“Oh, you did? And you saw Mr. Winslow make his touchdown? Well, say, Bowles, wasn’t that a little bit of all right?” “Quite remarkable, sir! Yes, indeed, sir. A most clever bit of work, Mr. Winslow, if you’ll pardon my saying it.” “Thanks, Bowles. I’m going to get into some clean togs, Hugh. It must be――Hello! Come in!” Nick and Pop and Ted Trafford crowded through the door and for a minute confusion ruled. Then, while Pop and Ted held Bert captive in the Morris chair and playfully pummeled him, Nick’s voice arose above the tumult. “Well, if it isn’t my old friend Bowler!” shouted Nick. “Bowler, old top, how’s everything at dear old Glyndestoke?” Nick was ringing Bowles’ hand enthusiastically and Bowles’ face was a study. “When did you leave the Manor, Bowler? Fellows, meet Mr. Bowler!” “Begging your pardon, sir,” stammered the man, “Bowles, if you please, sir!” “Bowles, of course! Stupid of me, eh, what? Fellows――――” “Cut it out, Nick,” begged Hugh. “Bowles ran up to see how things were getting on, don’t you know. Got here for the game and had the time of his life, didn’t you, Bowles?” “Good for Bowles!” cried the incorrigible Nick. “He’s a true sport! You’ve only to look at him to know that!” Nick threw himself on the window-seat, only to arise as quickly and lift from the cushion the battered remains of what had once been a most respectable derby hat. Nick viewed it with surprise and awe, and――I fear――delight! “Bowles, is this yours?” he asked tremulously. A silence fell over the room. Then someone chuckled and a burst of laughter arose as Bowles meekly assented. “I’m awfully sorry,” declared Nick, looking quite otherwise. “I’ll buy you another, Bowles.” “It’s of no consequence, sir,” said Bowles. “In fact, sir, it was already――er――a bit damaged. A young gentleman at the football game, sir, used it――er――quite roughly, sir!” The laughter redoubled and into it, having knocked without receiving any answer, came a half-dozen fellows; Keyes and Roy Dresser and Tom Hanrihan, of the first, and Brewster Longley and Neil Ayer, of the second, and Wallace Cathcart, non-combatant. “Proctor!” shouted Ted. “Less noise, gentlemen!” “Hello, Wal!” greeted the irrepressible Nick. “Just in time, old top!” He flourished the squashed and mutilated hat. “We’re celebrating the finish of the Derby!” “Too much row, Wal?” asked Bert. Cathcart shook his head. “I guess a little noise is to be expected today, Bert,” he answered. “I saw the crowd and just came over to congratulate you.” “Good old Wal!” shouted Nick. “Speech! Speech! Shut up, fellows, Cathcart’s going to speech!” But Cathcart shook his head and smiled. “I’ve said it,” he replied. “Short and to the point,” applauded Roy Dresser. “Brevity, young gentlemen, is the soul of wit. Say, Hobo, what happened to you, anyway? I’ve heard forty-eleven yarns. Why didn’t you play?” “Yes, what’s the real answer?” demanded Hanrihan.