The last remark was intended for Blake, but Jim was too wrought up to talk coherently. He wandered around the campus for a few minutes and then decided to take his troubles to Blair Hildebrand, one of his particular chums, whose cool, level-headed advice had helped him out on more than one occasion. He found the big, blue-eyed senior alone, glancing over the latest issue of the _Lit_, and evidently very tired of his own company. “Hello, old man,” he said cordially, as Townsend appeared. “You’re a perfect godsend. George has gone to New York, and I was just thinking of looking up some congenial spirit and painting the town red. How’s everything?” “Rotten!” returned Townsend shortly, as he dropped onto a chair. “That dub, Jarvis Blake, is over at the rooms jabbering football and keeping Bob from doing an earthly thing with to-morrow’s work. And you know how the dean warned him the other day.” Hildebrand nodded. “Yes, I heard about it,” he returned. “Isn’t that something new—Blake’s coming around, I mean?” “He’s done it every night this week,” Jim explained morosely. “I’ll bet any money, Blair, that he’s doing it on purpose so Bob will be dropped and he’ll get on the varsity. I told Bob as much to-night.” “How did he take it?” Hildebrand asked interestedly. “Wouldn’t listen to a word against the man,” returned Townsend. “Thinks he’s all to the good. You know Bob never will hear anything against a fellow he likes.” “Yes, he’s a dandy chap that way,” Hildebrand answered absently. “That’s one of the reasons why every one likes him so well.” He was evidently thinking about something else. “That’s all very nice,” Jim retorted quickly; “but a fellow can carry it too far. He’s making a fool of himself going on the way he’s been all this term. He’ll be dropped unless he wakes up mighty sudden. And I don’t want him dropped. He’s too good a fellow for that.” Townsend’s voice was mournful and his face downcast and dejected at the thought of what might happen to his chum. Presently Hildebrand looked up. “I shouldn’t wonder a bit if you were right about Blake, Jim,” he said. “He makes a mighty good showing with his frank, hearty manner, but I have every reason to think that he’s far from being above just such a trick as this.” Townsend sat up suddenly, his face aglow with interest. “You have?” he exclaimed quickly. “What was it? Anything which Bob would listen to?” “Just a little experience I had with him last year,” the stalwart guard returned quietly; “but it proved pretty conclusively that Blake was mighty poor stuff. Whether it would have any effect on Bob or not, is quite another question.” “Can’t you tell a fellow what it was?” Jim asked eagerly. Hildebrand shook his head slowly.