“Oh, that’s all right.” The man pocketed the money and buttoned his coat across that gaudy vest. “But, look here now, we don’t want any hard feelings over this――this little matter. We’d be sorry to lose your trade, Mr. Winslow, we would so. You don’t need to hurry none about that little balance. Just you take your time. And if you want anything in our line just you let us know. Always glad to serve you. I guess now, that suit you’re wearing the trousers of didn’t come from us, did it?” “No, it happened to come from London; Ponderberry’s.” “Is that so?” Mr. Fallow bent and examined the trousers with vast interest. There was a trace of awe in his voice as he nodded and whispered: “Nice stuff, nice, nice!” “You’ll get the rest of that this week, Mr. Fallow,” said Hugh, opening the door invitingly. “As I said before, I’m sorry to hurry you, but――――” “That’s all right, Mr. Winslow, quite all right. I understand.” Mr. Fallow moved ponderously but quickly to the door. On the threshold, however, he stopped and fumbled in a pocket. “Just so you won’t forget us, Mr. Winslow,” he said with a smirk. “Our card, sir. We’ve got a nice line of woolens just arrived. Glad to have you look ’em over any time.” “Thanks awfully. Good day.” Then, with the door half-closed, Hugh added: “Oh, I say, Mr. Fallow!” “Yes?” “I wish you’d tell me something if you don’t mind. It’s been bothering me a bit.” “Why, certainly, anything I can tell you――――” “Yes; well, is that real or does it――er――come off?” “What?” inquired Mr. Fallow blankly. “Why, that――that――” Hugh made a vague gesture――“that thing on your lip.” “Oh! Ha, ha, very good!” Mr. Fallow laughed wanly. “Good――good afternoon.” “Good afternoon,” said Hugh sweetly. Afterwards, hurrying across the green, he said to himself: “It was a bit caddish, and no mistake, but after what he put me through he certainly owed me something!” CHAPTER XVIII BENCHED Hugh remembered his reception by Mr. Crowley for many days. Practice was just over when he reached the scene and the two teams were resting for a few minutes before the scrimmage. Mr. Crowley, looking fiercer and more disreputable than usual in the old gray trousers and faded green sweater he wore, was talking to Coach Bonner near the bench. Hugh had every desire in the world to avoid speech with him, but he disdained sneaking to the bench and so his appearance was quickly noted. “Ordway!” Mr. Crowley left the first-team coach and walked to meet the culprit. “Let me see you a minute.” “Yes, sir,” replied Hugh, very, very meekly. “Aren’t you a trifle late?” asked the coach sarcastically. “Yes, sir, I am. I’m very sorry, but something unforeseen――――” “Yes, yes, of course! Grandmother died, maybe. Too bad, too bad!” “No, sir, I――someone called――――”