This verse was received with equal applause, and Fitz was entreated to give them another. “Sing another song,” urged Rose. “You must know a pile of them.” “Well, I’ll give you a very short one,” the slim chap returned with much apparent reluctance. “It’s a little old, but you mustn’t mind a thing like that.” Striking a single chord, he began the first line. “Mary had a little——” He paused, and, clearing his throat, glanced around at his audience, plainly surprised that there had been no interruption. Having been caught once, however, the fellows were not going to repeat the performance, and remained expectantly silent. Seeing that he could not get a rise out of them, Fitzgerald turned back to the piano and began the song over again. “Mary had a little skirt Tied tightly in a bow, And everywhere that Mary went She simply couldn’t go.” “That’s all,” he announced, springing up and skipping over to the table again. “Somebody else can do parlor tricks now.” Before any one had a chance to reply, the door was opened rather unceremoniously, and a tall, curly haired, sun-burned fellow, with an attractive face and the figure of an athlete, entered composedly, and closed the door behind him. From the uproarious nature of the greeting he received, it was quite evident that he was a general favorite. “Hello, Bob!” “Come in and rest your face and hands.” “How about Anthony’s date with Cleopatra?” Bob Hollister grinned a little sheepishly. “Heard about that, have you?” he inquired, as he dropped down on a chair. “I suppose that’ll be rubbed into me for the next six months. What the deuce did I know about Roman history? I was doping out a new around-the-end combination.” “Sh! Careful!” cautioned Elwell, with upraised finger. Hollister looked bewildered. “What’s the matter?” he asked quickly. “No football talk,” returned the Hoosier, with a grin. “Our esteemed, ex-temporary captain objects to it in the sacred privacy of his apartment.” “Well, I’ll be hanged!” gasped Hollister. “Not talk about football! What in the mischief else is there to talk about?” Dick smiled. “You have got it bad, Bob,” he remarked. “Don’t you ever think about anything else?” Hollister shook his head. “Hardly ever,” he confessed. “I couldn’t keep it out of my head if I tried, with the big game so close. Why, I even wake up in the middle of the night wondering how to work certain combinations, or thinking up some new way of getting the ball through their line. I haven’t had time to open a book in weeks.” He gave a sudden start, and, diving down into one pocket, drew out a rather crumpled envelope. “Just look at that,” he remarked, tossing it over to Dick.