“Oh, no, it’s just this leg. It has a mean way of getting stiff in damp weather. It’s better to-day, though, and I was expecting to get around to watch practice this afternoon.” “Rheumatism, sir?” asked Tom. “I fancy so. Something of the sort. I got a piece of shrapnel in it about seven years ago, and it’s been cranky ever since. Well, how is the Triumvirate getting along? And how are you――er――hitting them?” Tom answered both questions fully, dwelling at some length on his batting. “I followed your advice, Mr. Cooper,” he explained. “You know, you said I wasn’t to think about what I was going to do, but just go ahead and do it. Well, that’s what I did. I really think I’ve got the knack of it now, and I’m sure hitting them, sir! You’ll see this afternoon.” The visit lasted only a little more than half an hour, but in that time Tom managed to do most of the talking, encouraged by his host, and to confide a good deal of his private history. For instance, Mr. Cooper learned that Tom’s mother was dead and that a certain Mr. Winslow was his guardian; that Mr. Winslow was a “pill” in Tom’s estimation and that as soon as the latter had finished school he was going to get away; probably enter the Navy, although he might be an explorer instead. “You see,” said Tom, “I like to move around and see places. I mean I _would_ like to. I never have much, not since I can remember. It must be great to travel around like you do, sir. Gosh, I’d like that! India and China and Africa and everywhere!” Doubtless Mr. Cooper inferred that Tom’s father, too, was dead. At least, Tom made no mention of him. Returning to school, Tom’s pace was accelerated by two things: a certain excitement generated by the recent conversation and the fact that his next recitation was due in four minutes. Rather oddly, it didn’t occur to him that he had been unusually confiding in telling to an acquaintance of a few weeks things he had not revealed to Clif until he had known that youth six months. It had seemed, somehow, very easy, very natural to talk to Mr. Cooper. He didn’t speak to Clif or Loring of his call at the Inn, but Mr. Cooper alluded to it that evening when, bearing somewhat heavily on his cane, he paid his after supper visit to East Hall, and Tom was made to feel the weight of his friends’ displeasure. But he didn’t seem to mind it. He was in very good spirits to-night. Perhaps he had a right to be. For one thing, he had been promoted to the first team. CHAPTER XIV INSIDE STUFF