plays, but Kenly had been steady, machine-like, irresistible, and the victory had been hers deservedly. Bert brought his thoughts back from that thrilling battle, in which he had taken part for just three minutes and forty seconds at the tag-end, thereby winning the privilege of wearing the “Big Gold A,” and resolutely drew his book toward him. Mr. Hulman, the mathematics instructor, was a new member of the faculty, and seemed set on emulating the new broom and sweeping clean. Bert laid his pencil aside, placed elbows on desk and hands against cheeks and set out to discover what it was all about. After a while the pencil came into play again, and still later Bert closed the book with a sigh of relief, pushed it away from him and glanced at his watch. It was only a few minutes after eight! There was still time to pick up some fellow along the corridor and get to the movie theater for the big picture, but after a tentative start toward the closet to get his cap he shook his head and sank into an easy chair. Saturday evening was no time to find an agreeable companion. All the fellows save those Bert didn’t desire as companions would be out. He decided to write a letter home instead, performing a task usually done on Sunday. He began to think what he would write, and that was fatal, for half an hour later he was still in the chair, his thoughts a long way from the letter. In the end, he found a book which he had started to read away back in August, undressed, went to bed and read. He was still reading when Chick returned. “Hello,” said Bert, “what time is it?” Chick frowned. “For the love of Pete, cut that out,” he protested. “Honest, Bert, you’re getting to be an awful nagger!” “Sorry,” said Bert. “I asked only because I’ve been reading and haven’t any idea what time of night it is.” He sat up and looked at the little clock on the nearer chiffonier. It was four minutes past ten according to the clock, but as the latter was frequently wrong he didn’t accept the evidence as conclusive. He laid back again, yawned, dropped the book to the floor and clasped his hands under his head. Chick, undressing, whistled cheerfully; almost too cheerfully Bert thought. “Have a good game?” the latter asked presently. “Corking. I certainly made the old balls do tricks to-night. Played three games of fifty points and won two of them. Had to go some to get the last one, though. That’s why I’m sort of late.” “Who did you play with?” asked Bert. “Fellow named Devore.” “Devore? Guess I don’t know him. Not in school, is he?” “No, he’s a guy lives in town. Works with the railroad, I think. Pretty decent sort and a clever lad with a cue. If I hadn’t been going mighty well to-night I wouldn’t have got a game, I guess. Gosh, that place was crowded, Bert!” “Rooney’s?”