As the day wore on Tony was inclined to forget his unpleasant adventure of the night before. The afternoon found him again on the football field, absorbed in learning the game, and winning encomiums in the eyes of Kit, who until Thanksgiving would have few thoughts aside from football. Kit was captain of his form eleven, and his interest in its success was equaled only by the readiness with which he would sacrifice his best players to the school team or even to the scrub if they were needed. He was delighted with Deering’s advent, as he had felt he was weak in ends, and Tony’s fleetness promised much in that direction. The likelihood of his securing a position on his form team gave Deering a prestige that stood him in good stead as a new boy; and as he was lively, good-natured and appreciative, it seemed that on the whole he would have an agreeable time. There was, however, a rift in the lute—which Tony detected the second day of his school life. As he would pass Chapin in the Schoolhouse corridors or on the campus, he could see by the expression on his face that he had taken the result of their adventures of the night before in bad part. They exchanged no words on the subject, but Chapin’s behavior was in such contrast to that of Thorndyke and Marsh, or even of Carroll, all of whom had smiled good-naturedly when they had met him, that he put it down that in Chapin he had made an enemy. At the time this troubled him very little. He wondered of course if he should be hazed again, but surmised correctly that if he were it would not be by the same crowd. The spirit with which he went into things, his success on the form team, and the powerful friends that he had made in Wilson and Lawrence, the leaders of the Third, soon secured him an immunity from hazing in any form. The Sixth frowned on the custom, so that none but adventurous spirits were apt to attempt it. Tony was tired out that night, and as soon as he was dismissed from the schoolroom at nine o’clock, he ran over to Standerland and got into bed, scarcely noticing Carroll, who had the privilege of working in their common study. Hardly, however, was he in bed, than the door was opened, his light switched on, and again Carroll appeared, but this time there was a friendly grin on his face, and a box of biscuit and a jar of jam tucked under his arm. “Don’t jump, my philosopher!” he exclaimed, “I am alone and unarmed.” Then he advanced to the bed, and held out his hand. “Shall we make it ‘pax’?” “With all my heart,” laughed Tony, and gave Carroll’s hand a friendly shake. “Suppose then we smoke a pipe of peace,” and Carroll extracted from the recesses of his pocket two brierwood pipes. “Hang it!” said Tony, “I don’t smoke, you know. Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”