“I’m glad it’s no worse,” said Hugh. “They had all sorts of stories about you at table tonight. You played a ripping――a corking game, old chap.” “Well, I played better than I’ve been playing, that’s sure. It was a dandy game and we did mighty well to hold them to twenty, Hugh, to say nothing of scoring on them. Have you heard yet?” “Heard?” asked Hugh. “About the money, I mean.” “Oh, I say, I forgot all about it! There wasn’t anything in the box, though. Would they put a telegram in the box?” “They usually telephone it to you. Maybe your mother didn’t get your message in time, though. You think she’s at either one of those places, don’t you?” “Why, yes. I ought to have received a letter from her today. She almost always writes so that I get it Saturday. We’ll surely hear by Monday, Bert.” “Well, I hope so. If that fellow wants to make trouble for me he can do it to the King’s taste.” “He won’t, though, if he knows he’s going to get his money, eh? You sit tight, old chap, and don’t worry.” “Oh, I’m tight, all right,” answered Bert, with a grin. “They’ve got me strapped and plastered and bandaged until I can hardly breathe! I’m coming back Monday; Doc said I might. This isn’t so bad, though, and Mother Prouty’s a corker.” “You’ve got it all to yourself, haven’t you?” asked Hugh, viewing the two empty cots. “If you get lonesome I’ll develop a mysterious illness and get lugged over here. I dare say I’d better be toddling along now, though. Do they let you read?” “Why not? I don’t have to use my ribs to read, do I? By the way, I wish you’d drop around tomorrow morning and bring my geometry and Greek reader. And you might fetch a paper, too. Good night.” In the corridor below Hugh encountered Pop, a rather damaged looking Pop, with a puffy green and purple left eye and a long scratch on his nose. When he learned that Hugh had just come from the infirmary he turned back. “I guess I won’t go up then,” he said. “How is he? What’s the damage?” Hugh told him as they left the building and turned their steps toward Trow, and Pop expressed relief. “Some fellow said he’d broken his collar-bone. A rib isn’t so bad. Davy’ll have him bundled up and playing in a few days. What did you think of the game?” “A little bit of all right, Pop! And, I say, you certainly did for Lambert, what?” “Lambert? No.” Hugh laughed. “Oh, no; you didn’t wallop the beggar, not half! Served him jolly right, of course; I saw him give you that punch under the chin, you know. I wish, though, you’d tell me what you said to him that time you two had your heads together.” “Do you? Well, I said, ‘Lambert, if you make me lose my temper you’ll go home in an ambulance. Now quit it!’ He did, too. We didn’t have any trouble after that.” “You mean you didn’t! _He_ looked jolly well troubled when they took him off. Hanser said you’d get him.” “Sorry to disappoint Hanser,” replied Pop, “but as a matter of fact I didn’t mix it up with Lambert once.”