The next evening Tom hurried through his supper and was almost impatient with Clif because the latter, in spite of many honorable wounds received in battle that afternoon, was hungry and insisted on satisfying his appetite. When they got to Loring’s room that youth was still eating, and Tom had to wait a good ten minutes while Loring finished and Wattles removed the tray and the small table was placed close to Loring’s chair. Then another battle began, and Clif selected one of the books on football and fairly turned his back on the game. This time, though, the contest was soon over, for Loring made a fatal mistake soon after the start. As there was scarcely time for another, the chessmen were put away, Clif returned the book he had been reading to the shelf and they talked. Presently Tom asked to see the collection of football diagrams of which Clif had told him and the rest of the time was spent in discussing them. Tom was loud in his praise of them, but he thought some of them not workable, and that led to a three-cornered discussion during which the chess-board was again produced and several plays were rehearsed. Tom proved his contention with regard to one of them and Loring cheerfully crumpled a sheet of paper up and tossed it into the waste-basket. Going back to West, Tom confided to his companion that Loring Deane knew a lot of football and that it was a plaguey shame he couldn’t get out and play like other fellows. By the last of that week going over to Loring’s after supper had become a habit with Clif and Tom, and by Saturday evening the intimacy had reached the point where the chums were calling Loring by his first name and Loring was saying “Tom” and “Clif” quite naturally. Discussion of the First Team’s defeat by Horner delayed the chess game that evening, to Clif’s delight, and the subject was well thrashed out between them before the board was set out on the little table. In an argument between Tom and Loring on the subject of Stoddard’s choice of plays, Loring, in Clif’s opinion, won conclusively. “Well, maybe he made mistakes,” Tom conceded at last, “but he’s better than Houston, isn’t he?” “I think so,” answered Loring, “but neither of them is my idea of a corking quarter. But then, I’m not keen on their style, anyway.” “How do you mean, Loring?” Clif asked.