“Say, Barry, I’ve got to apologize for acting like a nut lately. I’m sorry, and that’s no apple-sauce. I――I’ve been sort of off my trolley, I guess. You see, I’d set my heart on making the team this year, like I told you before. And when you fell for Major Loring’s bid I knew I was dished. I’ve always known that you’d make a cracker-jack player if you once got started. You’ve got something I haven’t got: a sort of――of _spirit_, I guess. I don’t know just what it is, but you’ve got it. And I haven’t――never’ll have it, probably. Get you started and you’ll go through fire. Best I’ll do is wait around for the engines to come! Well, I know now that I’ll never make a reputation playing football; and now that I do know it I don’t care a whole lot. “After all,” he went on, “I’ve just about decided that some of the crowd I’ve been trailing aren’t much good. I got started sort of wrong last year. Thought I had to train with the silk-stocking bunch, when I wasn’t really in their class. Some of them are all right,――a few,――but I guess most of them have been laughing at me behind my back, right along. It isn’t only a question of money; Dad’s got enough of that; you’ve got to know how to spend it in all sorts of crazy ways, and act like it wasn’t anything at all and make believe you’ve always had plenty and it’s a frightful bore. And you’ve got to wear your clothes a certain way――and the right kind of clothes, too――and talk about folks who get their names in the papers on Sunday, and know all about queer things like opera and polo and――and a lot of other bunk. And play a good hand at bridge. I can’t; I hate the fool game. And I’m tired of trying to keep up with the gang. If they want to chuck me they may. I hope they do! Hang it, I’m just as good as they are, even if my folks don’t go to Miami every winter!” Clyde ended rather breathlessly. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” responded Barry, warmly. “Of course I know that some of the fellows you mean are mighty nice, but a lot of them don’t really amount to much, as far as I can see. They don’t study if they can help it; they don’t play anything, usually; they pretend that the school isn’t good enough for them and that they’re doing it a favor by coming to it. They――they make me sort of ill!” “Me, too,” growled Clyde. “And I’m off ’em. They won’t know me when I go up to college, but I can live through it, I guess.” “Some of them,” said Barry, shrewdly, “aren’t likely to get there――or stay there if they do!”