"Oh, he'll be back--later," answered Phil, for both he and Tom wished to conceal, as long as possible, the growing mystery that seemed to be enveloping their chum. There was no time for longer talk with Sid, as he had hurried off as fast as his injured foot would let him, though Mr. Leighton had advised him to stay in his room for a couple of days. "Where do you s'pose he's going?" asked Tom of Phil. "Give it up, unless he's going to call on Miss Harrison, and it doesn't seem very likely. He'd be more cheerful if it was that. As it is he acts as if he was going to a funeral." "That's right. He got another one of those queer letters, and, as usual, when he does, he scoots off somewhere. Do you know what I think?" "You think of so many things, Tom, I can't be sure." "No joking. I mean we ought to follow him, and see where he goes so mysteriously. Maybe we could help him." "Oh, we couldn't do that, but I'd do anything else to help Sid." "No, of course it wouldn't be fair to play the spy; but, just the same, I wish I knew what was worrying him." A moment later the two players were caught up in a rush of enthusiastic students that involved the whole nine except Sid, and were carried off to an impromptu celebration. Bonfires were blazing, and hastily-organized banquets were in order. "Why, you'd think we'd won the championship to see the way they take on," remarked Holly Cross. "Well, we're in line for it, after the way we beat Wescott," said Tom. "It's the best nine Randall has had in many a year, if I do say it myself," and Tom looked proudly on his team. "My uncle says----" began a voice. "Smother him!" "Into the lake with him!" "Make him eat soft soap!" "Choke him with a double ice-cream cone!" These cries, and many more, greeted the almost fatal announcement of Ford Fenton. Much abashed, he turned aside from the crowd into which he had made his way. "I wouldn't stand for that, if I were you," remarked Bert Bascome to him. "Why don't you go back at 'em." "Oh, I don't know," replied Ford hesitatingly. "You'd have been manager of the team if some of the mollycoddles around here had had any spunk," went on the sporty freshman. "I'm not done yet, either. I'll make the team wish, before the season is over, that Ed Kerr hadn't been manager." "You'll not do anything rash, will you?" asked Ford, who was somewhat afraid of his wealthy chum, who proposed daring pranks sometimes. "I don't know," answered Bascome with a superior air. "If I had some one to help me I know what I'd do. Come over here, I want to talk to you," and he led Ford off to where a number of freshmen of Bascome's crowd were looking on at the celebration in honor of the nine, but taking no part. Tom saw Ford going off with Bascome, the enthusiastic welcome of the players having calmed down for a moment. "I don't like that," he observed to Phil. "Bascome is a chap likely to get Ford into trouble. There's a fast set in the freshie crowd this year."