“I’m to be the cheering section, eh?” Bert had asked. “Well, all right. But understand, Chick, that this has got to be an early party. Ten o’clock sees this little golden head on the pillow, and that means quitting the festivities by nine-thirty.” “Sure, that’s all right. I’ll win two straight to-night. I’m in the mood to conquer, old scout! They wouldn’t let me lick Banning and I’ve just got to beat up some one!” Mooney’s wasn’t the disreputable place that Bert pleased to pretend. It was large, well-appointed and clean. There were fourteen tables on the long floor and when the two boys entered every one was in use. Bert hoped for an instant that the fact would turn his companion back toward the door and spare him some two hours of unenthusiastic watching in the smoke-filled hall. But Chick was undisturbed, and led the way along the aisle to where, near the back of the room, two youths were playing bottle pool. They were probably about twenty-three or four years of age, one a lanky fellow with long freckled face, the other a smaller, neatly-built chap with a face that might have been very good-looking if the features had been less peaked. He had rather colorless, small eyes, set too close together, and Bert took a mild dislike to Mr. Devore long before he discovered, as he did subsequently, that the gentleman’s first name was Lester. The game ended abruptly and Bert shook hands with the two. The freckle-faced fellow, who was introduced as Joe Mills, proposed a four-handed game, but neither Chick nor Devore seconded the proposal, and Bert flatly declined. Joe wandered off presently and Bert saw him no more that evening. Chick explained to Devore at some length what he intended to do to that gentleman, and Devore pretended much concern, turning, however, to wink at Bert, who had established himself in one of the chairs ranged along the wall. Chick had quite recovered his spirits and was even in a rather expansive mood. The game started and Bert made himself as comfortable as he could and looked on. Devore was a presentable chap, neatly dressed in inexpensive clothes of the sort usually labeled “Varsity” or “Campus” and which are universally taboo at colleges. He wore a ring on one hand which might--or might not--have been a diamond, smoked cigarettes incessantly and talked cheerfully in a pleasant voice, using much slang, and an occasional oath when luck went against him. Luck didn’t do that very often, however, for Devore was a good player, using his cue with unconscious dexterity and seeming never in doubt as to what to do. Evidently he was no stranger to Mooney’s, for he exchanged salutations frequently. If Chick had not been a good player, too, that first game of fifty points wouldn’t have lasted long. As it was, however, it stretched out interminably, or so it seemed to Bert; although he did find interest in the last few minutes, when Devore overcame Chick’s lead of eight and ran out the game.