HALF an hour later, Roger Hardie was giving the last tug to his necktie before a square of looking-glass that still adhered to the end of the locker tier near the window, and Talbot, swinging a couple of books by a strap, lounged near. Eaton was getting into his clothes a few feet distant, bravely chanting away on a ragtime song in the face of derisive comments from Wilmot, the manager, who sat on the bench nursing a couple of footballs. Farther down, Dunn’s tongue was running wild before an audience of worthies of uncertain intent, whose grins might denote either innocent amusement or guile. Harrison was minding his own business in his usual quiet fashion. “That’s the second time my socks have disappeared!” sputtered Dunn. “This is the worst gang of thieves I ever got into. You couldn’t keep a thing here if you had a steel vault and a watchman.” “You’ve probably got ’em on,” suggested Wilmot. As Dunn had very little on, and was notably bare as to feet, this suggestion could not have been serious. He glanced down, none the less, and earned thereby a unanimous jeer. “I don’t see how you could lose them,” observed Sumner. “They’re the most conspicuous things in school. I recognized you by ’em this morning a block away, before I could see your face.” “Oh, you did!” was the best Dunn could do in rejoinder. “I never saw anything like them but once,” Wilmot observed thoughtfully. “A clown had ’em on in the circus. They seemed all right there.” “They cost two dollars, anyway!” ejaculated Dunn, who was turning over football trousers on the floor and kicking shoes into corners. “Tyrian purple always did come high,” Wilmot said softly. “Aren’t you ready yet, Jim? This excitement is getting on my nerves. I feel as if there was an officer here with a search warrant. Perhaps Lije took ’em, Dunn. He might use ’em for a necktie.” “If I could find the fellow who swiped ’em, I’d use _him_ for a necktie!” exploded Dunn. “It’s a low-down trick to hide a man’s clothes. No one but a kid would do it. You fellows belong with the rubes who tie knots in shirts at the village swimming-hole!” This violent arraignment awoke new chuckles of merriment. Dunn was becoming interesting. “That’s a good suggestion,” said Wilmot. “Harrison might try that next time.” “Shut up, Baldie, and get dressed!” admonished Ben Tracy, in a low tone. “You’re playing right into their hands. You don’t need the socks to get to your room.” At this advice, the wisdom of which he recognized, Dunn smothered his indignation and went on with his dressing in silence. The crowd, perceiving that the fun was over, began to scatter. Eaton put on his coat and turned to Wilmot. “All ready, Steve! Come on, Pete!” “I’m going up to Hardie’s room for a while,” said Talbot, who had been talking in the corner with Roger. Wilmot slid over toward the door. “There are your socks on the bench, Dunn!” called Eaton.