“Of course,” Tom acknowledged, “I haven’t got much to boast of. If ‘Cocky’ hadn’t given me that _B_ in Hygiene I’d have failed. The only thing I’m afraid of is that he made a mistake and will find it out before Wednesday! Alick was pretty good to me, too; better than I thought he would be. I’ve been a good deal of a trial to him all year, and he might have socked me an awful wallop if he’d wanted to. He’s a pretty square old guy, Alick! I guess Mr. Winslow will cut up a bit when he sees my marks, but he can’t say I didn’t pass.” Tom was frowningly thoughtful a moment. “Something tells me he’s going to be disappointed. I have an idea he’d be glad of an excuse to take me away from here. He’s always reminding me of how much it costs. Well, I fooled him this time!” “Can’t you stay and have lunch with me?” asked Mr. Cooper a few minutes later. “Thanks, but I can’t, sir. You see, I’m at training table now, and Steve makes us all toe the mark. Sorry, sir. I’d like to.” Practice was called for two-thirty, since there were no more classes, and, having nothing particular to do after dinner, Tom went over to the gymnasium at a few minutes before two. He had lost track of Clif and expected to find him in the locker room. Whether Clif was there Tom didn’t discover, for, he didn’t reach the locker room until very much later. Fate ordained that he should encounter Coles just short of the entrance, and in ordaining that Fate played a scurvy trick on Tom. Ever since he had been deposed from second base by Tom, Wink Coles had nursed a grievance. He hadn’t shown the fact to any extent, and the friendly relations between the two had not been noticeably affected. They had never been very close, even in the fall, when both had played on the Fighting Scrub, as last season’s second eleven had been dubbed. Wink had fully expected to play second base throughout the spring, and he had been sadly disappointed when Tom had been elevated from the scrub nine and he, Wink, had been relegated to the position of an infield substitute. Only a few hours before the encounter with Tom he had learned that in two studies in which he had fully expected _B’s_ he had been awarded _C’s_. He had passed, but he had done it by a margin not very much wider than Tom’s, and he was still disgruntled. In short, Wink Coles was in a state of mind hardly to be classed as genial, and it was unfortunate that Tom, still in an expansive mood, should have chosen that particular opportunity to be affable. “Hello, Wink!” he greeted, refusing to be satisfied with the nod and grunt they usually exchanged on meeting. “How’d you come out?” “All right,” replied Wink gloomily, continuing to lean against the wall and stare into the sunlit distance. “How’d you?” It was plainly to be understood that he didn’t care a continental about Tom’s fate, but Tom was not critical of tones. He answered smilingly and flippantly.