Bert followed them down the hall, dodging the butts of busy cues, through an atmosphere thick with tobacco smoke. Chick stopped at a desk and paid his score and then they were outside and Bert drew a long breath of the cool air with vast relief. Chick peeled a dollar from a small wad of bills and Devore carelessly thrust it into a pocket. “Well, good night, you guys,” he said. “See you Monday night, Chick?” “You bet you will, you lucky coot,” replied Chick. “Good night!” Bert set a fast pace toward school, for it was well after the half-hour, and since the sidewalks were still crowded with the usual Saturday night throng, progress was slow and conversation difficult. It wasn’t until they had reached the comparatively empty stretch of State street that Chick voiced his disgust. “If you hadn’t been so keen on getting back,” he declared, “I’d have beaten that game. You don’t get a chance when you’re playing only twenty-five points and the other fellow has the first break. I’d be three dollars to the good instead of a dollar out; nearly two dollars out counting what I had to pay at the desk!” “Mean to say you were playing for two dollars a game?” asked Bert incredulously. “Sure; that is the last two games. We only had a dollar on the first. We never played for more than a dollar before, and I guess Les was sort of scared. Gosh, that fellow had luck to-night, didn’t he?” “He seems to be a pretty clever lad at it,” said Bert. “Oh, he plays a good game, all right,” assented Chick, “but he makes some pretty punk shots, too; generally when he can’t afford it. In the pinches he gets kind of nervous, I guess.” “Do you usually beat him?” asked Bert. “Yes. Well, anyway, I win oftener than he does. He has his lucky nights, like to-night.” “Seems to me, Chick, two dollars is a good deal to play for, supposing you’ve got to bet at all. What’s the idea? You and I always have plenty of sport with nothing up except the price of the game.” “Oh, well, a fellow plays better if he has a bet up. He started it. Offered to bet me a quarter one night and I took him up. Then I came back at him with fifty cents and then, first thing I knew, we were playing for a dollar. Well, if he can stand it I can, I guess. Bet you he doesn’t make more than twenty a week.” “I wish you’d cut out the betting,” said Bert. “You can have just as good fun, Chick. Besides, if Faculty heard about it--” “Pshaw, don’t be a Woeful Willy, Bert! How the dickens would Faculty get hep? Besides, there’s no school rule saying you mustn’t bet a dollar on a game of pool, is there?” “No, I never heard of one,” owned Bert, “but Faculty has a way of making rules at short order. Mind shaking a leg a bit? It’s twelve minutes to ten. If I were you, Chick, I’d play less pool, anyway. Two or three nights a week is sort of overdoing it, isn’t it?”