“Yes, sir, scrimmage. Well, sir, you said he was an extra man and wasn’t allowed to take part until one of the others was injured, but I observed that very shortly afterwards he tackled the young gentleman who was running with the ball, and I knew you were just having your joke, sir.” Clif had to laugh when Loring did, although he tried not to for fear of wounding Wattles’s feelings. “Oh, well,” said Loring, “I was kidding you that time, Wattles, but usually you may rely implicitly on what I tell you.” “Yes, sir,” replied Wattles, dryly but respectfully, “but I can’t always say when you’re spoofin’――I should say kidding, sir!” The two boys exchanged amused glances as Wattles retired to the other side of the room with the paper. There was a low table near Loring’s chair, and on it, amongst other things, was a folding chess-board and an oblong box. Clif nodded toward it. “That’s a chess-board, isn’t it? You ought to get Tom Kemble to give you a game. He’s rather a shark at chess.” * * * * * “Then you’re not? Kemble’s the fellow I see you with so often, isn’t he?” “Yes. Tom says I haven’t enough brains for chess. Maybe that’s it. Anyhow, I’m absolutely punk.” “I’d like to play with you some time,” said Loring. “Wattles is getting so he can beat me now, and I don’t care about being licked every time. It’s too monotonous. How are you at checkers?” “Oh, I play a little, but I’m not much better than at chess. I can’t get interested enough, I guess.” “Football’s your one and only love, then,” smiled Loring. “Well, I do like football, but I play baseball, too. You’re something of a football fan yourself, I guess. I see you around most every afternoon.” “Yes, I am. I like to watch. And”――Loring smiled faint apology――“I like to imagine myself playing, Bingham. I like to make believe that if I had a good pair of legs I’d be a wonderful football player. It’s rather fun sometimes, pretending.” Clif refrained from looking at the other’s legs with difficulty and stammered: “Yes, it is. And――and I dare say you’d be pretty good, too, if you――if you could.” “Thanks,” laughed Loring. “You’re a gentleman, Bingham! I’ve said the same thing to Wattles a dozen times and the best I’ve ever got from him was, ‘Oh, very likely, sir.’” There was a protesting sniff from across the room. “Anyway, Bingham, I know football, even if I can’t play it. I’ve got about every book that’s ever been written on it.” He nodded toward a bookcase behind Clif and the latter turned and looked. Loring had not exaggerated. There was nearly a shelf of them. “Gee!” muttered Clif. “I didn’t know there were half that many in the world. I’ve never read one of them!” “You don’t need to. You get your knowledge first-hand.” “Are they――interesting?” asked Clif.