But the next morning Clem arose in a kindly and even expansive mood. It was Sunday, there was no work to be done and the sun was shining brightly on the best of worlds. So he began promptly to show Jim that everything was to be just as it had been--almost--and sustained a distinct surprise when Jim failed--or refused--to read the signs. Jim was calm and polite, but he was also brief and reserved. In fact, somewhat to Clem’s indignation, Jim appeared to be trying to swipe Clem’s rôle of Wounded Virtue! Hang it all, Jim sounded as if it were his feelings that had been outraged and hurt! Clem couldn’t make it out, and after a few futile efforts to reëstablish the former _entente_ he relapsed into silence. Oh, well, if the idiot didn’t appreciate his intentions he could--could chase his blind aunt! He, Clem, was through! So, on the whole Sunday wasn’t a very merry day in Number 15 Haylow, and the days that followed weren’t much better save in so far as that both Jim and Clem became gradually accustomed to the estrangement as time passed. Clem sought other companionship and seldom remained in the room after supper and Jim redoubled his interest in football and the affairs of the Maine-and-Vermont Society. Perhaps it would be more truthful to say that he sought to redouble his interest, for he didn’t really succeed. In fact, he wasn’t getting along so well on the gridiron these days. The process of making a star tackle out of Jim Todd appeared to have reached an end. By the last of the week he seemed to have retired permanently to the substitute status and even Mulford filled in as often as he did. Lowell Woodruff was puzzled and distressed. Lowell liked to believe that he had in a manner discovered Slim Todd; or that, if the actual discovery wasn’t his, he had at least preserved it to the world and established its value. He broached the subject of Jim’s slump to Clem one evening. “I don’t know what’s happened to the blighter,” he said plaintively. “Up to a week or so ago he was going great and Johnny was building plays around him. But now look at the blamed thing! He’s forgetting everything he ever learned and a babe in arms could make him look like a joke.” This was an exaggeration, but Lowell dealt in exaggerations. “I fancy,” answered Clem, plainly evasive, “that he’s not feeling very fit, Woodie.” “Fit my eye! He’s fit but he won’t fight! Something’s taken all the pep out of him. Know what it is?” Clem shook his head. Lowell eyed him sharply and said in pained tones: “You’re a liar, Clem.” Clem blustered a little but Lowell refused to retract. “Yes, you are,” he insisted. “But I suppose it’s something you can’t talk about, so I’ll forgive you.” “Better let it go at that,” said Clem, grinning. “Anyway, I guess the team will survive without Jim.”