“Fir--first page.” Pete mimicked Tommy’s tone. “No,” said Tommy, when the laughter had stopped, “not important enough.” “Crushed and lifeless!” murmured Allan. “Tommy,” asked Pete, severely, “do you mean that I’m not enough of a heavy-weight to be dishonored by having my name on the front page of that old up-country weekly of yours?” “The front page is for important news,” said Tommy, with a wicked smile. “Such as measles in the grammar school and the election of Greaves as president of the Chess Club,” explained Hal. “Now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you, Thomas,” said Pete. “I’ll bet you anything from an old hat to a quarter section of land that I can get my name and a half a column of talkee-talkee on the first page of the Erskine Purple any time I want to. Now, what say, Thomas?” “I’ll bet you can’t,” laughed the other. “What’ll you bet? Money talks, my son.” “Oh, most anything. If you want your name on the front page of the Purple, you’ll have to do some tall stunts.” “Of course, that’s what I mean: kill the Dean, or blow up College Hall, or have a fit in chapel.” “Or subscribe for the paper,” added Allan. “Come, Tommy, speak up. What will you bet?” “Oh, get out, you wild Indian! I’m going home.” He made another effort to tear himself away. “Tommy, you’re a coyote: you’re skeered an’ afeared. You know I’d win.” “Oh, no, I’m not,” said Tommy. “I’ll bet a dinner for the four of us at the Elm Tree that you can’t get your name on the front page while I’m on the paper-- Hold on, though; I won’t bet that. I’ll bet you won’t get it there this year unless it’s merely the name, as a member of a society, or as having attended a meeting, or something like that, you know.” “Thomas, you’re hedging,” said Pete, “but I’ll take your bet. And just my name isn’t to count; nothing less than a full paragraph to myself goes. You fellows are witnesses.” “We are,” said Allan. “I smell that dinner already.” “And you see Pete paying the bill,” said Tommy. “I don’t know who pays, and I don’t care.” “He cares not who pays for his dinner, so long as he may eat it,” said Hal. “Wise child, Allan. And, by the way, talking of eating reminds me. You know Billy Greb, Allan?” “I’m going home,” said Tommy. “(Shut up and sit down, Tommy!) Billy’s getting up a freshman club table and wants you and me to join. What do you say?” “Where’s it going to be?” “Pearson’s.” “How much?” “Six a week.” “That’s pretty steep, Hal. Besides, I may go to the track-team table in the spring.” “I’m going home, you fellows,” announced Tommy again. “Will you please shut up?” asked Hal. “Well, you’d better join until then, Allan; sufficient to the spring is the evil thereof.” “Well, I’ll think it over and let you know in a day or two. When does Greb want to start it?” “First of the month. If you weren’t a foolish little sophomore, Tommy, you could come in too.” “Huh!” answered Tommy, scathingly. “I’ve seen all I want of freshman club tables. I’m going----”