“Sure thing,” Merriwell returned quickly. “Sit down and I’ll be with you in a minute.” Hollister dropped back onto his chair, and Dick followed the others to the door. With a chorus of good nights, they trooped out in a body and clattered downstairs. Then Merriwell came back into the room and resumed his seat, while Buckhart made tracks for the bedroom. “You gents will have to excuse me,” he mumbled. “Can’t keep my blinkers propped open another minute. Good night.” Without waiting for their response, he disappeared, and the next moment the sound of shoes being thrown to the floor was heard, followed with amazing swiftness by the creak of springs as the Texan crawled into bed. “Gee! I wish I could do that,” Hollister murmured. Dick raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “Go to sleep the minute I hit the pillow,” Hollister explained. “I toss around for an hour or more, thinking about all kinds of things. Seems as if I could think better at night when everything’s quiet and there’s no one to disturb me.” “Football, I suppose?” Dick questioned, looking at him thoughtfully. Hollister nodded. “Yes, but that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said quickly. “It’s these confounded warnings. I never got one of them before this fall.” His tone was almost angry. “As I remember,” Dick remarked, “you never used to have any trouble keeping up in your studies, but still had plenty of time for almost anything in the line of athletics you wanted to do.” A frown corrugated Hollister’s forehead. “Exactly,” he returned. “It looks to me as if the profs did the thing on purpose just to worry me when they ought to know I’ve got to give all my time to football. It’s a rotten shame!” Dick did not answer for a moment. “I hardly think that’s it, Bob,” he said presently. “There wouldn’t be any object in their doing that. I don’t believe they like giving a fellow’s name to the dean. I know Goodhue doesn’t, for he’s told me so. He doesn’t have a man warned until it’s absolutely necessary. No, I’m afraid the trouble is altogether with you. You don’t bone enough.” Hollister smiled wryly. “I don’t grind at all,” he said quickly. “Somehow, there doesn’t seem to be any time.” Dick smiled. “Shucks! You’ve got as much time as the rest of us. Somehow we manage to make a passable showing.” Hollister flushed a little. “I suppose I have got the time,” he said slowly, “but I can’t seem to make use of it. The minute I sit down with a book, my mind flies off to the field as regular as clockwork, and before I know it it’s time to turn in, and I haven’t done an earthly thing with the Latin or math, or whatever it may be; but very likely I’ve thought out some corking new formation or trick play.” “I see,” Dick said quietly; “but what good does it all do?” “Good!” exclaimed Hollister, in surprise. “Why, I put the idea up to Tempest or Fullerton, and often they can make use of it.”