“I’ll talk it over with Collingwood first,” said Barclay. “And then we’ll proceed officially; and you can pull any additional wires that are possible through your brother.” He rose to go. “I shouldn’t wonder,” he added, “if that brother of yours turned out to be a useful asset for you here.” “I should prefer to stand on my own legs,” said Irving. “I shan’t advertise it round that I have a football brother.” “Oh, it won’t be necessary for you to do that; things have a way of leaking out.” Barclay laughed as he took his departure. As it happened, the next day Louis Collingwood, the captain of the School eleven, went to Barclay to consult him about the outlook for the season. “It seems to me we’ll have a good School team,” said Collingwood, “but no second eleven capable of giving them hard practice—the kind they’ll need to beat St. John’s. If we could only arrange one or two games with outside teams, to put us into shape—” “I was thinking of that,” said Barclay. “I wonder if we mightn’t get the Harvard Freshmen up here. They have a good eleven, apparently.” “Yes, awfully good, from all that the papers say. Don’t you suppose their schedule is filled up?” “It may be—but perhaps they could give us a date. Suppose you come over to my house this evening and we’ll send a letter off to their captain. And I’m sure”—Barclay threw the remark out in the most casual manner—“Mr. Upton will be glad to approach them for us through his brother.” “His brother? Who’s that?” “Why, didn’t you know? His brother plays left end on the team—” “Kiddy Upton’s brother on the Harvard Freshmen! No!” “Whose brother?” “Mr. Upton’s, I meant to say.” Louis grinned. “Is he really, Mr. Barclay?” “I’m rather surprised you didn’t know it. But I guess Mr. Upton is the kind that doesn’t talk much.” “I should think he’d have let that out.” “Well, he let it out to me. I suspect—though he hasn’t told me—that he’s helping to put his brother through college. And his success in doing that will naturally depend largely on his success or failure here as a master.” “You mean—keeping his job?” Barclay nodded. “Yes. Oh, I don’t suppose there’s any real doubt about that. He’s a perfectly competent teacher, isn’t he? You know; you have a class with him.” “Ye-es,” said Louis, slowly. “The trouble has been, the fellows horse him a good deal—though not quite so much as they did.” “They’ll get over that when they know him better,” remarked Barclay. He knew that Louis Collingwood went away feeling much impressed, and he was pretty sure he had done Irving a good turn. It was in the noon half-hour, while Collingwood was holding this interview with Mr. Barclay, that Westby, reading the Harvard news in his Boston paper, went giggling into Morrill’s room. “There’s a fellow named Upton playing on the Freshmen.” He showed Morrill the name. “Let’s get a crowd and go in to Kiddy; I’ll get him rattled.” “How?” asked Morrill.