Amy surveyed him coldly. He didn't like Harry Walton and never attempted to disguise the fact. "Why, Harry, old dear, you'll just keep right on squandering your money as usual, I suppose. But I don't want you to waste any on me. This is a one-man wager." "No, it isn't," said Leroy Draper, "I'm in on it, Amy. I'll take half of it." "All right, Roy. But our money's safe as safe! This bunch of grousers won't get fat off us, old chap!" "Say," said Walton, who had been trying to get Amy's attention for a minute, "what's the story about my squandering my money? Anybody seen you being careless with yours, Amy?" "Not that I know of. I'm not careless with it; I'm careful. But being careful with money is different from having it glued to your skin so you have to have a surgical operation before----" "Oh, cut it, Amy," said Tim. "I spend my money just as freely as you do," returned Walton hotly. "You talk so much with your face----" "Let it go at that, Harry," advised Tom Hall soothingly. "Amy's just talking." "That's all," agreed Amy sweetly. "Just talking. You're the original little spendthrift, Harry. I'm going to write home to your folks some time and warn 'em. Hold on, you chaps, don't hurry off. The night is still in its infancy. Wait and watch it grow up. Steve! _Sit down!_" "Thanks, I've got to be moseying along," replied Captain Edwards. "It's pretty near ten. I think it would be a rather good idea if we had a rule that football men were to be in their rooms at a quarter to ten all during the season." "I can see that you're going to be one of these here martinets you read about," said Tim with a sigh. "Steve, remember you were young once yourself." "He never was!" declared Amy with decision. "Steve was grown-up when he was quite young and he's never got over it. Thank the Fates _I_ don't have to be bossed by him! Are you all leaving? Clint, count the spoons and forks! Come again, everyone. I've got lots more to say. Good-night, Don. Glad to see you back again, old sober-sides. Sorry about that fin of yours. Be careful with him, Tim. You know how it is with the dear old team. We need every man we can get. Hold on, Harry! Did you drop that quarter? Oh, I beg pardon, it's only a button. That's right, Thurs, kick the chair over if it's in your way. We don't care a bit about our furniture. For the love of lemons, Larry, don't grin like that! Think of the team, man! Remember your sorrows! Good-_night_!" Half-way to Billings Don broke the silence. "Fellows are funny, aren't they?" he murmured. "Funny? How do you mean?" asked Tim. "Oh, I don't know," replied Don after a thoughtful moment. "They're--they're so different, I guess." "Who's different from who?" "Everyone," answered Don, smothering a yawn. Tim viewed him in the radiance of the light over the doorway with profound admiration. "Don, you're a brilliant chap! Honest, sometimes I wonder how you do it! Doesn't it hurt?" Don only smiled. CHAPTER IV THE FIRST GAME