Friday was still cold and windy, with leaden skies, and after the team had run through signals for a quarter of an hour and the backs had punted and caught a few times, the players were hustled back to the gymnasium and straw was spread over the gridiron in case of a freeze. The excitement and suspense that held the whole school that day affected Willard so that studying was an impossibility. About five, as Martin had gone over to Lykes to get Eustace Ross to help him with his algebra, Willard gave up the attempt to study and, pulling on a sweater, wandered across to Upton. Number 49 held only young Fuller, however. “Felix went out early,” he said in reply to Willard’s inquiry. “About two o’clock I think it was. I guess he’s photographing.” The boy scowled. “That’s his latest. He develops the pictures himself, too.” He nodded at several trays and bottles that claimed a corner of the table. “This is a rotten hole to live in when he gets to messing with chemicals. Some day I’ll be blown through the roof, I dare say.” “I don’t think photographing chemicals are explosive,” responded Willard soothingly. “Well, they’re mighty nasty,” grumbled the other. “He stretched a string across the room yesterday and hung his films on it and they dripped all over my books!” Willard retraced his steps to Haylow, very much at a loose end, and gloomed in the darkness until Martin returned and switched the light on. After supper that evening Bob and Calvin came up and the four listened to the singing and cheering that floated faintly across from Memorial Hall where the final football mass meeting was being held, and talked desultorily about the game and Alton’s prospects of victory. “They say,” remarked Cal, “that faculty’s holding a special meeting this evening and that Rowlandson may not play tomorrow.” “What’s the matter with Rowly?” asked Martin. “Back in his studies, they say.” “I guess it’s just a scare,” said Martin. “Who said that faculty was meeting?” “Harry Johnson told me. I think it’s so, too, for I saw the windows of Mac’s room all lighted up.” “What of it? That doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re after Rowlandson,” said Bob. “That would be about the last straw!” “You hear a lot of silly yarns like that just before the game,” said Martin. “Fellows get so excited they’ll tell you anything.” “I wish I were excited,” muttered Bob. “Gee, it’s funny to think of the game being played tomorrow and not getting into it!” “Not even seeing!” added Cal. “That’s worse still,” said Martin. “I don’t see why faculty needs to be so blamed mean. It wouldn’t hurt them any to let us look at the old game!” “Think they would if we all went and asked?” inquired Willard. “Doctor McPherson isn’t a bad sort.” “He’s all right,” answered Cal grudgingly, “but some of the others are pills. I’d say--” “We might try it,” interrupted Bob eagerly. “I’ll go if the rest of you will!”