“He didn’t put it all up himself, Hollins. I understand that three or four others went into it. Personally I don’t approve of betting. In the present case, however, as a means of applying punishment where it’s richly deserved--well, I find justification for it!” “But--but, gosh,” exclaimed Chick. “If we don’t win the game Manter loses his money!” “Undeniably, Burton,” replied the coach cheerfully. “There is generally an element of uncertainty in betting.” “Well, I hope we win,” sighed Chick. “And so do I. If Joe loses his wager--” and Mr. Cade glanced briefly at Bert-- “I shall feel, to some extent, as though it were a personal loss!” He arose in token that the conference was at an end and the three boys said good night. Outside, Ted chuckled. “Bet I know who the three or four are,” he said. “He and McFadden and Lake!” “Do you suppose so?” asked Bert. “Say, we’ve got one more reason for winning, Chick; to part Devore from his money!” “I’d like to part him from his head,” growled Chick. As the chums entered Upton, Bert descried Tommy Parish ascending the stairs. Tommy looked back and accelerated his pace, but in the next corridor he was still in sight as Chick opened the door of Number 21, and as Bert prepared to follow Chick in a loud hiss came from farther down the hall. Tommy was beckoning. Bert obeyed the summons and Tommy came half-way back and spoke in whispers. “Say, Bert, I thought you’d like to know that I didn’t spill that to Johnny. I meant to, but--well, it seemed too rotten mean. Maybe we’ll get beaten to-morrow, but--but there are some things a fellow just can’t do, eh? Well, so long. _À chaque jour suffit sa peine, _old_ fève!_” Bert felt a bit disappointed in himself that night. Chick was very evidently nervous and wakeful and would have talked on and on long after the light was out, but for the life of him Bert couldn’t keep his eyes open more than twenty minutes after his head was on the pillow! Recalling the confessions of Ted Ball and Lum Patten, he concluded that there was something missing in his make-up. He pictured Ted lying awake with Coles Wistar reading poetry to him through the small hours and felt a trifle sorry for himself. Quite evidently he was missing an excitement, a thrill, that belonged to a normal football player on the eve of a big game. He answered Chick more and more at random, his voice growing sleepier and sleepier, until finally-- He awoke to a gray world. There was mist on the window panes and the steam pipes were clattering loudly. Chick still slumbered, the bed-clothes tossed and snarled about him. The clock said six-forty-seven. Bert tried to go back to sleep for the remaining twelve minutes, but he couldn’t. If excitement had passed him by last night it was in full possession of him this morning. He swung out of bed, shivering, and looked reprovingly at the misted windows. What a day for the Big Game! CHAPTER XXI ALTON CELEBRATES