News of the Wyndham-Toll’s game didn’t reach the school until just before supper time, but when it came it was wonderful! Wyndham 33, Toll’s 6! The Dark Blue had bettered Wolcott’s score by ten points! It had scored one more touchdown than Wolcott and been scored against less! Wyndham went in to supper in a joyous and rather noisy state. And later in the evening, when the First came rolling up the driveway in the two big busses that had taken them back and forth over the road, it was given a welcome worthy of a triumphant Cæsar. CHAPTER XIX BAD NEWS In Loring’s room that Sunday morning the steam radiator was hissing softly, perhaps at the chill, damp current of air blowing in on it from the partly opened window, the floor was liberally strewn with pages, and sections of three Sunday papers and three youths, one for each paper, sat or sprawled about in lazy comfort. Wattles, just a trifle more proper and solemn than on week-days, with his best dark suit on, and his black derby immaculately brushed, had left a moment before for the village, a prayer-book and hymnal firmly clutched in one hand. Wattles always left early for church, walked slowly, and with dignity, and, having reached the small edifice at the far end of the village, spent a pleasant quarter of an hour watching the arrival of the other members of the congregation. After his departure Tom rescued the comic supplement from beside his chair, and gave it his attention. So long as Wattles, redolent of sabbatical decorum, had been there he had not had the courage to show interest in it. He felt that Wattles would strongly, if silently, disapprove; and since the incident at Danbury Tom had entertained for Wattles a vast respect. His enjoyment of the highly colored pages was, though, speedily interrupted by Clif. “Did you see what Yale did to the Army, Tom?” “No, I wasn’t able to get over to New Haven.” “Weren’t you, really? Well, Yale piled up 31 to Army’s 10.” “I was just reading it,” said Loring, coming into view from behind his paper. “Yale’s finally got a winning team, I think.” “That’s what you hear every year,” said Clif. “Then it doesn’t come off! Still, she must be a heap better this year to run up 31 against Army. Brown didn’t do so badly, either.” “What did she do?” inquired Tom innocently. “Beat Vassar?” “She beat St. Bonaventure, 19 to 0, and that’s――” “Saint Who? What high school’s that, Clif?” “Shut up! It’s the ‘high school’ that scored against Cornell two or three weeks ago, and a team that can do that――” “Where do you get that stuff? Everybody scores on Cornell. It’s quite the proper thing to do this year. Colgate did it, and Williams, and now Dartmouth.” “Yes, and what was Cornell doing while Dartmouth made a little old seven points?” “That’s what I was wondering,” replied Tom. “Maybe she was having afternoon tea, eh?”