Jim, realizing how futile was the effort to think of anything save football, got his rules book and began to turn the well-thumbed leaves. If there was anything contained therein that he didn’t know by heart and couldn’t have recited almost word for word he failed to find it, and he was very glad when Clem’s hurried steps sounded in the corridor and the door flew open before him. Any sort of companionship, even unharmonious, was welcome to-night. Clem closed the door behind him and gave a triumphant grunt that sounded like “_Huh!_” Jim, looking up inquiringly, thought that his room-mate looked awfully funny. By funny, Jim, of course, meant strange. Still keeping what amounted to an accusing glare on Jim, Clem advanced in a peculiarly remorseless manner to his side of the table, threw one leg over his chair, lowered himself into place and folded his elbows on the table edge. Then: “You’re a fine piece of cheese, aren’t you?” he demanded. There was no insult in the words as Clem said them. On the contrary they seemed to have an undertone of affection, and Jim was more puzzled than ever, and found the other’s gaze increasingly disconcerting. The fact must have shown on his countenance, for Clem went on triumphantly: “No wonder you look guilty, you--you blamed old fraud!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” grumbled Jim, uncomfortable from the fact that he knew he was looking guilty in spite of a clear conscience. “I’ll soon tell you,” announced Clem. “I went over to Art’s after supper; Art Landorf, you know. Woodie was there. When I was coming away he asked me to give you a piece of paper. Said Johnny Cade had given it to him a week ago to hand to you. Something you’d left at Johnny’s one night. I asked him what it was and he said he didn’t know, but he pulled it out of a mess of other truck in a pocket and handed it to me.” Jim flushed a little. “What was it?” he asked uneasily. “I guess you know what it was, you poor prune. It was a letter from that yegg friend of yours, Webb Todd.” “Oh!” murmured Jim. “Yes, ‘oh’!” mimicked Clem unfeelingly. “It had some sort of a crazy cubist drawing on one side and I naturally opened it. Of course when I saw it was a letter I tried not to read it, but I had to read some of it because my eyes lighted right on it.” Clem looked so defiant as to appear almost threatening. Jim nodded. “That’s all right,” he muttered. “You bet it’s all right!” Clem was getting truculent. “And now I’m going to read the whole of it, and you’re going to sit still and listen to it!” He drew the somewhat soiled rectangular object from his pocket and shook it challengingly at the other. “I’d rather you didn’t,” objected Jim weakly.