“As far as I’m concerned,” answered Clyde, a trifle stiffly. “Same here,” said Peaches, slyly enjoying the situation. “Well, then,” pursued Barry, looking from one to the other, “suppose you shake hands on it.” “Piffle,” muttered Clyde, looking much embarrassed. “Well,” said Peaches, “just to oblige a dying friend, Allen!” Although his eyes danced, he gravely avoided Barry’s smile as he and Clyde clasped hands across the bed. * * * * * At the same moment Major Loring and “Jonah” Mears, sitting before a crackling fire in the coach’s room, talked and smoked in a comfortable, well-earned leisure. They had discussed the game exhaustively, and now conversation had become more desultory, broken by periods of silence. “That young Locke was a lucky find,” said Mr. Mears, musingly. The Major smiled. “More than a find, Jonah,” he replied; “a discovery.” “Yes.” The other refilled his pipe slowly. “Yes, and I like the youngster’s style. He’s got real football spirit. Handles himself pretty, too. Of course, he’s young yet, and light; give him another twenty pounds――” “Give him another year,” said the coach, softly, “and then watch him! Barry Locke has the stuff they used to make knights of, and crusaders; the stuff that nowadays makes football heroes. I wish I had a few more like him, Jonah. He――” the Major gently tapped his pipe against an andiron――“he’s the right sort.” * * * * * Transcriber’s Notes: ――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). ――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. ――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. ――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.