The three stationed themselves thoughtfully on the doorstep, watching the liberated poodle disappear down the street in frantic spirals, loops and figure-eights. "He lika da feel," said the barber, pleased. "Oh, he's much improved," said Waters, edging a little away. "He fine lookin' a dog!" "He'll certainly surprise the girls and mother," said McNab, shifting his feet. "Well, Garibaldi, ta-ta!" "Hold up," said the barber, "one plunk." "One dollar, Raphael?" said Buck Waters in innocent surprise. "What for, oh, what for?" "One plunk, clippa da dog." "Yes, but Garibaldi," said McNab gently, "that wasn't our dog." "Shall we run for it?" said Waters, as they went hurriedly up the block. "Wait until Garibaldi gives chase--we must be dignified," said McNab, with an eye to the rear. "Dagos have no sense of humor. Here he comes with a razor--scud for it!" They dashed madly for the corner, doubled a couple of times, joined by the rejuvenated friendly poodle, and suddenly, wheeling around a corner, ran straight into the dean, who as fate would have it, was accompanied by the very dignified citizen who had been the first victim of their old clothes act and upon whom the frantic poodle, with canine expressions of relief and delight, immediately cast himself. "Buck," said McNab, half an hour later, as they went limply back, "Napoleon would have whipped the British to an omelet at Waterloo if he'd known about that sunken road." "We are but mortals." "How the deuce were we to know the pup belonged to Professor Borgle, the eminent rootitologist?" "Well, we paid the dago, didn't we?" "That was outrageous." "I say, Dopey, what'll you do if they fire us?" "Don't joke on such subjects." "Dopey," said Waters solemnly, "while the dean has the case under consideration, just to aid his deliberations, I think we had better--well, study a little." "I suppose we must flirt with the text-books," said McNab, "but let's do it together, so no one'll suspect." CHAPTER IX The last week of the football season broke over them before Stover could realize that the final test was almost at hand. The full weight of the responsibility that was on him oppressed him day and night. He forgot what he had been at end; he remembered only his present inadequacy. It had been definitely decided to keep him at fullback, for three things were imperative in the weak backfield: some one who could catch punts, with nerve enough to get off his kicks quickly in the face of a stronger line, and above all some one on the last defense who would never miss the tackle that meant a touchdown.