“Of course. And if it’s good it turns the trick, don’t it? I heard you fellows were working up a pretty sweet forward-passing game and sort of keeping it under cover, but maybe that isn’t a fact.” “I don’t think it is a fact. So far our forward-passing isn’t anything to boast of, Devore.” “That so? I haven’t been able to see you fellows in action yet, so I don’t know much about your game. What do you think Cade means to spring on those Kenly bozos?” “Really, I can’t say. Probably he will just trust to good, hard football.” “He might do worse,” said Devore thoughtfully, his gaze returning again to the folded bills on the corner of the table. The money left by Chick appeared to interest him a great deal. Bert wished that Chick would return. So, perhaps, did Devore, for after a moment he said: “Looks like he wasn’t coming back, eh? Maybe I’d better beat it. He didn’t say anything about some money he owed me, did he?” Bert nodded. “Right at your elbow.” Devore took it with elaborate hesitancy, but his eyes lighted as he did so. He counted the notes and then turned a swift, frowning look on Bert. “What’s the idea?” he asked sharply. “There’s only eight here!” “So he told me,” said Bert. “Possibly that’s all he had handy. Should there be more?” Devore laughed wryly. “I’ll say there should! Why, that guy owes me eighteen-seventy-five, and he’s been pushing me back for a week. Say, what’s the idea, eh? Ain’t he got plenty of it, or what? He talked like he was filthy with the stuff; about his father being a banker and how he had his own private billiard table at home and all that. Stringing me, eh?” “No, I don’t think so,” answered Bert coldly. “Chick’s father is a banker, all right enough, but if you know anything about bankers, Devore, you know that they have a pretty good idea of the value of money. Which is probably why Chick has an allowance of five dollars a week and no more.” Mr. Devore whistled expressively. “Five dollars a week!” he marveled. “Say, the Old Man’s a regular spendthrift, ain’t he?” There was a cold sparkle in his eye that informed Bert that his statement had not been accepted at face value. But Devore smiled as he arose and added casually: “Well, no use pushing a guy when he ain’t got it, is there? Tell him I’ll see him to-morrow night, will you?” “Look here, Devore,” said Bert, “I wish you’d discourage Chick about this pool playing. At least until after the football season’s through. He isn’t getting any good out of it. He’s supposed to be in bed at ten o’clock and he almost never is. And it’s taking his thoughts off his game. You seem to be interested in having us win the Kenly game, and I presume you call yourself Chick’s friend. Well, if so call off the pool for a couple of weeks, won’t you?” “I’m willing, sure, Hollins, but if he shows up down at Mooney’s and wants a game, what about it? I might as well play him as any one else, eh? Best thing’s for you to keep him at home, I guess.”