“It must have been a peach of a game, even if you fellows did get beaten.” Morris paused abruptly and lowered his eyes. “Say, Gordon, I guess you know I’m—I’m awfully grateful——” “Now, look here,” interrupted Gordon sternly, “don’t you start that too! I’ve had a lot of it from your mother and Louise and Mr. Brent, and if you begin I’ll beat it out of here!” “All right,” laughed Morris, “only—well, thanks, Gordon!” A twinge of pain brought a momentary scowl to his face. “I was mighty glad you didn’t get banged up too. It was a wonder you didn’t.” “Oh, I’m like a cat; I light on my feet. What happened, anyhow?” “I don’t know—quite. The first thing I knew the wheel spun around almost out of my hands and we were smashing against that fence. I suppose there was something in the road I didn’t see. I made a grab for the emergency brake and tried to set it. Then I got a leg over the side of the car and—and that’s all I remember. How badly is the car smashed, Gordon?” “The right front wheel has most of the spokes out of it, and the axle is bent on that side. And there are some dents in the running board and radiator and one lamp’s done for. I don’t believe, though, it will cost you much to get it fixed up again almost as good as new. I suppose you’ll have to get rid of it, though, won’t you?” Morris grinned. “Rather! And I’ll have to pay for it, too!” “Your father says——” “I know; but Stacey has my note for the rest of the money, and I don’t propose to be a squealer, Gordon. I’ll get the money somehow. If dad won’t give it to me, maybe my mother will. I’ll get it somewhere. I’m not going to have Stacey telling it around that I don’t keep my word or pay my debts. I wish I’d let the blamed thing alone; but I didn’t, and so there’s no use talking about that now.” “What—what are you going to do with it?” asked Gordon. “Get Stacey to sell it for me, I guess. I haven’t talked to dad about it yet. He only got home from New York yesterday. I suppose he will be mad when I tell him I want to pay the rest of the money.” “I ought to see him, too,” said Gordon uneasily, “and tell him what Mr. Stacey said. Is—is he at home to-day?” “Yes, but you’d better wait a while. He always takes a nap Sunday afternoons. I guess I’ll let you tell him about Stacey before I tackle him.” “How much would you sell the car for?” asked Gordon presently. “Anything I could get, I guess. Of course, it’s never been used but a week; the speedometer shows only two hundred and eighty miles, I think; but I suppose it’s just as much second-hand as if it had been run a whole year. I should think Stacey might get three hundred for it, though.” Gordon looked disappointed. “Oh!” he murmured. “Well, I suppose it is worth all of that. Only, I was thinking——” “What?” asked Morris.