“We ought to add a third more, I think,” said Willard. “But there’s one thing you must remember, and that is that the novelty of taking automobile rides seems to be wearing off. We haven’t done much the past ten days. Besides, when it gets cold folks won’t want to run around the country at night.” “That’s so, but there’ll be the garage business, and Jimmy seems to think there’ll be more money in that than in the transfer part of the thing. Anyhow, we haven’t any kick coming, I guess! Two hundred and eight dollars! Gee!” “And eighty cents,” laughed Willard. “Don’t forget the eighty cents.” Tom waved a hand carelessly. “You may have that,” he said magnificently. “What’s eighty cents to a millionaire?” The next day Summer took her departure. You could feel the difference the moment you stuck a foot out of bed in the morning. There was a brisk, nippy west wind blowing from across the river, a good-natured and rather boisterous wind that whipped the leaves from the trees along the shaded streets, made you clap your hand to your yellowed straw hat and seemed to cry: “Well, here we are again! Hello, folks! Shake hands with my friend, Mr. Autumn!” And more than the sudden zest in the air told of Fall. For when Tom chugged through Connecticut Avenue on his way down town to collect passengers for the first train a boy hailed him from a front porch and then joined him as he stopped The Ark. It was Billy Younger. “Say, Tom,” he announced, “George asked me to see you and find out why you haven’t been out for practice. I told him I guessed you were too busy running your auto and he said if you didn’t show up pretty soon he didn’t want you.” “Practice?” repeated Tom vacantly. “What kind――Oh, by Jove! I forgot all about football, Billy! How long have you been at it?” “Since Monday. We’re getting along pretty well, too. We play Finley Falls a week from to-day. You don’t want to miss that. We’re going to smear ’em, Tom, this year. Be out this afternoon?” “Why――yes, I guess so. Three o’clock, is it? Nobody said anything to me about it and I’ve been so busy I didn’t think. It doesn’t seem possible it can be football time already!” “’Tis, though. And it’s mighty near school time, too, worse luck! Only eight days more vacation. I guess you’re pretty sure of right tackle this year, Tom. Lyman’s too light for it and Berger’s a regular dub. We’re going to have a dandy team, all right, but we need you, you know.” Tom nodded. “I’ll be out to-day if I possibly can. Monday, anyway. Tell Connors, will you?” Billy shrugged his shoulders. “All right, but if you take my advice you’ll show up to-day. George is sort of huffy with you, it looks like. Had a row, you two?” “N-no,” Tom hesitated. “No, we haven’t had any row. I suppose George Connors is sort of peeved with Willard and me because we started this automobile business and cut in on his dad.”