Very soon Jim began to have a more than sneaking suspicion that there was some method in Blake’s behavior. The thing occurred with entirely too much regularity for it to be merely accidental, especially as the fellow had not been in the habit of coming into their rooms more than once or twice a week until very lately. Gradually this suspicion became a certainty, and, before very long, Townsend felt sure that he had hit upon the reason for it all. The thought made his blood boil, and he lost no time in broaching the matter to his roommate. Bob was rather late coming in from the training table that night, but the instant he opened the door Townsend, who had been waiting impatiently for him, opened fire. “Has it occurred to you, Bob,” he remarked, with apparent casualness, “that Blake’s been dropping in here an awful lot lately?” Hollister threw his hat on a chair and plumped himself down on another. “Why, I don’t know,” he said carelessly; “perhaps he has. We’ve had a bunch of things to talk over, though. He’s really got some very good ideas and has helped me a lot.” Townsend sniffed. “Helped you! Humph!” he exclaimed sarcastically. “Yes, I believe it!” Hollister glanced inquiringly at him. “What’s the matter, Jim?” he asked. “What you got against Jarv?” “What’s he come in here every night for, I’d like to know?” Townsend demanded. “He gets you going on football, and the result is you haven’t opened a book since you had that talk with the dean, and your flunks in the classrooms are something fierce.” Hollister’s face took on an expression of whimsical annoyance. “Thunder, Jim!” he exclaimed petulantly. “What do you want to start preaching for? You know I’m going to settle down into a fierce grind the minute the last game is over. I just can’t find time to do it now with so much else to think about.” “Rot!” growled Townsend. “You talk nutty! You’d have time enough if that tow-headed son of a gun didn’t come butting in every night and break you all up.” Hollister made no reply, but his heavy brows drew down into a scowl. Townsend, too full of his grievance to notice this, presently continued his argument. “Hasn’t it ever occurred to you, Bob,” he said significantly, “how very nice it would be for Blake if you were conditioned and had to leave the team? He’s one of the best subs for your position, and there’s hardly a question but what he would step into your shoes at once. I’ll bet that’s the reason which brings him here so often, with his football talk and his sneers about there being no danger of the dean doing anything radical. He’s keeping you from boning on purpose. He’d be tickled to death to see you dropped so he could——” “Stop!” interrupted Hollister, in an angry voice. “Just cut out that line of talk, Jim. You forget that Blake is my friend. You never liked him, I know, but that’s no reason why you should blackguard him this way.”