“I think the whole thing is awfully silly,” replied Dick coldly, “but it’s of no consequence: not enough to talk about.” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Stanley said hurriedly: “That’s all right then! You mustn’t mind Blash, Dick: nobody does.” Blash, whose expression of deep contrition Dick had thought suspiciously emphatic, chuckled. “I thank you, Stan, for them few kind words. Well, now that the _entente cordial_ has been restored, how are you and everything? Have a good summer?” “Oh, yes, bully. Did you?” “I had a busy one, anyway. I’ll tell you about it some time. I suppose you’ve heard that Pat isn’t coming back this year?” “No! Why? What’s the matter?” “Gaines told me that he had a letter from Pat about two weeks ago, saying that his father had lost a lot of money and that he was going to work; Pat, I mean, not his father: although it is likely that Mr. Patterson will work, too. It sounds reasonable, eh? I’m awfully sorry. Pat was a dandy chap. Besides, he’s going to leave a big hole to be filled.” “That’s right,” agreed Sid Crocker. “Patterson was a corking quarter-back. And he would have played on the nine next spring, I’ll bet. He swung a mean bat on the Second last year, and would have made a mighty good fielder for us, I guess. Who will get his place, Blash?” “Stone. Gus isn’t bad, but Pat came pretty close to being a marvel. We’re talking about our last year’s quarter-back, Bates. Do you care for football?” Dick felt Stanley’s anxious look on him as he answered: “Yes, I like football, thanks.” “Do you play?” “I have played--some.” “That’s good. We need talent this year, and you look as if you might be clever.” Dick knew, however, that Blash was only being polite. “Do you play baseball?” asked Sid. “N--No, not much. Of course I have played it, but I’m not good enough.” His manner was still stiff, and he made no effort to remain in the conversation. The others chatted on for some time longer, Stanley frequently seeking to get Dick to talk, but not succeeding, and then the visitors took their departure. “Drop in again, Bates,” said Blash. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” Dick thanked him non-committingly. Outside Stanley shook his head. He was smiling, but Dick knew that he wasn’t pleased. “I guess that didn’t get us much, Dick,” he said. Dick frowned. “Well, I can’t help it!” he said defensively. “He makes me tired. Anyway, if I can’t get along in football without his help, I’m quite willing to stay out of it.” “Oh, that won’t make much difference, I suppose. I only thought that if Blash took to you----” “Well, he didn’t: any more than I took to him.” “I suppose I ought to have told you he was the fellow you rode up from the station with, but I didn’t realise that you were really so peeved with him. It’s sort of too bad you couldn’t have taken it as a joke, Dick.”