“Run along and sell your papers!” jeered Clif. “You did that on purpose. You just wanted Mr. Otis to jump on you so you could have a grouch on him. Anyway, I see you’ve tied your lace!” “Oh, go to the dickens,” grumbled Tom. To-day’s practice lasted longer than yesterday’s and, since it involved a good deal of running around, it left the candidates rather more wrung out than on the previous afternoon. Clif confided to Tom that if he was called on to jog the track he’d die before he was half-way around. Fortunately, then, only a handful of fellows, all from Mr. Otis’s squad, were called on for that final martyrdom, and Clif was able to reach the gymnasium and to insinuate himself under the refreshing downpour of a shower bath without further suffering. But he was so fagged out and so lame by the time supper was over that he flatly refused Tom’s challenge to chess――a game he knew very little of――and dragged his weary body up to Number 17 and flopped on his bed. Tom, not to be deprived of his chess, sought the recreation room, promising to meet the other for study hour. Walter Treat looked mildly disapproving when Clif stretched his tired body out on the bed. Walter’s athletic activities were confined to an infrequent game of tennis and an even more infrequent afternoon of golf, and it is probable that he didn’t appreciate his roommate’s condition. Interpreting the look correctly, though, Clif presented his excuse, wondering as he did so why he should consider it necessary to secure Walter’s approval. “I don’t see why they make you fellows practice on such a warm day,” observed Walter when Clif had added a groan to his explanation for good measure. “Still, I dare say there’s so little time that they can’t afford to waste any. Better take a hot bath before bed.” “Gee, that sounds good,” assented Clif. After a minute he asked: “Say, Walter, do you know who the fellow in the invalid’s chair is?” “His name is Deane; either Laurence or Lorin, I think. His father is Sanford Deane.” “Sanford Deane? You don’t mean _the_ Sanford Deane, do you?” “Yes. I’m telling you what I heard. It may not be right.” “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was,” said Clif. “He sort of looks like――like somebody important. Was he here last year?” “No, he’s new. As for his looking important, maybe he does, Clif, but I don’t know that the fact that his father is immensely wealthy gives him the right to!” “Why, no, and I didn’t mean just that, I guess. Still, his father is pretty well known, pretty prominent, aside from being rich, isn’t he? You’re always reading about him in the papers.” “Important in a financial way, certainly.” Walter almost, but not quite, shrugged. “Any one who gets hold of fifty or sixty million dollars can get his name in the papers every day if he wants to. Sometimes it gets there when he doesn’t want it to.” Walter smiled cynically. CHAPTER VI WATTLES