Thankful was Fred for the Baxter tradition that gave to members of the First Form precedence in walking about the building and grounds, for because of it, he was enabled to let Sandow and Hal go upstairs alone. In fact, he tarried longer than necessary in the basement, because he felt in no mood for the comments and glances he knew would be bestowed upon him, both on account of his having been instrumental in the election of his rival to the captaincy and his decision to give up football. "Oh, I wish father would let me quit school and go to work," he said to himself. "I believe it would be easier than to give up the team--especially, when all the fellows are calling me a traitor to the school." As he gave voice to his feelings, Fred had reached the hall, which, to his relief, he found free from his schoolmates. But he was not so much alone as he thought. "Who says you're a traitor?" demanded a voice solicitously. In surprise, Fred turned quickly. "Alice--you here?" he gasped. "I--I must have been thinking out loud. I supposed every one was in class." "I understand," said the girl, "and I'm sorry. Oh, so sorry, for you, Fred. But you mustn't mind what the others say. They don't mean anything--really. They're just thoughtless. They've never had any trouble or--or sorrow--and so they don't realize. I think your action, in giving the captaincy to my brother, was simply fine. Everybody's saying so. Indeed, you're quite the hero of the school." But the girl's attempt at merry raillery of her schoolmate failed. "You would never say that if you'd heard what the fellows said when I told them I couldn't play this year," returned Fred bitterly. "It's hard enough, goodness knows, to give up the team. But when they call you a traitor, it's almost more than a fellow can stand." "Never mind, they only said it in the bitterness of their disappointment at your decision. When they have had time to think it over, they'll see the matter in its true light." "I wish I could think so." "Well, you can--and must. It's nice to be a football star, of course, but there are much finer things in life." "Bearing the taunt of traitor resignedly, for instance." "Doing what you think is right, and sticking to it, no matter how much suffering it entails--you mean," corrected the girl. Under her friendly persistency, even Fred's self-pity could not long stand. "By Jove, Alice! You're the best cure for the blues I ever knew!" he exclaimed impulsively. "If it hadn't been for you, I'd probably have gone round for a week or so thinking myself a regular martyr." "I'm glad I'm some use to somebody," laughed the girl, a wistfulness in her tone. "Any time you feel the martyr attack coming on, let me know." "I will; don't worry. By George! but we'll be late for class. Come on." "I don't think I'll stay this morning," returned Alice. "I've a headache. But you go in. Good-bye--and remember to let me know when you feel the blues coming on."