Sidney replied with enthusiasm that it certainly was. When Sidney was enthusiastic his brown eyes sparkled and his lean, good-looking face lighted up from the firm, pointed chin to the dark hair brushed smoothly back from the forehead. Sidney was sixteen, small-boned, and as lithe as a greyhound. As right end on the school eleven he had won laurels all season until an accident to the shoulder, that was still immovably bandaged, had laid him off. In baseball, too, in hockey, and, in fact, in all games and athletic endeavours he excelled by reason of a natural ability. He was the sort of boy who, if thrown into the water, will strike out and swim as inherently as a puppy; who if handed a baseball bat will swing it as knowingly as an experienced player. Lean, supple, and graceful, his muscles were as responsive to demands upon them as--well, as a kitten’s! And anyone who has watched a kitten at play will appreciate the simile. He had a temperament to match. He was ardent, impulsive, and at times quick-tempered. He possessed good judgment, but was liable to be biassed by his sympathies. He was extremely popular at school and something of a leader in the sophomore class. Being an only child, it was a good deal of a miracle that he had not been spoiled. Most of the credit was due to Mr. Morris, but much to Sidney himself. While Sidney was still explaining hockey, Mrs. Morris left the room. Only Tom saw her go, for Sidney was much too interested in his subject. “I’m going out for the team,” he explained. “Why don’t you try it? Even if you don’t make it, you’ll have a lot of fun. Why don’t you!” “I wouldn’t have time,” said Tom regretfully. “I work in Cummings and Wright’s after school every day.” “I forgot that. Do you like it?” “Yes, pretty well. They’re awfully nice to me there and I guess I was lucky to get a job with them. Of course, though, I’d like mighty well to--to play hockey and football and things, you see.” “That’s tough, isn’t it?” said Sidney sympathetically. “I suppose--I mean--well, you _have_ to do it, don’t you?” “Yes,” returned Tom. “It pays for my room. I live down on Locust Street, by the railroad.” He said this with just a trace of defiance and watched to see how Sidney would take it. Probably he wouldn’t be very anxious to pursue the acquaintance of a fellow who lived in such an unfashionable part of town. But if Sidney was shocked or surprised he certainly didn’t show it. “That must be pretty good fun,” he said, “living all by yourself like that. You don’t have to tell anyone where you’re going or anything, do you? And you can stay out as late as you like, too! I’d like to be able to do that. Say, I think you’re a plucky kid to work like you do and earn money. I wonder if I could if I had to?” He was silent a moment, turning the matter over in his mind and frowning a little. “I don’t believe so,” he said finally. “I guess I’d just starve to death if it came to earning my living!”