Peaches shrugged. “Oh, nothing, nothing at all. Only, if the head coach paid me a visit I’d be telling all about it. But I dare say I lack what-you-call-it――er――reticence.” Barry began to lift the desk drawers and slide them back into place. He performed the task very slowly, very thoughtfully. When the last one was in he perched himself on the edge of the desk, studied his hands a moment――rather scratched and scarred they were these days――and finally said: “Well, I guess I’d like to tell you, only――” “Since I’m being consumed by curiosity,” said Peaches, when the other paused, “I might perhaps be prevailed on to listen. You were about to say――?” “It’s no joke,” answered Barry, rather plaintively. “He――I――he said I needn’t report again.” “’Cause why?” asked the audience, after a surprised instant. So the story came out and Peaches listened, without comment, to the end. Then he said: “It’s hard to say which of you is right, Barry. I see your position, and his, too. I can’t blame him for wanting to get his hands on the moron who sent that letter, and I can see that you’d naturally hate to get Allen into trouble.” “Allen!” exclaimed Barry. “Why, I didn’t say―― What makes you think――” “Of course you didn’t say, but he’s the only chap in school you’d lose your job on the team for, isn’t he? Don’t be worried. I’m as deaf as the grave. No, I mean dumb. Well, what are you going to do about it?” “Nothing,” muttered Barry. “All you can do, I guess,” said Peaches, after some thought. “I don’t quite get the Major’s view, though. Near as I can make out, he’s been grooming you for more than a month to play against Hoskins. Now he drops you three days before the game, for something that isn’t really connected with the team. I guess he was sort of mad, wasn’t he? They say he has a fair to middling temper. Still, it doesn’t seem quite like him to make the school pay for a personal grudge. Well, it isn’t exactly that, either, but――” The telephone bell had rung during Peaches’ discourse and now Betty’s voice called from below: “Barry, you’re wanted on the ’phone, please!” Downstairs, with the receiver at his ear, Barry answered, and to his surprise heard Major Loring’s voice: “Is that you, Locke? This is Coach Loring. I’ve been thinking over our talk a while ago. I made a mistake, Locke. I find that you have reason on your side. If you can give me the information I want I hope you’ll do it, but I was wrong when I threatened you. Report as usual, Locke. Good night.” Barry hung up the receiver rather dazedly and stood for a long moment, staring at the telephone, before he turned and went quickly upstairs. Peaches had only to look at his face to know that something pleasing had happened. “Coach?” he asked. Barry nodded, grinned broadly, and dropped into a chair. When Peaches had heard the message he said approvingly: “Good old Major! Blamed if he isn’t a white man, just as I thought! Say, Barry, I’m awfully glad!”