“Probably took a supply of them home,” answered Chick. “Just about what he would do, swipe the office stationery. He must have run out of letter-heads, though, because he wrote on a sheet of plain paper. Did you hear what Johnny said? That Devore made his living shooting pool? Gosh, he played me for an easy mark, all right! I’m going to find that guy and push his face in if it’s the last thing I do.” Nearing the dormitory Bert spoke again. “I didn’t mention it to Johnny, Chick, but the day Devore came up to the room after his money, you know, he tried to pump me. I didn’t think anything about it at the time, but I guess he was after some dope on our plays.” “And you didn’t tell him a blamed thing, I’ll bet,” replied Chick bitterly. “It took me to spill the beans. You wait till I see that rat!” There was an explanation to be made to Mr. Peghorn before they could climb the stairs to Number 21. “Peg” didn’t seem to consider the excuse sufficient, in view of Chick’s disreputable appearance, and promised suspiciously to take the matter up with Mr. Cade, but he released them presently and they were in the room when eleven struck. Bert went to sleep soon after his head touched the pillow, but in the opposite bed Chick lay and stared into the dark until long after midnight. Bert went off to church the next morning without his room-mate, for Chick’s head was badly swollen and he had no difficulty in getting excused. After dinner the latter disappeared and Bert surmised that he had gone over to see Mr. Cade. He returned about four, looking more cheerful than Bert had seen him look for many days. Bert brushed the Sunday paper away and sat up on the window-seat. “Did you see him?” he asked. Chick nodded, shied his cap to the bed and sat down. “Yes,” he said. He stared thoughtfully at his shoes a minute and then raised his gaze to Bert and announced earnestly: “He’s a mighty good chap, Bert.” He waited, as though expecting contradiction, and when Bert only nodded, he went on. “Say, he’s going to be married. He told me all about it and showed me the girl’s picture. She’s a corker, Bert. He’s got it bad, but I don’t blame him.” “When’s it going to happen?” “December, if it does happen.” “Well, I thought you just said--” “It’s like this. We had a long talk and he told me all about it. He says it all depends on whether we beat Kenly, Bert. If we do he’s going to quit here and give all his time to his business. He’s got a sort of a law practice at home, it seems. Then he will get married around Christmas time. But he says he won’t quit if we’re licked. Not unless faculty asks him to, and I guess that isn’t likely after what he’s done other years, eh? He says if this season turns out to be a failure he will hang on until he comes through right. Wants to retire as a success and not a failure. Something like that.” “Still,” objected Bert, “I don’t see why he can’t get married just the same. I fancy the girl isn’t going to mind if Kenly licks us!”