“Les Devore. He got nasty because I wouldn’t play with him. I just went there to look on. I only had twenty cents and I told him so, but he said it didn’t matter, that I owed him a lot already and a couple of dollars more wouldn’t matter. I said he’d get his money all right, but I didn’t intend to owe him any more. Then he got talking for the other fellows to hear, razzing me about my dad being a banker and not having any money, and a lot of stuff like that. Making believe he was joking, but mad just the same. Well, I called him down finally and he came where I was sitting and put his hand against my chin and knocked my head back against a rack. Pretending he was just in fun, you know. It hurt quite a bit and I jumped up and hit him pretty hard. He went back against the table and I went after him. He was scared then and started to back around the other end, and I told him to keep his mouth shut and went back to sit down again. And just then some one yelled ‘Look out, kid!’ and I turned my head and got his cue right here. It didn’t hit me square, you see; sort of glanced off; but it put me out for the count, I guess. When I came around I was down there where you found me and some one was sopping water all over me.” “What became of Devore?” asked Bert. “I don’t know. I suppose he beat it. I’m going to find him to-morrow, though,” added Chick grimly. “Not to-morrow,” said Bert. “You won’t be feeling very scrappy in the morning, Charles. Just you leave-- Oh! He-hello, Mr. Cade!” “I thought that was you, Hollins. And Burton, too, eh?” “Good evening, sir,” muttered Chick. They had reached the corner of State and Academy streets. Neither of them had given thought to the fact that the coach had his quarters in the old white house there, although if they had they would not have seriously considered the possibility of such an adventure. Mr. Cade was leaning over the gate, a pipe in his mouth, and since the nearest street light was well distant they hadn’t seen him until he had spoken. Now Chick tugged at Bert’s arm, but the coach spoke again. “Been to the movies, Hollins?” he asked conversationally. “No, sir, just--just down town. It--it’s a nice night, sir, isn’t it?” “Splendid!” Mr. Cade sounded quite enthusiastic. “Remarkable weather for the time of year. A trifle too warm for football, of course, but then every one doesn’t play football, eh?” Chick was conscious that the coach was looking intently at him in the half darkness, and again he tugged imperatively at his companion’s arm. “Yes, sir,” responded Bert vaguely, “it surely is. Well, we’ll be getting--” But just then there was a scratching sound and a match flared. Mr. Cade held the flame to his pipe, as he did so leveling his gaze across it in the direction of Chick. Then the light went out and a puff of smoke floated over the gate. “What happened to your head, Burton?” asked the coach quietly.