“Not a mite, sir. You needn’t worry. I’m putting things in shape here so that Stick can take the whole thing on his own shoulders. I’m not going to have anything to do with this shop until we’ve licked Kenly Hall.” “Good stuff! See you to-morrow, then. Practice at three, Cap, no matter what the weather’s like. I guess a lot of those summer loafers will be the better for losing five or six pounds of fat! And about this Renneker, Cap. If you run across him it might be a good idea to sort of make yourself acquainted and--er--look after him a bit. You know what I mean. Start him off with a good impression of us, and all that.” Russell chuckled. “It’s a great thing to bring a reputation with you, isn’t it?” he asked. “Eh?” The coach smiled a trifle sheepishly. “Oh, well, I don’t care what you do with him,” he declared. “Chuck him down the well if you like. No reason why we should toady to him, and that’s a fact. I only thought that--” “Right-o!” laughed Russell. “Leave him to me, sir. Can’t sell you a bicycle then?” “Huh,” answered Mr. Cade, moving toward the door, “if you supply the team with its outfits and stuff this fall I guess you won’t need to sell me a bicycle to show a profit! See you to-morrow, Cap!” In front of the store, under the gayly-hued escutcheon bearing the legend: Sign of the Football, Mr. Cade paused to shake hands with a tall, thin youth with curly brown hair above gray eyes, a rather large nose and a broad mouth who, subsequent to the football coach’s departure, entered the store hurriedly, announcing as he did so: “They can’t find it, Rus! The blamed thing’s just plain vanished. What’ll we do? Telegraph or what?” “I’ll write them a letter,” replied Russell calmly. “I dare say the stuff will show up to-morrow.” “Sure,” agreed Stick Patterson sarcastically. “It’s been turning up to-morrow for three days and it might as well go on turning-- What was Johnny after?” “Just wanted to talk over a few things. Give me a hand with this truck, will you? I want to get in an hour’s practice before supper. Bring some more tags along. Where’s the invoice? Can you see it?” “Yes, and so could you if you weren’t sitting on it. My, but it’s hot over in that office! I suppose Johnny wasn’t awfully enthused over the outlook, eh?” “No-o, but he brought some good news, Stick. Ever hear of Gordon Renneker?” “No, who’s he?” “He’s a gentleman who played football last year down on Long Island with the Castle City High School team. Won everything in sight, I think.” “Who did? Runniger?” “The team did. Renneker played guard; right guard, I guess; and got himself talked about like a moving picture hero. Some player, they say. Anyway, he’s coming here this fall.”