As it turned out, it was, after all, Bert who received Lester Devore when that gentleman came to Number 21 about half-past four. Chick had predicted his return before that hour, but he was still absent. Mr. Devore was attired most becomingly for Sunday afternoon in a suit of gray plaid, a purplish-gray felt hat, a violet shirt and a burnt-orange--or possibly henna--scarf pierced by a pearl stickpin. Mr. Devore was what you might call a tasty dresser. Still, Bert wondered if he hadn’t perhaps done the chap an injustice, for he had a likable look and his manners were not at all bad as he accepted Bert’s invitation to sit down and await Chick’s return. Perhaps it would have been better had he pulled his sharply-creased trousers up at the knees less impressively, but that was a very little thing after all. Bert offered the weather as a subject of discourse and Devore’s conversation was worthy of polite society. He didn’t swear once. He admired the room and expressed curiosity about some of its features, a curiosity which Bert courteously gratified. Then Devore said, smiling: “Guess you feel pretty good to-day, eh, Hollins? You won that game, and no error!” “Oh, did you see it?” asked Bert. “No, I couldn’t get away, but I was talking with a fellow who was over to it. He said you made a sweet run. Right through the other team, he said, and never hurried!” “He was slightly mistaken, though,” said Bert dryly, “for I certainly did hurry.” “Yeah, I guess you had to! But this guy--this fellow said you fooled ’em all pretty clever. Good game, eh?” “We think so,” answered the host, aware that his dislike of Devore was returning. “We naturally would.” “Sure.” Devore chuckled. “Make anything?” “Make anything?” Bert looked puzzled. “Only that touchdown.” Devore laughed. “I meant did you have any money up. But I guess those Mt. Millard kids aren’t very sporty. Say, what do you think of our chances in the scrap with Kenly, eh?” “Our chances?” “Yeah, Alton’s. Who’s going to win that, would you say?” “I wouldn’t say,” replied Bert. “Kenly’s got a pretty good team, I guess, and seems to be getting better every day. What we’ve got no one seems to know yet.” “That’s right. It’s no cinch either way, I figure. Only thing is, Hollins, Kenly has the science, if you get me. Look at last year. Lots of guys said you fellows had ought to had that game. But it seemed like the other guys had the sign on you. That’s science, ain’t it? Sure. Well, I figure it might be like that again. Over at Lakeville they think pretty good of that team. I know because I’ve got friends over there and I hear ’em talk. Still, that ain’t saying we mightn’t spring a surprise on ’em, is it? Some play they don’t know about, or something, eh? I wouldn’t want to bet you fellows haven’t got something sweet up your sleeve, Hollins.” Devore smiled engagingly, inviting confidence. Bert shrugged. “Maybe. A team usually saves something for the final game.”