Barry was making progress, both with his punting and in his general playing. He was aware of the fact, himself, after a few days, and the knowledge was disquieting. Clyde’s disapproval was increasingly evident and Barry’s excuses failed to satisfy. Clyde refused to perceive any improvement in the other, or any signs of promise. “You’re letting Loring make a fool of you,” he declared darkly. “Lots of fellows have asked me about it. They’re laughing at you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, when Loring lets you out some fine day and you’re trying to explain how it happened!” “I don’t see,” said Barry, mildly, “why it’ll be necessary for me to explain. If I don’t make good, that’s all there is to it. I can’t see any――any disgrace in it, Clyde.” “It’s always a disgrace to try something impossible and come a cropper,” Clyde stated. “Fellows hate failures, as you’ll find!” After a moment’s consideration Barry nodded. “Well,” he said, “maybe something will happen――or something. I’ll do my best, Clyde.” Nevertheless, he departed from that interview far from convinced. He knew that Clyde had always been extremely sensitive to ridicule; he could recall several instances in proof; but now he seemed――Barry searched for a word and presently found it――supersensitive. Broadmoor had changed Clyde, Barry reflected, and not altogether for the better, in the latter’s judgment. There were moments, these days, when Barry almost regretted the obligation which bound him to the other boy. It was on Wednesday evening that Walter Millington gave his radio party, an affair that remained a topic of conversation for many days. Although Mill acted as host, much of the credit for the party must be given to Peaches, since the original idea was his. Then, too, it was Peaches who after great effort persuaded Toby Nott to attend; and there’s no denying that minus Toby the party wouldn’t have been a success at all. Toby didn’t know much about radio and cared a great deal less. He stated the fact plainly and repeatedly, and even the news that, by rare good fortune, Professor Brown of Onondaga University had been secured to speak on “The Care and Feeding of Batrachians,” that evening, left him at first unmoved. It wasn’t until Peaches had anxiously reminded him that Batrachians were frogs and toads and such that Toby became interested, staring thoughtfully at the other. “Maybe I ought to hear him,” he admitted. “I’ve never had much luck keeping frogs. Antonio doesn’t seem to like what I give him; and it’s getting awfully hard to find flies and ants, now the weather is colder. Can you understand what he says, Peaches?” “Just as clearly as if he was in the same room with you,” Peaches assured him. “What did you say his name was?” Peaches repeated the information and Toby shook his head. “I’ve never heard of him.” “Well, I guess he’s all right,” said the other. “They wouldn’t be sending out his stuff if he weren’t a top-notcher.”