Morris was a good-looking youth, with a self-confident air and a somewhat dissatisfied expression. He was tall, carried himself well, dressed rather more expensively than his companions in high school, and was never quite able to forget or allow others to forget that he was Jonathan Brent’s son and heir. But, in spite of that, he was not unpopular, and if there was any snobbishness about him it was unconscious. In fact, there were one or two of his acquaintances in Clearfield to whom he went out of his way to ingratiate himself. Gordon was one and Dick was another. But Gordon had never cared to respond more than half-heartedly to Morris’ advances, while Dick’s attitude we already know. Morris pulled forward the most comfortable chair for his guest, repeated that he was glad to see him, and for several minutes gave Gordon no chance to state his errand. When he did, however, Morris was as much surprised as Dick had been. “Dad hasn’t mentioned it to me,” he said, with a frown. “That’s too bad, isn’t it? I don’t see why he needs to cut up that land just now. What’ll we do, Gordon, for a place to play?” “Dick said he supposed we’d have to go across the river. That would make it pretty far from school, though. But I don’t know of any place in town, do you?” Morris shook his head, and Gordon went on: “What I wanted to see you about was to ask if you thought your father would have any objection to our using the field until they began to build on it. I don’t think they’ve done anything there yet. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind asking your father, Morris.” Morris hesitated a moment. “I’ll ask him,” he said, at last, “but he and I—well, we aren’t on very good terms just now. Honestly, I think it would be better if you asked him yourself, Gordon. I’m afraid he’d say no to me just to—to be nasty. You see, we had a sort of row about an automobile. He kind of promised last Christmas that he’d get me a runabout this Spring, and when I asked about it he put me off; and so I”—Morris grinned—“I went ahead and got Stacey to order one for me. It came yesterday, and I told dad and he got as mad as a hatter about it. Says I can’t have it now. I’m going to, though. I’ve got some money in the bank, and Stacey says he’ll wait for the rest of it. It’s only six hundred dollars, anyway.” “Too bad!” murmured Gordon, not very enthusiastically. “Maybe he will change his mind, though.” “Not he! He isn’t made that way. What are you going to do at the field? Play ball?” Gordon told about the letter from Caspar Billings and the formation of the ball club. “I suppose,” he ended, “you’ll play with the Point fellows?”