He would have liked to talk the affair over at length with Chick that Saturday evening, but Chick, while he was about, was not an inviting recipient of confidences. Chick was steaming mad. He had remained on the bench all during the game. Even after Bert had pulled the contest out of the fire with that dash for a touchdown and Coach Cade had strengthened the team here and there with fresh material in order to hold the enemy during the succeeding three minutes, Chick had not been called on. Shelfer had relieved Savell, and Chick had looked on incredulously. Afterwards he had been bitter toward the coach, declaring that Johnny was trying to humiliate him, threatening to go over to the other’s lodgings and have it out with him, on the verge of quitting the team. Bert had tried to pour oil on the troubled waters and the oil had ignited. Chick had sneered that of course Bert couldn’t see anything wrong because Johnny was treating him decently; even better than he deserved, Chick seemed to intimate. Bert had frozen up at that and a little later Chick, still hectic with anger, had taken himself away. Bert had hoped that he wasn’t off to Coach Cade’s to carry out his threatened intention of informing Johnny what he thought of him, and had been half inclined to follow and prevent such a break, but reflection reassured him. Chick was angrier than Bert had known him to be for a long time, and when he was angry he was capable of extremes, but it wasn’t likely that he would do anything as suicidal as that. He hadn’t seen Chick again that evening, but on Sunday Chick let out that he had played pool with Lester Devore, and borrowed all of Bert’s available funds, amounting to four dollars and a half, to pay for his fun. “For the love of Pete!” exclaimed Bert. “How much did you lose?” “Oh, this is some I’ve been owing him,” replied Chick evasively. “He always wins, the lucky stiff! I’ll pay you back next week.” “I’m not worrying about getting it back,” said Bert, frowning. “But--but, great Scott, Chick, that’s a pile of money to lose!” “Don’t I know it?” demanded the other peevishly. “That’s what I’m sore about. He gets all the breaks, hang him, and I haven’t had a stroke of luck at that game for two weeks!” “Why not quit?” asked Bert. “And let him get away with nearly--with a whole bunch of my coin?” inquired Chick amazedly. “That’s a swell idea! I’m going to keep after that bird till I pluck him, and pluck him good and close!” “It’s my hunch that he’s a tough bird,” said Bert wryly. “Tough? He’s just a fool for luck, that’s all he is. By the way, he’s coming up this afternoon after this money. If you’re here and I’m not slip it to him, will you? I’ll leave it here on the corner of the table.” “How much?” asked Bert from the window-seat. “Eight,” answered Chick. “Tell him that’s all-- No, never mind. Don’t tell him anything. I’ll probably be in, anyhow.” “Try to, will you?” said Bert. “You know, Charles, I don’t warm to that Mr. Devore much.”