In perfect silence, jaws set and face a little pale, Hollister read the short note through the second time. “Holy cats!” he muttered. “That’s the end of yours truly, all right! Sixty per cent.! Why don’t he say a hundred and be done with it? I stand about as much show of getting it.” Now that it was too late, he saw with vivid clearness the extent of his amazing folly. Merriwell had done his utmost to make him realize the seriousness of his position a week ago. Jim had been trying his best to help him for a longer time than that. Even the dean had strained a point of college discipline in his favor. And in spite of all this he had gone his way blithely and blindly, living only in the present, with a perfectly suicidal disregard for the future. What could he do? What was there possible for him to do? He was in despair. He had no more than a glimmering of the work for that day. It would need nothing less than a miracle for him to get the required percentage. The more he thought over the matter, the more despondent he became. At length, as a last resort, he resolved to go to Dick with his troubles. He did not hope for any happy solution of the difficulty, but there is always a little comfort in talking over one’s miseries with somebody; and Bob knew that Dick would never say, “I told you so.” Happily, the first recitation was scheduled for eleven o’clock, and Hollister found Dick alone in his rooms working over some math problems. He looked up smiling as the dismayed fellow entered. “Hello, Bobby,” he greeted. “What’s the matter? You look as if life held no further joys for you.” Without a word, Hollister thrust the dean’s letter into Merriwell’s hand. Dick read it through with knitted brows, and, having finished, folded it methodically and handed it back. “Wouldn’t that kill you dead!” he exclaimed. “Sixty per cent.! Let’s see how we can dope that out.” Hollister looked at him blankly. “Dope it out!” he exclaimed. “What is there to dope out? I’m done!” “Rot!” Dick returned emphatically. “You’re not going to give up without an effort, are you? We’ll get you through somehow. But you’ll have to buckle down and work like a terror.” “I’ll work, all right,” Hollister returned, in a dispirited voice; “but I can’t make that average. Why, I’ve got to start in and make it this very day, man, and I haven’t the haziest notion of what the Latin lesson is, though I did grind some on chemistry last night.” “Never know what you can do till you try, Bobby,” Dick said cheerily. “Why, we can’t let you be dropped, old fellow. Rather than that, I’ll turn tutor and drag you through by the hair of your head.” He paused and his face grew serious. “There’s one thing sure, though,” he went on, his eyes fixed on Hollister’s face; “you’ll have to give up football, and drop it like a hot cake this very day.”