"Perhaps you had better come into our house," the boy suggested, still anxious to make amends. "You can wash there and have your clothes cleaned." "I'm not in need of any suggestions from you," replied the man, giving Garry a look out of his cold gray eyes that made the lad think of a snake. "All you can do is to make me an abject apology." "I've already said that I am sorry," replied Garry, growing a bit red in the face at the stranger's implacable tone, "and I am--_very_ sorry." "People don't usually cross this lot," Nick broke in, coming to Garry's relief; "and you came around that corner so suddenly that we didn't see you till after the punt was made." "I was taking a short cut to Mr. Elliny's house," the man rejoined, turning his cold gaze from Garry to Nick. "Not that I feel called on to offer an explanation, since the lot was not fenced in," he added loftily. "It's an outrage for you boys to practice with that filthy football within the town limits," with a glance of distaste at his muddy waistcoat. "I ought to report this affair to the authorities." With this the outraged stranger swept the group with an icy stare, scowled fiercely at Garry, and continued on his way with a dignity that refused to be marred by the consciousness that his immaculate clothes had suffered sadly. Nick whistled softly. "Going to Mr. Elliny's house," he repeated thoughtfully. "Isn't Elliny the head of the Board of Education?" "Great Scott! So he is," cried Garry, beginning to see whither Nick's question led. "I bet that tall, thin guy is a teacher!" "Well, you did it that time, Garry!" crowed Rooster. "Sure, that old boy is a teacher. You could tell it by the look of him." "By the look in his eyes he'll never forgive you, Garry," predicted Nick. "You hurt his dignity." "Anyway you got some dirt off der ball," said Carl Zukor, who had not yet shaken off his German accent. "Yeah. Think of that and cheer up, old boy," said elephantine Sloppy Hume, clapping Garry on the shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, anyway. Don't let it faze you." "Just the same, I'm mighty sorry it happened," replied Garry, as he resumed his position in the field. "I don't suppose it's any fun to have a muddy football smack into you. You can't blame the man for feeling sore." "You can't blame him for being an old crab, either," said Nick cheerfully. "But you don't exactly love him for it. If he'd been a regular fellow, he'd have accepted your apology and let it go at that." "Well, come on, play ball," called Garry, and in a few moments practice was in full swing again. But though he entered heartily into the sport, Garry could not shake off a feeling of regret that the accident had occurred. There had been a look of bitter animosity in the look the man had turned on him, and he had a feeling that he would hear of the matter further.