“Why, sure!” Clyde accompanied the reply with a short laugh and his eyes fell before Barry’s gaze. Nevertheless he stepped after the other into the hall, and once past the door he added in a lowered voice: “Say, don’t think too much about the other day, Barry. You know how it is when a fellow gets peeved.” He tried to speak carelessly, but Barry was certain that he detected a ring of sincerity underneath. “That’s all right, Clyde,” he answered eagerly. “Let’s forget!” The other nodded and turned hurriedly back. “So long,” he called. It wasn’t much of an apology, Barry reflected on his way home, but it was a good deal from Clyde. He wondered if it was too late to try again to get out of football. To-night he felt courageous enough to face two or three Major Lorings! But sober thought told him that the die was cast and that nothing he could do now would aid Clyde’s ambitions. When he awoke in the morning it was not to Betty’s cheerful announcement of “Hot water, Barry!” but to the ungentle proddings of Peaches. Barry viewed the intruder sleepily and vaguely inquired, “What time’s it?” “Ten minutes to seven, sluggard,” replied Peaches, securing a less precarious seat on the edge of the bed. “Get up and hear the birdies sing!” Barry’s mind cleared itself of the mists of slumber and he opened his eyes wide. “Where――when――” he exclaimed. “Five minutes ago,” answered Peaches, grinning. Barry sat up suddenly and sank his voice. “Did you find him?” he asked anxiously. For reply Peaches slowly lowered his left eyelid. CHAPTER XVIII UNDER COVER Peaches told his story while Barry dressed. “I’d like to lay stress on my superior intelligence,” he said, “but truth compels me to acknowledge, Barry, that luck had a lot to do with it. I got to Randall Falls about seven-fifteen and went to the hotel Davy had written from. His name was on the register and the clerk said he had left three days ago――no, this is Thursday; four days ago now――but didn’t know where he’d gone. But he got his memory working and remembered that Davy had left about half-past seven in the morning, and with that to go on I beat it back to the station and looked up trains. “Well, there was one going east at seven-forty-six, and I concluded that was the one Davy had aimed at, especially as there weren’t any others for nearly an hour on either side of seven-thirty. The first real town on the line was Springfield and I guessed Davy had made for there. Of course he might not be there then, but I had to take a chance on that. And, of course, he might have gone straight on to Worcester or some other place beyond that.