“Oh, that’s it! You telegraphed! Of course you did! And that’s what you were thinking of when you said ‘Oh!’ or something when we were talking about Joe Leslie. That put the silly stunt into your head, didn’t it?” “I say, what’s the good of getting all excited about it?” said Hugh soothingly. “It’s quite all right, old dear. All you’ve got to do, you know, is calm down and go in this afternoon and give ’em ballywhack!” Bert was silent for a moment. Then: “What did Bonner say?” he demanded. Hugh smiled ruefully. “He was crusty a bit, if you know what I mean.” “I think I do,” said Bert grimly. “Does he――suspect anything?” “Oh, dear, no! Why should he?” “Well, he might. Hang it, Hugh, I’ve got a half a mind not to play!” Hugh laughed. “Change it, old dear! Bonner’s fit to be tied now. If you tried anything like that on he’d just simply blow up――_Bing!_ Just like that! Don’t be a silly ass, please.” “But, Hugh, I wish you hadn’t! I feel so mean, don’t you see? And suppose Bonner doesn’t put me in, after all! Suppose he plays Siedhof or Zanetti! Suppose, even if he does put me in, I don’t play decently, or――――” “Suppose you’re a piffling idiot, and shut up! Bonner’s got to put you in. And you’ve got to play the way you did Thursday and you’re going to! Now come on out and get some air.” Bert didn’t stir at once, though. Instead, he studied his knuckles a long moment, leaning forward in his chair. Then, rather huskily: “Hugh, you’re a mighty good sort,” he faltered. “And I’ve been such a rotter that I don’t see why you want to――to――――” “Piffling poppycock!” said Hugh. CHAPTER XXV BOWLES ATTENDS A FOOTBALL GAME At a little before three that afternoon a carriage, drawn by a weary-looking gray horse, turned into the campus from River Street and finally stopped in front of School Hall. The single occupant alighted, paid the driver and ascended the steps with a suggestion of dignified haste. Some three minutes later, by which time the carriage which had brought him from the Junction was out of sight around a corner, the passenger reappeared and crossed the campus in the direction of a large open plot of ground from which loud and at times quite appalling sounds broke upon the afternoon air. He was a neatly attired man of about thirty-five, clean-shaven, and of a serious cast of countenance. He was quite evidently English, and self-respecting to a degree. That was apparent in his carriage, his expression, and his attire. He crossed the green, entered the gate of Lothrop Field, and paused inquiringly in front of a youth with a scarlet ribbon on his coat who guarded the entrance to the stands. “Fifty cents, please,” said the youth.