Dutch grinned, nestled the mouthpiece against his lips and blew. At the same time he began to pat the floor with his feet and sway from his hips. The saxophone nodded and curveted. Most of the assemblage broke into song, tapping the floor, too, swaying as Dutch swayed. Tommy, a large red apple in one hand, his eyes staring fixedly, hypnotically at the musician, heaved his plump shoulders ludicrously. From across the hall came an agonized wail of “_Cut that out!_” which, however, failed to make itself heard in Number 5. Up and down the corridor doors were set open and in more than one room a toiler at his books gave over toiling for the while and pursed his lips. [Illustration: From across the hall came an agonized wail of “Cut that out!”] The thing was a composition of Dutch’s own, words and music, and if the rimes wouldn’t always bear inspection the tune was enough to make you lenient. “The Football Blues” had made Dutch famous throughout the school and he was much in demand. There were many verses, which recounted the experiences of an ambitious youth essaying to play football, but it was the chorus that made the hit. The saxophone wailed and sobbed and yowled, Dutch’s eyes roamed from floor to ceiling, ecstatically bright, and the crowd roared lustily from bodies that swayed and shook. “They rolled me round in the mud and rain. When I riz to my feet and yelled with pain A big guy knocked me flat again! They kicked my face and punched my nose, They gouged my eyes and wrenched my toes And from my back tore all my clothes! The doctor came and said to me; ‘You’re as fine a wreck as ever I see!’ They bore me off on a window blind, But they left a leg and an arm behind. I wrote to the coach from the hospital: ‘I’m going to live, but I’m far from well. If I don’t report, sir, please excuse, For I’ve got the Football Black-and-Blues, The Blues, the Blues, the Black-and-Blues, I’ve got the Football Black-and-Blues!’” They had to have all the verses, which were numerous, and after they were exhausted Dutch played other melodies and the concert continued until Coles warned that it was nine-thirty and, grabbing another apple or two, the guests went off. On the way to Upton, Chick, recalling his grievance, observed disgustedly: “I don’t see why Coles had to have that pesky nuisance there. He’s the freshest kid in school. Gosh, some one ought to turn him over and give him a good whaling!” “Tommy Parish? Yes, he is trying. He seems to love to start an argument and get every one peeved. Funny chap.” “Funny? He’s crazy! The next time he gets fresh with me I’ll slap his pudgy face, no matter where it is.” “Well, I guess you’d always find it in about the same place,” said Bert. CHAPTER V TOMMY MAKES A PREDICTION