“Oh, Locke, just a mo!” he said. “That letter business is cleared up. Thought you’d like to know. Meant to tell you before, but forgot it.” “Yes, sir,” said Barry, questioningly. “No need of mentioning names, I guess. I――er――I’ve attended to the chap. I gather, though, from what Jones says, that your suspect wasn’t concerned.” “Jones? You mean――Peaches, sir?” “Yes. He took the matter up. Very glad to have him. Well, good night.” CHAPTER XXIV “LOCKE BACK!” “Hoskins’s ball!” The referee, having waded knee-deep in the pile-up of writhing players, placed the pigskin on the visitors’ twenty-seven yards and skipped aside. “Third down! About six to go!” Barry watched from the bench, a gray blanket draped about him. He had been watching for upward of twenty-five anxious minutes during which the ancient rivals had charged up and down the field with scant advantage to either one. Near by sat Hall, substitute tackle, chewing his knuckles and muttering to himself. On the other side, knee touching Barry’s, sat Clyde. Beyond the latter, at the far end of the bench, Major Loring and the two assistant coaches looked on with expressionless faces and conversed in low tones at intervals. Behind Barry the stand was close, and he could almost feel the cheers beating against him. Before the start he had searched the rows and found the Lyles half-way up the farther section, Mr. Benjy enormously swaddled against the chill air, Mrs. Lyle looking quite young and pretty, Betty with her eyes sparkling, roses in her cheeks, and a valiant streamer of purple and gray ribbons pinned to her coat. He had exchanged greetings, too, with Peaches and Mill. He hadn’t seen Peaches to speak to since the day before, for, returning to school at a little before twelve, they had been taken straight to the dining-hall for an early luncheon and from there to the gymnasium, the Major guarding as carefully against “foreign entanglements” as a New England statesman! Barry had slept remarkably the night before. Only once had he awakened, and then had stayed awake only long enough to stare sleepily back at a twinkling star shining down at him through the open casement and to pull the covers up over his head. In the morning the big, roaring fire had been grateful indeed, and so, too, had Joey’s hot breakfast. At nine o’clock they had assembled outside on the limited level of sparse turf and gone through formations for an hour. If the previous evening had tabooed football, this bright, frosty morning had tabooed all else. When the work was over the Major had tossed a battered old ball to Barry with: “Let’s see how far you can kick it, Locke.” “But we’ll lose it, sir!” The Major had shrugged. “See that bunch of dark-red leaves down there? The trail’s just to the right of it. See how close you can come to it.”