“I dare say that’s so,” said Lowell. “I think we’ve only played three of them with Kenly since the fun started. Anyway, I don’t want to see another one this year. How did you get on to-day?” “All right, I guess,” answered Jim without much conviction in his tones. “Not so well as sometimes, maybe. Guess I didn’t feel very zippy to start with.” “I dare say. Every fellow has an off-day now and then. Probably ate something. Take it easy to-morrow and be good to yourself. You know, Todd, I’m kind of banking on you to finish the season strong. ‘Slim and Victory’s’ my motto!” “Shucks,” muttered Jim. “I ain’t much good, I guess.” “That,” responded Lowell, “is just your modesty. The fact is,” he added benignantly, “you play your position just as I should if I were a football man, Todd. I can think of no greater praise!” Jim was glad that he had a meeting of the Maine-and-Vermont Society to interest him that evening. Anything was preferable to sitting alone in Number 15, and the companionship of Clem offered even less attraction. Clem had spent a dull afternoon. When it was too late he wished that he had followed his first impulse and journeyed to New Falmouth for the game. After sitting listlessly in the room a while, trying to write a letter and failing, trying to read and again failing, he started downstairs with the intention of finding some one who, like himself, had the afternoon on his hands. But the sight of Mr. Tarbot’s open door produced a sudden impulse and he stopped and knocked. The instructor was at his desk, but he greeted Clem cordially and asked him to sit down. Clem seated himself in the attitude of one who has but a moment to spare. “Mr. Tarbot,” he asked, “did you notice a fellow pass your door yesterday afternoon?” “A fellow?” inquired the instructor, smiling. “Well, a stranger, sir, sort of a smallish, thin chap in gray, with a cloth cap; awfully seedy-looking.” “No, I don’t recall him,” replied Mr. Tarbot, “but then so many go in and out, Harland, that I pay very little attention.” “If you’d seen this fellow I think you’d have remembered him,” said Clem. “I mean you’d have seen he wasn’t one of us, sir.” “Probably. At least, I trust so. As a matter of fact, Harland, I find myself as I grow older contracting the odd habit of seeing things with my eyes but not with my brain. For instance, had I been facing the door when you went past I should probably have raised my eyes and seen you quite clearly, but if you asked me five minutes later if I had seen you I’d have had to say no. So it isn’t beyond possibility that your friend with the cloth cap did go past here. I assume that my habit of seeing without realizing is a natural and usual symptom of approaching senility.” Mr. Tarbot, although he looked somewhat older, was still well under forty, and Clem laughed. “Well, I guess you’d have noticed this fellow,” he said. “He probably didn’t come here.” “There’s nothing wrong, I hope?” said the instructor.