In the locker-room two others rendered brief commendation for the tackle, one, Harris, right end, declaring that Barry had “sure saved the old game that time!” Barry was unresponsive. He wanted very much to say: “Well, but what about my punt from behind the goal-line? Where were you when that happened?” But of course he didn’t. His feelings were somewhat salved later, though, when Major Loring paused on his way out to say: “That was well done, Locke. I was pretty sure you could do it.” Barry was almost certain that the coach was referring to the punt and not the tackle. Once, while he was achingly divesting himself of his togs, he looked across the room to find Clyde staring at him. Clyde’s expression was queer, Barry thought. It seemed composed about equally of resentment, puzzlement, and respect. Barry smiled. Clyde’s grimace as he turned hastily away was doubtless meant for a smile, too, but it was a painful effort. Barry’s name was in the city paper the next morning. There was a very brief account of the Murray game, and under the word “Substitutions” occurred the following: “Locke for Noble.” That was all, but since it was the first time his name had ever appeared in a metropolitan paper he was decidedly thrilled. He cut out the story and treasured it. After dinner that Sunday he turned his steps resolutely toward Number 42 Dawson. Clyde was at home and alone, and Barry somehow received the impression that the other had been expecting him. Clyde was friendly, almost anxiously so, and the lately patronizing manner was strangely absent. Barry was too much pleased to wonder. They talked of several things connected with Hazen, New York, and their folks, before the subject of the previous day’s game was introduced by Clyde. Clyde was flattering in his praise of the other’s performance, so insistent that Barry became uncomfortable and broke in with: “I was sorry you didn’t get in, Clyde. I thought of course you would.” Perhaps the remark wasn’t very tactful, as he realized after he had made it, but Clyde apparently took no exception to it; rather he seemed to welcome it. “I didn’t expect to,” he said. “I haven’t been having much luck lately.” Then, after a moment’s silence, he continued, “I guess you know why, Barry.” Barry shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t think so.” “Oh, yes you do! Loring’s playing you up for all you’re worth. He’ll dump me to the third to-morrow.” “I don’t believe so,” said the other, uncomfortably. “I guess he wants me just because I punt a little. I’m not much good at anything else, Clyde. You know mighty well I wouldn’t want to――to hurt your chances!” “Yes, I know that,” replied Clyde, gratefully. “That’s why I’m going to――well, tell you just how things stand with me. I dare say you thought it was sort of funny when I tried to discourage you about football, but the truth is, Barry, I knew pretty well that you’d make good if Loring took you in hand.” “You didn’t say that!” Barry looked puzzled.