of the wax figures!” From all of which it will be seen that Mr. Cotton had unfortunately not ingratiated himself to any extent with the habitués of Number 28. One evening about midway between the Porter and Forest Hill games the room was pretty well filled. Merriwell and Simms and Girard, of the football element, were present, and George Kirk, captain of the golf team, had dropped in. These, with Gerald and Kendall, pretty well taxed the seating accommodations. Naturally the three subjects uppermost were football, cross-country running, and golf. Kirk had been bewailing the loss to the golf team of Ned Tooker, last year’s captain and star player, and had expressed himself as very doubtful of the outcome of the match to be played at Broadwood the following Saturday. “Burtis, I thought you were going to play golf this year,” said Kirk. “I am, I think, after the Broadwood game,” answered Kendall. “I like it first-rate, Kirk, but there isn’t much time for it now, you know.” “I suppose not. Maybe you’ll get in shape to play with us in the Spring matches, though. It’s the hardest thing to get fellows to take an interest in golf here!” “Everyone wants to play football in the Fall and baseball in Spring,” said Gerald. “You can’t get them to think of anything else, barring track sports. We’ve had a dickens of a time this year getting enough fellows together to make up the Cross-Country Team.”