I believe that is all--no, to give you a complete picture of life at Randall I must mention that Sidney Henderson, the third member of the "inseparables" was a woman hater--a misogynist--an anchorite--a dub--almost anything along that line that his chums could think to call him. He abhorred young ladies--or he thought he did--and he and Tom and Phil were continually at variance on this question, and that of having girls' photographs in the common study. But of that more later. With Holly stretched out on the old sofa, and Phil and Tom in various tangled attitudes in chairs--Phil in the depths of the ancient one--the talk of baseball progressed. "Yes, we must have an election for manager soon," conceded Tom. "But first I want to see what sort of a team I'm going to have. We need outdoor practice, but if this rotten weather keeps up----" "Hark! I think I hear the rain stopping," exclaimed Phil. "Stop nothing," declared Holly. "It's only catching its breath for another deluge." And it did seem so, for, presently, there came a louder patter than ever, of drops on the tin gutter. "Well, guess I'd better be moving," announced Holly, after another spasm of talk. "What time is it by your town clock, anyhow?" and he shied a book at the alarm timepiece so that the face of it would be slewed around in his direction, giving him a peep at it without obliging him to get up. "Here! What are you trying to do?" demanded Tom. "Do you want to break the works, and stop it?" "Impossible, my dear boy," said Holly lazily. "Just turn it around for me, will you, like a good fellow. I don't see how I missed it. I must practice throwing, or I won't be any good when the ball season opens. Give me another shot?" and he raised a second volume. "Quit!" cried Tom, interposing his arm in front of the fussy little clock. "That calls us to our morning duties," added Phil, adding in a sing-song voice: "Oh, vandal, spare that clock, touch not a single hand, for surely it doth keep the time the worst in all the land." "Fierce," announced Holly, closing his eyes and pretending to breathe hard. "It tells you how much longer you can sleep in the morning, I guess you mean," he went on. "The three of you were late for chapel this a. m." "That's because Sid monkeyed with the regulator," insisted Tom. "He thought he could improve it. But, say, it is getting late. Nearly ten." "And Sid isn't back yet," went on Phil. "My bedtime, anyhow," came from Holly, as he slid from the sofa, and glided from the room. "So long. Sid wants to look out or he'll be caught. Proc. Zane has a new book, and he wants to get some of the sporting crowd down in it. See you in the dewy morn, gents," and he was gone. "Sid _is_ late," murmured Tom, as he began to prepare for bed. "Shall we leave a light for him?" "Nope. Too risky," decided Phil. "No use of us all being hauled up. But maybe he's back, and is in some of the rooms. He's got ten minutes yet."