Gordon was fifteen years old, a very live-looking boy with clean-cut features, dark hair and eyes and a well-built, athletic figure. He and Dick were very good friends, and on the way in from the field they had found so much of strictly personal interest to discuss that after Dick had drawn up before the post office he remembered, while Gordon had gone inside for some stamps, that the latter had quite neglected to mention the important matter he had alluded to at the field. Tom Haley, a big, powerful-looking boy of sixteen who played center on the school team, stopped to talk a moment. Tom was pessimistic to-day. “Lanny had us doing signal work most of the afternoon,” he said. “He’s putting the cart before the horse, Dick, for half of us can’t handle the ball yet without dropping it. When are we going to get someone to coach? Heard anything about it?” “I heard to-day that Lanny was trying to get a man in Westport who has been coaching Torleston High School. That’s all I know, Tom.” “I suppose it’ll be hard to find anyone as late in the season as this. Well, I guess it’s no affair of mine. Glad it isn’t. How’s Eli running?” “Like a clock,” replied Dick warmly. “He’s a fine little car. I’d take you home, Tom, but I’ve got Gordon with me. He went in the post office.” “Thanks, that’s all right. I’d like a ride sometime, though, Dick. I’ve never been in one of those things.” “Well, I never had until a couple of weeks ago,” laughed Dick. “I’ll get you to-morrow and take you out to the field if you like, Tom.” “Will you? You bet I’d like it! Much obliged. It’ll be out of your way, though. You know I live over by the railroad.” “I know, but Eli doesn’t mind the cars!” Tom smiled as he nodded and went on, and Gordon hurried out of the post office. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said as he jumped back into the car. “There was a mob at the stamp window, though.” “What was it you wanted to see me about?” asked Dick as he turned the car cautiously about and narrowly escaped a corner of a coal-wagon. “About Mr. Grayson,” replied Gordon, relaxing his clutch on the side of the car as the danger was averted. “What has he been doing, Gordie?” “It’s what he’s going to do. He’s going to have a birthday next month.” “Think of that!” marveled Dick. “I didn’t suppose high school principals ever paid attention to anything so――so frivolous as birthdays!” “I don’t know that he does,” laughed the other, “but some of the girls are. Hasn’t Louise Brent said anything to you about it?” “No. I haven’t seen her for a couple of days.” “You haven’t! What’s the matter? Haven’t quarreled, I hope.” Gordon’s tone was vastly concerned. “No, but I’ve been busy. Stop your kidding and tell me what you are trying to get at.” “Well, the girls――quite a lot of them, mostly seniors, I think――want to give Mr. Grayson a present of some sort on his birthday. You know he’s pretty popular with the ladies, Dick.” “What’s it going to be? A sofa-pillow?”