To the waiting boy the reappearance of his friend seemed instantaneous. "Quick! To the campus; They mustn't see us near the building!" breathed Fred. To gain the football field was but the work of a few seconds, and when Soda and his fellow conspirators rushed from the building, the two boys were watching the punting and tackling of team aspirants to the apparent oblivion of all else. Not long did it take Buttons to descry Fred's yellow head, however, and with a whoop, he dashed at him, followed by his companions, one of whom bore the odoriferous box. "What shall we do now?" asked Bronson nervously, as the shout reached his ears. "Nothing. It's their move. Pretend to be interested in the practice--only keep your weather-eye open." But though the newcomer tried to appear indifferent, when the cessation of the footbeats and the sound of heavy breathing announced the arrival of Soda and the others, he could not keep from looking around to see what they were doing. "Ha! ha! His guilty conscience makes him fearful!" cried Buttons gleefully. "Clothespin, I'm surprised at you--not to say deeply grieved." Determined to make amends for having allowed his curiosity to get the better of him, Bronson, ignoring the remark, looked at Fred. "Who did you say that fellow with the ball is?" he asked. "That's Tom Perkins, the best full back ever at Baxter," replied Fred, with a wink of approval, never turning his head. "But how can you tell when only Firsts are allowed to try for the team?" "Oh, you can get a line on the men from their work on their Form teams. Tom has played full back ever since he came to Baxter." Surprised at their reception, Buttons and his companions stood quietly until Fred began a history of football at Baxter, relating the most exciting incidents of the annual games with Landon, and then launched into the chances of the various candidates for making the 1912 team. "Look here, Clothespin, it is customary at Baxter to answer when you are spoken to," exclaimed Soda, as soon as Fred paused for breath. "Beg pardon, did you address me?" asked Bronson, with a well-feigned look of astonishment. "I was so interested in what Fred Markham was telling me that I did not hear you. What did you say?" "Good boy, Clothespin," exclaimed Fred between laughs, as he danced with glee at Bronson's simulated surprise. "It isn't very polite, Soda, to interrupt when I am telling a new member of our Form about the team, especially when you smell so." "Oh, shut up, Cotton-Top," snapped Soda. "Nobody's talking to you. Our business is with Clothespin." "Business?" repeated the latter innocently. "Yes, business," broke in Buttons. "We received your credentials. They are certainly strong. After due deliberation, however, we have decided that as you did not deliver them in accordance with instructions, you will not be accorded the privileges of the Second Form unless you eat them."