“Gets through? To be sure. So it does. Hm. I’d forgotten that.” Mr. Wyatt looked so puzzled that Tom wondered. Tom didn’t know, of course, that Mr. Babcock had dropped in on “Alick” last evening and that his, Tom’s, affairs had come up for discussion; nor that Mr. Wyatt’s puzzlement had to do with “Cocky’s” efforts to secure the removal of restrictions from a boy whose football usefulness was practically at an end! “Well,” continued the instructor, “I trust that hereafter――er――we shall not have to――” His thoughts returned to Mr. Babcock―― “Hm, that will be all, Kemble.” “Yes, sir,” said Tom, glad of release. Coincidences do sometimes happen outside of fiction. Less than thirty seconds later, having reached the foot of the stairway, Tom almost collided with a hurrying figure. “Hello!” said Mr. Babcock. “Almost had――is that Kemble?” He stopped abruptly in his long stride. “Look here, are you square with the Office?” “Yes, sir.” “Good! Report to me this afternoon then.” “You mean――” Tom swallowed. “Yes, sir!” “Come ready to play, Kemble.” “Cocky’s” voice came back from well down the corridor. “May be able to use you, young fellow!” Well, things were happening strangely these days, thought Tom! They went on happening that way at intervals, too. Tom joined the First Team squad on Monday. On Tuesday he played left half against his former companions of the Scrub, putting in almost as much time at that job as did Whitemill and getting off the one long forward-pass that secured any ground for the First. What it all meant Tom could guess as little as any one, with the probable exceptions of “Cocky” and Captain Dave. But the cat was out of the bag on Wednesday, and the heavens fell. I realize that the metaphors don’t belong together, but each is satisfyingly apt. On Wednesday the truth about “Big Bill” Fargo became known. He had been sent home Saturday on the advice of the school physician and now he was stretched out flat in some hospital with one knee entirely surrounded by plaster of Paris! Oh, he would be back in a week or two, but there wouldn’t be any more football or basketball or hockey for “Big Bill” this winter. The fact that he would be back in a fortnight or less interested the School not a particle just then. Later it would consider that fact with gratification, but just now all that occupied its mind was that the Team had lost its best fullback in years, the one player who never got hurt, the man around whom the Team’s attack had been carefully constructed! So when I say that the heavens fell I’m choosing my metaphor very carefully. Until then Wyndham had still hoped to defeat her rival. The loss of Coach Otis had been a severe blow, but victory had remained a possibility in the judgment of most. But now――why, it wasn’t worth talking about! That game was as good as played! Might just as well cheer Wolcott to-day and have it over with!