So Allan told him, and Pete grew very thoughtful as the short narrative progressed. When Allan had finished he asked: “I suppose these fellows that do stunts at the Boston meet go to pretty near all of them, don’t they?” “Oh, I don’t know; a good many, I guess. Why?” “Just wondering,” answered Pete. “Come on and send that telegram. If you address it to the president or treasurer or something, it will do, won’t it?” “I’ll send it to the chairman of the Athletic Committee,” said Allan, seizing his hat. “I’m glad you thought of it, Pete. You’re some good in the world, after all, aren’t you?” “Sure. See you this evening. I want to see Tommy. Where do you suppose I’ll find him?” “Oh, come on down to the telegraph office.” “Can’t; I want Tommy.” “Well, try the Purple office; maybe he’s there. Don’t forget to come around to-night. I may get an answer from my mother by that time.” Pete was successful. To be sure, Tommy wasn’t in the office of the Purple, but Pete hadn’t supposed he would be; Tommy wasn’t so easily caught. But by tracing him from one place to another, Pete at last came up with him in the library, where he was eagerly securing data for an article on rowing which he was preparing for a Boston Sunday paper. “You see,” he explained, hurriedly, “I don’t know very much about rowing, but it wouldn’t do to say so, and so I come here and consult these gentlemen.” He indicated the half-dozen volumes by which he was surrounded. “If I only wrote what I knew, you see, I’d never make any money.” “Well, that’s the first time I ever heard you acknowledge you didn’t know it all, from throwing to tying,” said Pete. “Oh, a fellow has to keep up a front,” said Tommy, shrewdly, with a grin. Pete slipped into the next chair, and for the next quarter of an hour they whispered fast and furiously. When Pete got up, he said: “This isn’t for publication in your old paper, Tommy, you know. And don’t say anything about it to any one, will you?” And Tommy pledged himself to secrecy, adding: “And I think you’ve got it, Pete. Are you going to see him to-night?” “As soon as I can find him in his room,” Pete replied. “Then I’ll come around to Allan’s to-night and hear what’s happened.” “Maybe I won’t tell Allan,” answered Pete. “Anyhow, not unless I have to. I’ll see what the coyote has to say for himself.” “Rindgely? Oh, he’ll have plenty to say, all right. He’ll talk himself blue in the face if you let him.” “Maybe I won’t let him,” answered Pete, grimly. CHAPTER XXIII THE FRESHMAN GAME “Your aunt was in Los Angeles California Monday expected stay week address Mission House. Is anything wrong? MOTHER.”