Pill, having finally set about the task of removing his damp clothing, chuckled as he kicked off a shoe. “I’ll bet! Bert thinks Chick is just about all right, I guess. Talk about Damon and Pythias!” “Well, I fancy it’s a bit one-sided,” replied Tommy pessimistically. “Friendships generally are.” “Oh, I don’t know. Chick’s a senior and could have gone into Lykes this fall if he’d wanted to. But he stayed here in Upton so’s he could be with Bert. That looks like he thought a good deal of him, doesn’t it?” “Maybe and peradventure,” Tommy yawned. “Hurry up and get dressed. I’m starved. I see Bert’s still trying to play football. This is his third season, isn’t it?” “Second. He’s a junior. I dare say he will make the team this year. He told me the other day that he’d put on seven pounds since last fall. He isn’t a bad player. He might have got placed last fall if he hadn’t been so light. Johnny had him in a few minutes to-day, at the last.” “Well, I’d like to see him make it,” said Tommy reflectively. “He’s sure tried hard and long, and I’m strong on the nil desperandum stuff, Pill. Who do we play next week?” “Banning High. Bet you you’ll see a different game next Saturday, Tommy.” “If I don’t,” responded the other, “I’ll ask for my money back! Say, _pour l’amour de Michel_, do we eat or don’t we?” CHAPTER II BERT REFUSES AN INVITATION “Want to play some pool?” asked Chick. Bert leaned back in the chair and caressed the end of his straight nose with the rubber tip of his pencil. “Depends,” he replied. “If you mean at that evil-smelling dive you dragged me into last week the answer is no, Chick.” “What’s the matter with Mooney’s?” demanded the other. “He’s got the best tables in town.” “I know, but the smoke’s so thick there you could cut it with a knife, and it makes my eyes smart. That’s why you beat me last time.” “Shucks, a little smoke won’t hurt you. Come on. Besides, when a fellow can’t smoke himself a little of the aroma of the weed isn’t so bad.” “Maybe, but I noticed the last time that it sort of made you absent-minded, Chick.” “How do you mean? Oh, that! Shucks, one cigarette at this stage of the game doesn’t matter. We weren’t really in training last Saturday, any way.” Bert Hollins smiled and shook his head. “That’s a punk alibi, Chick. Suppose some one had happened to look in? There’d been the dickens to pay.” “Some one being Johnny Cade?” asked Chick, grinning. “Johnny doesn’t frequent that part of town, old son. Don’t look so blamed virtuous or I’ll punch your head. Anyway, I’m off the things until we quit training.” “Which being so,” said the other, “you’d better get rid of the box in your top drawer. They might tempt you, Charles, beyond your power of resistance.” “Say, how come you’ve been snooping through my chiffonier? Hang it, Bert, you’ve got a cheek!”